Something was crawling on him. It was gentle but insistent, it had slithered up his arm like there was no part of him it couldn't access...right now just it was just a parcel of his flesh, just one little piece of him, but it would want more and it would take more, always more and he couldn't let it, couldn't let them do this...because there were limits, there were, although he despaired of making that understood and he was stuck, trapped...and now behind him was a hard, unyielding surface that kept him from getting away so he was making himself ready for battle —

"Kitten?"

— whatever it took to get away, a fist or a scream —

"C'mon, kitten, you're not getting out of this."

The thing that had his arm let go, and then he was looking into the surprised faces of Sasha and Nurse Ultra-Gruff. Sasha's hand was hovering in the air as to suggest both the offer of security and the promise that he would seize Casey again if necessary.

Casey blinked hard, widening his focus to take in the rest of his milieu — late Thursday morning in a busy clinic, one week after a Thanksgiving drama and an eternity since revelation. Beyond Sasha and the nurse a few people were passing, just outside the realm of polite disinterest but certainly not too distant to take a good, healthy stare if they were so inclined. Most ignored him though, absorbed with their own miseries.

The nurse said, "Casey?" in a tone implying that while it might not be the first time she had said his name today, it would be the last. "It's time to go in."

Submitting to reality, Casey rose wearily to his feet and contemplated all the pretending that he had ahead of him — but not pretending, he was not in such bad shape...he was just so very tired. There was nothing he needed to pretend about; he only wanted to handle this visit as quickly and smoothly as possible and move on to the next appointment, the one that loomed over tomorrow. The one with Dr. Yves. Given the existence of that appointment, the condition of his body didn't have much relevance, but Sasha had insisted on this — and when Sasha insisted, he didn't leave much in the way of alternatives. A person would give in rather quickly to avoid the campaign of persuasion that could be unleashed. Especially if a person was relying on Sasha the way Casey had been; since last Friday in particular he had been subsisting on Sasha's pep talks and snuggles...and, of course, with all that he received a free and generous portion of nagging.

Last week's epiphany was so impossibly removed in time now that Casey barely recalled his reasons. He was just careening along a set path now, helped along by Sasha, who had borne witness to his sobbing and verbalizing and emoting...and his ultimate declaration. Sasha had heard and would countenance no dragging of heels; he sat right next to Casey while he called Doctor Yves and made the appointment, and hooray for having a friend who knew him so well that they knew better than to trust him with the follow-through. Hooray for having someone on hand to intervene if Casey's voice happened to suffer a critical malfunction.

As it turned out, Sasha had just listened, nodding approvingly. Casey had fully expected it to be horrible but it wasn't, because Dr. Yves sounded detached and straightforward like she always did and they made the appointment for the following Friday, the first of December — which had seemed such a comforting distance away in time but was suddenly tomorrow.

Then, because Sasha was of the opinion that Casey's physical health was in jeopardy, there had been a call to Dr. Chakri's office. Casey didn't debate it, because on this point Sasha would not negotiate...so just because Casey had been sore after having inadequately lubricated sex and he had some bruises and he couldn't sleep very well a lot of nights, just because he felt ready to snap like an old, over-used rubber band and he'd been losing a lot of time to the big, grey empty...although he hadn't told Sasha that, had he, and he thought he'd been doing reasonably well at disguising any physical discomfort this past week. There wasn't a problem, it was just that he and Zeke had been fucking like rabbits and the soreness hadn't really gone away.

So he was only here today on Sasha's insistence. Well, mostly. He was also here for a refill of his Xanax. He had run out on Tuesday, and since then bravery had been in short supply.

Now that Casey was standing and oriented to the real world, Sasha was up at his side, subtly requiring the nurse to step back, making the standard after you gesture — although he was really saying get in there and don't you dare try to run away or I'll hunt you down and bring you in bound hand and foot if necessary. There was a faint but determined smile on Sasha's face as well, and Casey considered the likelihood that he had made a mistake in granting permission for Sasha to come into the exam room with him. He was resigned, though, because he needed Sasha desperately these days and the trade-off for Sasha's support was having to endure this constant, overwrought concern.

The first part of the visit was almost boringly familiar by now; he was given a gown and a cup to pee into, and shown directly into the exam room. Next he had a dilemma: Did he insist on pulling the curtain while he changed into the gown and thus raise Sasha's suspicions even higher, or did he just calmly strip in front of him? It wasn't like he had anything to hide, but Sasha would soon be demanding an inventory of each and every mark on his body. And there really was no point to hiding; if Sasha stayed as he plainly had every intention of doing, he would see most of them anyway. All the same, Casey wanted to delay that for as long as he could.

Sasha took the problem away from him, by politely turning his back.

As he got undressed, Casey performed his own inventory; it seemed sensible to have answers if there were questions. Okay, for a start there was the bruise on his chin, which seemed to be at its absolute ugliest today. The same went for the bruises on his knees and shins, all of them spectacularly purple and green with just the slight tinge of yellow that barely suggested the beginning of healing...but he had an explanation for those. No, it was going to be a lot more challenging to account for the ones on his hips, thighs and arms. Dr. Chakri would see all of it and he would have to tell her the truth — and the truth should settle it, the truth was people could get bruised having sex and they could even be really sore for a day or two — not that she was going to have anything to say on the subject because she wasn't getting anywhere near his ass and if only Sasha could stop his humiliating surveillance, evaluating how Casey walked and sat, looking for any twinge or grimace that might suggest mistreatment.

After Casey was dressed in the gown, he sat down on the bed and hugged himself, wondering why all hospitals and clinics seemed to deliberately keep the heat turned down. Sasha leaned sideways against the bed and reached for Casey's hand. "Now, kitten," he said. "You know this is important, right?"

"Yeah," Casey sighed, and swallowed a lump of bitter ill-will towards the very person who cared most conspicuously for him.

"You know you're important?"

He squirmed, but said because it was the right answer, "Yes, Sasha."

"So you're going to tell her the truth about everything."

Casey gritted his teeth. "Everything...like what?"

Sasha's gaze was now roaming, cataloguing his evidence; he was getting ready to present his case to the judge and jury. It was a trial in which Casey had absolutely no wish to participate. Sasha replied absently, "Just whatever."

The door opened and Dr. Chakri came in, her cream-coloured file folder pressed up against her chest. She smiled a greeting. "Hello, Casey. Hello, Sasha."

"Hello, Doctor," Sasha replied, looking to Casey to follow suit. Casey resisted the hint; it wasn't like he needed prompting to perform every day, basic protocols like saying hello.

Dr. Chakri inquired of him: "And how are we today, Casey?"

"Fine."

Dr. Chakri took a position a few feet away from him as he sat on the exam bed with his feet dangling. Her eyes were already hard at work, taking note of his various scrapes and bumps. The careful gaze paused just for a moment over the latest of the marks — which was not a bruise, it was beard burn on his neck caused by Zeke's overenthusiastic nuzzling at a time of night when the most recent shave had been a distant memory.

"So...it seems like you wanted to see me pretty urgently," she said. Casey waited, fully expecting Sasha to present his statement. When nothing happened, the doctor asked gently, "What's going on, Casey?"

He introduced a topic that felt manageable. "Um, I...I ran out of Xanax."

"Oh?" Dr. Chakri's brows lifted; she flipped open her file folder and read from it. "You're going through them pretty quickly." She then pinned Casey with a neutral expression. "Have you been having a lot of panic attacks?"

"Yeah," he mumbled. "And..."

"Yes?"

"I've been t-taking them sometimes...when...when I can't sleep, but Dr. Yves said it was okay."

Dr. Chakri didn't reply right away. She scanned her notes again and then put the open folder down on the small table nearby. She clasped her hands over her belly and asked, "Have you been having a lot of trouble sleeping?"

"Yeah, I...I know it's a bad pattern but I can't break out of it."

"Tell me more about that?"

Sasha made a sound like an aborted word, then closed his mouth.

It was challenging to tell the story with him listening, but Casey proceeded as best he could. "I used to just s-sleep all the time and it wasn't a problem, but...but now I can't fall asleep a lot of nights even though I'm so tired...so I take a Xanax but then it makes me sleep half the day and I can't fall asleep again so I stay up all night...and...I don't know...it's like I don't know how to sleep like a regular person anymore."

Dr. Chakri nodded. "Do you feel like you can't sleep if you don't have a Xanax?"

Carefully, he replied, "I wouldn't say that."

"But you have been finding that you can't go to sleep at a reasonable hour unless you take one."

Casey appealed to Sasha, who finally chimed in, "His sleep is just all over the map, doctor. I think it's kind of my fault. For a while he was trying not to nap during the day even though he was really tired sometimes, and Zeke was kind of...enforcing it...but of course I was the softie. I said, you want to sleep, so sleep."

Dr. Chakri pondered this for a moment. "Would you say that your days have been busy, Casey?"

"Busy?" he echoed.

"Is there a lot of activity, I mean."

"I guess...I don't know."

"I was just thinking it would be helpful if you had more to do during the day. That is...I know you have a lot of emotional work to do, but I'm thinking about physical work. When I was a student I had terrible insomnia sometimes, because all I did was sit around studying all day. I was working hard but my body was kind of at rest — but really tense, too. It doesn't make for easy sleep."

"I do go out...I have...I walk to m-my appointments."

"You've been going to relaxation, right? Plus going to see Dr. Yves?"

Casey waited for Sasha's intervention, comments, disapproval...whatever Sasha had to say, it was imminent; Sasha was in possession of information that he wouldn't be able to withhold. Apparently that moment hadn't come yet, however, and Casey said with his eyes pointed at the floor, "Well...up until about a week ago."

"You mean you stopped seeing Dr. Yves...or you stopped the relaxation?"

"Both...but I'm going to see Dr. Yves tomorrow so I only missed a week."

Sasha said quietly, "I think it's been more like a couple of weeks for the relaxation."

So now it was confirmed: In this room, Sasha was not Casey's ally. Sasha was here to see to it that the doctor heard The Truth, not that Sasha even knew what it was.

"Casey?" prompted Dr. Chakri. "Is that true?"

"Yeah...a couple of weeks, I guess..." Casey lifted his eyes tentatively, hoping they wouldn't see the rancour he was feeling. "...but like I said, I have an appointment with Dr. Yves tomorrow."

"I'll make sure he goes," Sasha added.

Casey couldn't contain his reaction to that comment. "I said I would go," he grumbled.

"Sorry, kitten, I just want to help."

Sasha tried to find his hand, to give it one of his encouraging little squeezes no doubt, but Casey refused to unfold his arms, keeping his hands buried. "I know what I have to do. I told you I would do it and I will."

Dr. Chakri interposed quietly. "How's your mood these days, Casey?"

"My mood?"

"Would you say you've been more or less sad...or irritable?"

"I feel more irritable right now."

"I've noticed. Is it just this situation or would you say that you've been more irritable over all?"

"I can answer that one," Sasha said under his breath.

If Sasha intended that Casey feel ashamed, it worked. He admitted, "I've been feeling angry a lot."

"How angry?"

Hmm, let's see, doctor...so angry my head fills up with poison and I want to scream at everyone and destroy things and I threaten things that make no sense...so angry and scared I'll do anything to make it stop...please make it stop I have to make it stop...make me stop...

"P-pretty angry," he stammered.

"It's not necessarily a bad thing to feel angry, you know."

He shrugged.

Dr. Chakri added, sounding sympathetic, "I know it doesn't feel very good...and I'm not the psychiatrist but I do know that it's very important that you keep talking to Dr. Yves, Casey. Or if that's not working out, then someone else."

He nodded and hoped for a change of subject.

"So you started skipping your appointments a couple of weeks ago but you're trying to get back on track," Dr. Chakri summarized. "At least with seeing Dr. Yves...and you've been having a lot of trouble getting regular sleep. When did that start?"

"It started before," Casey said quickly. He was never going back to relaxation therapy and he didn't want her to think that Rick-Ron and his waving grasses had been any kind of positive factor in relation to sleep issues. "A while ago."

"All right. Are there any other times, apart from when you have panic attacks, that you've been taking your Xanax?"

"Um...s-sometimes...it's not that I'm panicking but I feel like — like I'm losing it, like I can't think and my head's spinning and I'm afraid I'm going to start screaming or something and I just want to escape from it so...so I take a Xanax."

"Hmm," Dr. Chakri commented. "We don't want you to be screaming or losing it...that pretty much qualifies as a panic-type situation. But I am very concerned about how quickly you've gone through them. Remember the first time when we talked about you trying Xanax and how I said that it isn't a cure for anxiety?"

Casey hadn't thought that the sweet, girlish voice could sound quite so hard, or so displeased. He stared at his knees, which had begun bouncing and jittering at some point during the past few minutes without his even being aware of it.

"I think I made it clear that I'm not a big fan of sedatives as a long-term solution, Casey. I wanted the Xanax to be an interim measure, something to help you until you could address your anxiety through therapy. But you're telling me that you've stopped going to relaxation and you've missed sessions with Dr. Yves...and now you're using Xanax as a sleep aid. I must say, I'm really surprised that Dr. Yves would recommend that."

Casey found himself in the peculiar situation of defending his shrink. "Sh- she said once in a while it was okay, I don't think she meant for me to take them that often."

"I see."

That was it, then...She wasn't going to give him anymore Xanax and so the next time he had a panic attack, he would die. He put his hands on his knees to steady himself and looked past her at the wall that was randomly plastered with free public health posters. His chest was heaving slightly as he tried to think of some argument he could make. He couldn't find a single premise that made any sense. All he could think was I need them and he knew in the small part of him that was still rational that this was not a sound argument.

"How about your dissociative episodes?" Dr. Chakri asked. "Do you still have them?"

"Yes."

"Would you say more or less often?"

"It's...hard to say. It feels like more."

"When's the last time you had one?"

"Just before this...in the waiting room."

Dr. Chakri looked slightly more sympathetic than she had been a moment ago. "It's pretty stressful coming here, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"How about before today?"

Avoiding the gaze of both people in the room now... "Yesterday."

"Yesterday?" Sasha broke in. "When?"

"You were, um...cleaning, I think."

"But you didn't tell me — where was Zeke?"

"At school. I...I didn't want to...to worry you."

"And before that?" Dr. Chakri inquired.

"I'm not sure," Casey replied, although he was. There was something that had been happening almost every day, but it wasn't the same kind of greying out that he was used to. Mostly when he stepped into the shower it would start, images would spin in front of his eyes and he would struggle not to see them and the next thing he knew, he would be standing under the water getting hypothermia. Oh, the joy of some new kind of crazy for him to savour.

And there were still the traditional zone-outs too — such as the episode last Monday, another one that Sasha didn't know about. That had been the afternoon that they spoke with Charly on the phone; Sasha had been keen to apologize and Casey was easily convinced that he wanted to apologize as well so after Sasha said his piece, the handset was transferred to him and he stammered something, feeling like a traitor.

Charly had said only, "Don't worry about it, Casey. I think I understand Zeke...maybe more than he would like. I don't hold it against him...or you." Then she'd changed the subject with, "Stokely mentioned to me once that you used to work on your school paper...that you took photographs." Not waiting for confirmation from him, she then asked Casey if he would like to do some photography again. When he asked why, she admitted that she owned several cameras and she had one that was older but in very good condition and she would be happy to gift it to him if it helped to revive his interest in photography.

At this, Casey had experienced a tentative moment of straightforward, pleasurable anticipation. He had accepted the offer and she had promised to send the camera along with Stan, who could pass it on to Stokely — who had presented the camera to Casey the very next day; it was a good, solid Nikon with manual shutter speed, focus and flash, manual everything. She'd also sent along a cheap tripod and, incongruously, a plastic container full of leftover sweet potatoes. None of it could hurt Zeke, and yet after that conversation with Charly he had gone into his room to lay down for a while, and once he started dwelling on the myriad of ways that he was betraying Zeke it wasn't long before he slipped into that quiet void where he didn't have to fear the outcome of any of his various acts of betrayal.

Dr. Chakri said, "Would you say the dissociation is happening more or less frequently than before...or about the same?"

Sasha volunteered, "As far as I know those episodes have actually decreased quite a bit, doctor...it's probably still not as frequent as before."

"Does that sound accurate, Casey?"

"I guess."

Dr. Chakri acknowledged this with a nod and spent a solid minute bringing her notes up to date.

"Well, Casey," she then said in a tone that told him she was about to render a decision that he wasn't going to like. "From what you've told me, I'm very reluctant to renew your prescription for Xanax."

He'd known it was coming, but hearing it still felt a lot like being socked in the stomach. He began to protest, "But — but I —"

"Xanax can be very helpful in certain cases but I'm concerned that you're growing dependent on it, and when I hear that you're no longer going to relaxation..."

"I'll go back," he offered, desperate enough that he actually meant it.

"But why did you stop going in the first place, Casey?"

There was nothing he could say that wouldn't be ridiculous. If he was truthful, she wouldn't renew his prescription — and he couldn't really come up with a plausible lie, on the spot, that would get past the Sasha filter.

Dr. Chakri went on, "It's not that it has to be that particular form of relaxation, maybe that therapy isn't right for you. There are a lot of other ways to relax...yoga, or just a straight exercise program."

"B-but I need..."

"I think Xanax has served its purpose for now and it would be more harmful than helpful to refill your prescription."

He blurted, "You don't know, you don't know, I need it...I can't do what I have to do, not without it."

She had been looking for at chart, but now she looked keenly at him and said, "Do what, Casey?"

"I mean," he faltered, struggling for coherence. "I have to...to go back to school, to have a job...have a life..."

"But Xanax hasn't been getting that done for you, has it?"

Maybe he should tell her how just knowing that he had Xanax made a difference, even if he didn't take it...but that wouldn't work, she wouldn't trust him anyway. Maybe he should tell her that she had no right to make this decision for him that she had no idea what he was dealing with and he had really thought that she was on his side but maybe not, maybe she was not his friend at all.

"Casey? I'm not leaving you in the lurch. I'm thinking about having you try a different medication."

"Oh," he whispered, not very hopeful.

"There is a drug from the same class as Xanax, it's called Klonopin...you don't take it when there's a panic attack coming, you take it regularly just like you take your Paxil and it has a more drawn out, long-term effect. From the sound of it you're still experiencing a lot of anxiety all the time and the Paxil hasn't been entirely effective with that. Klonopin is prescribed specifically for panic disorder and I'm thinking we might get better results with it. What do you think?"

"Will it stop them?"

"There are no guarantees, of course, but it has been quite effective in helping people with panic disorder. It doesn't work instantly, I can tell you that...and even if it is effective it doesn't mean you couldn't have a panic attack once in while. The idea is that it will reduce your overall level of anxiety so you can go out and do more things and get used to the idea of going about your life without being in a constant state of fear. You need to put a few more success stories behind you, Casey, so your body learns not to always react the way it does now."

Klonopin sounded like heaven in a bottle to Casey, but Sasha asked, very sensibly, "What are the side effects?"

"Like Xanax, it is a sedative so the most common side effect is sleepiness. Not so much as Xanax and it varies from person to person. Also, it usually diminishes after the first little while; you'll have to keep me advised about that. The other catch is that you are already taking Paxil, Casey, and not a lot is known about how those drugs interact. They are prescribed together but responses to drugs can be very individual. My recommendation is that we reduce your dosage of Paxil and start with the minimum dose of Klonopin but before we do that, we'll take your blood today — which we were going to do anyway, right? — and check your liver and kidney function. We'll have to keep a close eye on that. The other thing is just to start out gradually and be really aware of how you're feeling, and call me immediately if you have any symptoms."

"Okay," Casey agreed, readily.

"So instead of taking those Paxil tablets twice a day, reduce them to once a day, and I'm going to prescribe two weeks worth of Klonopin. You'll have quarter milligram tablets...the first day you take one, the second day you take two, and then three and then on the fourth day you'll be up to one milligram. You can take the last tablet just before bed and it should help you get to sleep."

Casey forced himself to speak in a regular tone. "But...how long before they take effect?"

"For full effect...it could be a week. And again, Casey, there are no guarantees. If this doesn't work we might want to try something else. There's Zoloft too, but I would want to take you off the Paxil first...and for now I don't want to do that because it seems to be helping with your depression."

Casey could have debated that but he didn't. He imagined that from her perspective the fact that he was more miserable than ever meant that he was improving in leaps and bounds. "But I could still have a panic attack," he said, and heard himself nearly whining.

She gave him a steady look, not flinching in the face of his pitiful little demonstration. "I'm reluctant to give you any Xanax, Casey. Especially since you'll be taking another sedative."

"But --- I — " Casey stammered, and gave up. His throat was constricted and painful. "What if s-something happens?"

Dr. Chakri considered him, perhaps making a decision about his level of honesty. She said, "All right, here's what I'll do. Because there's going to be a bit of a gap in time before the Klonopin takes effect and you'll probably be able to control your anxiety better if you know that you have some back-up...I'll write a prescription for six Xanax, but only if Zeke or Sasha is willing keep them for you."

"I can hang on to them," Sasha said immediately.

"Thank you, Sasha. So, Casey, you'll have to ask Sasha for a Xanax and you should only do it if you really, really need it. With the Klonopin in your system, the sedative effect will be increased so you want to be careful before you resort to taking a Xanax."

"How do I know when it's serious enough?" Sasha asked.

"It's good that you're asking that, Sasha, but I think that it really comes down to you knowing Casey. You've been close to him long enough that you can probably tell when he's experiencing maximum anxiety. Of course, if he's hyperventilating, you probably give him one but it's not up to you to rate how anxious he is. He is an adult and this is his decision." Dr. Chakri changed the angle of her gaze to address Casey. "Just bear in mind that if you go through them too quickly again, I will not renew them." Just for a moment as he looked into her eyes, he was livid with rage at the inequity of the situation — having to go begging and justifying himself to Sasha who had never known what it felt like to know that you were dying, that your own body was not a safe place to be. "I'm not stupid, you know," he said.

"I know that, Casey, but it isn't about how smart you are. I've seen some very smart people get into terribly destructive situations with drugs. This class of medications has helped a lot of people but they can also do a lot of damage."

"The doctor's just trying to find a way to help," Sasha soothed, again trying to touch Casey. This time, he pushed Sasha's hand away.

"I'm sorry, Casey," Dr. Chakri said. "From your perspective I may seem harsh, but believe me, you do not want to get into a dependency. You have enough to deal with already. You want to be happy and healthy in the long run, not just do what's easy right now."

"What if I don't care about the long run," he muttered.

"Casey," Sasha said, chastising.

Maybe he was being difficult...okay, he was very difficult, but he found it difficult to give a fuck at the moment. He had a task hanging over him that was all that he could see, there was nothing beyond that, and the people whom he thought were his allies were turning against him all at once.

"As far as the insomnia goes," Dr. Chakri continued, "I'm thinking you should try to increase your level of physical activity. You have been walking every day, right?"

"Yes," he answered precisely, around a clenched jaw.

"Walking to your appointments, right?"

"Yes."

Dr. Chakri didn't seem more than mildly concerned by his sullenness. "All right, Casey, it's up to you, but you definitely need to find some other ways to relax and there's nothing like a little physical exhaustion to help you get a good night's sleep — although looking at you at this moment I have some doubts about recommending anything strenuous."

Sasha snorted his agreement. Casey glared in his direction but Sasha looked unrepentent, daring Casey to contradict anything as he said, "Dr. Chakri, I've been very worried about him."

The doctor nodded and asked, "Have you been eating properly, Casey?"

"I guess not."

"You guess not?"

"No, I haven't been eating properly," Casey snapped. "But that was just last week and it's back to normal."

"I don't know if I would say that," Sasha corrected.

Dr. Chakri glanced at him, then continued, "Do you want to tell me what happened last week, Casey?"

Casey shrugged and made a point of meeting her gaze. "I was fighting with Zeke."

Her eyes narrowed just the tiniest bit yet her little sugary voice didn't change at all. "So you were fighting with Zeke, you're having trouble sleeping, taking a lot of Xanax and not eating very much. And not going to relaxation...basically, not taking care of yourself very well."

There seemed to be nothing he could say to that.

Sasha piped up, "It's funny how some people eat more when they're upset and some people seem naturally inclined to eat less...too bad you couldn't switch that one around, kitten."

Casey pretended he hadn't heard that. He wasn't about to let Sasha's charm mollify him, not when Sasha had just been busy telling on Casey like some five- year-old girl on the playground: Doctor, Casey didn't eat his lunch...Casey isn't sleeping right...Casey isn't following the rules...

Dr. Chakri observed, "I know sometimes when you feel very upset about something it's easy to just ignore simple things like eating but you have to remember, Casey, how hard you've worked to feel better. You don't want to undo all that, do you?"

She waited for him to answer. And waited.

"No," he said at last, with reluctance.

"Casey, when you say you were fighting with Zeke...what kind of fighting were you talking about?"

"I meant arguing — Zeke wouldn't hurt me." Casey could hear his tone rising. He fought it down and said again, this time for Sasha's benefit: "He wouldn't hurt me."

"Not on purpose, no," Sasha returned.

"Well then, Casey," Dr. Chakri said, very casually. "So what about these bruises I see?"

Casey had to resist the urge to tug his gown, try to make it cover his knees. And he had to stop with the jittering. "Which ones?" he challenged, trying to make his legs be still. And the rest of him too...He had to force himself not to chew on his cuticle.

"On your face, for a start."

"I fell. I was in the shower and I fell and that's why my knees are bruised too. I know that's what people always say when...but I really did fall."

"Do you mind if I do a bit of an examination?" Dr. Chakri asked.

"Of what?"

"You say you fell in the shower. That's a pretty hard surface, so I would want to take a quick look, make sure you're not seriously hurt."

"It happened a week ago."

"Just for my peace of mind?"

"Okay," he muttered.

He held himself stiffly while she gently felt up and down his arms and legs and moved them this way and that. The feeling of her fingers made his skin creep and he started to shake anew, this time with the effort of remaining in place. He could sense her intelligent eyes on him, not only looking at his flesh but at his reactions, watching for him to slip up.

The thought of Zeke helped him to steady himself...right now Zeke was hauling his ass to the bus stop, feeling absolutely worn out and stressed because he was having to go about his routine while Sasha did all the Casey-care...and, oh, yeah, things were calmer this week but no way were they relaxed. Zeke wanted to know where Casey was at all times, he was snappish and blunt and it only confirmed what Casey already knew — Zeke really needed a break. He needed Casey's protection, too...especially from the W-Monster, always from the W-Monster...after all, Zeke was innocent, he didn't know what she was, just like he was one of the last to figure out about Mary Beth but Casey didn't blame him for that, it was always the most harmless-seeming, the one you least expected...

Gently manipulating Casey's arm, Dr. Chakri said, "Everything seems to be in working order."

"I told you."

"Yes, you did," she replied tolerantly. "You know, Casey, I'm having a thought...We didn't quite get to finish your examination before."

"What do you mean?"

"Your physical exam. We left out a part. Perhaps we could do it now... I was thinking that with Sasha here you might feel more comfortable."

Casey jerked his head up. He was sure that there was a glimmer of something...interest, maybe...in her eyes. No, she couldn't be, she couldn't...but maybe she was, maybe he had it all wrong and the enemy was here but no, she had been kind she hadn't ever but she was so nice so kind it could very well be a deception.

"Do you want to discuss it with Sasha maybe?" Dr. Chakri asked him.

"No," he stated.

"Casey — "

"I don't want to, I don't want to do it, it's my choice, right?"

"Of course it's your choice if you ever do it, or have any kind of medical treatment." Dr. Chakri glanced at Sasha. "Do you want me to talk openly about this in front of Sasha?"

He shrugged. He knew that Sasha would never rest until he discovered what this was about and he was unable to think much beyond yes...whatever...I don't know...stop this...stop this...gotta stop this.

"You told me you'd had unprotected sex, Casey. Your blood test checked out fine but there's still a few months to go before we can be absolutely sure. And the blood test doesn't tell us everything. You must want to know for sure that you're okay, and not just for your sake, for Zeke's — "

"We're using condoms," he said — and then remembered that it wasn't true. They hadn't used a condom since last Thursday. Two, three times he'd forgotten and then he'd finally remembered to say something because it seemed to be up to him to do it and when he did Zeke just dismissed it with a tinge of impatient anger It's my decision and I don't want to use them anymore.. "Anyway, I'm c-cl — " He couldn't say that word because clean was the last thing that he was. "I'm okay.

"Most likely, yes," the doctor corrected. "But the other thing is that...well, seeing as you are a sexually active gay man..." She shrugged, perhaps fortifying herself to be as blunt as she needed to be. "If you are having anal intercourse then I would recommend a rectal exam on a regular basis. It can cause a lot of wear and tear and you need to look after yourself."

There...he saw it, it was a gleam like she finally had him...he saw it, he knew it and she knew, he didn't know how but she knew and she couldn't know unless she was one of them they all shared a brain didn't they and since he hadn't told her they must share a brain and so she was going to use the opportunity to take him and he wouldn't be around the defend Zeke, he wouldn't be anywhere.

"Normally I wouldn't be this insistent — "

Casey slid off the table, landing with a bone-rattling thump that sent a jolt of mortifyingly intimate pain, up from the bare soles of his feet, through the core of him.

"Casey, where are you — "

"I don't have to stay here," he hissed. He tried to get a view of the door, just beyond her shoulder. She was taller than he had thought. "You can't make me."

"I want to make sure that you're healthy, Casey."

"I'm fine."

Sasha argued, "You're not fine, kitten. I've seen you making faces like you're in pain when you think no one's looking."

Even after Sasha's behaviour up to this point, Casey still couldn't believe that Sasha was informing on him like this — and it wasn't even the truth, it was a totally made-up piece of garbage. "That's not fucking true!"

Sasha implored his forgiveness with an offered hand and calmly went on with the snitching. "You've been sore, I've seen you...you don't want to sit down."

"That was just one time," Casey insisted, backing away from both of them.

"Kitten, there's not a guy alive who feels comfortable about getting the exam but the doctor's right — "

"I said no! What part of that don't you understand?"

He was speaking to Sasha, but Dr. Chakri got the message as well. She soothed, "Okay, Casey. It's up to you...but will you answer some questions for me?"

"Maybe," he said, breathing hard.

"Please...?"

She gestured to him, asking him to stay in the room or sit, he wasn't sure and he didn't care. He remained where he was, with a decent gap of space between him and them. He could get to the door, he decided. He would just have to go really fast and push her as hard as he could to clear a path. It would probably hurt her but he didn't know any other way and this was war, after all. There would be casualties, including himself if necessary — but god, fuck, he'd really thought Sasha was on his side and it hurt, he could feel the tears coming and rubbed furiously at his face. He was not going to fall apart here, not here, he couldn't. He had a task to finish and then...well, he didn't expect to survive but for now he still had a few options.

The doctor was speaking to him.

"What?" he blurted. If he just controlled the terror and acted closer to normal...that was another way out of here too but it didn't foreclose his fighting his way out if he had to.

"I said..." Dr. Chakri replied, being very patient, "It seems like Sasha is suggesting that you've been hurt having intercourse with Zeke."

"No, I...just been a bit sore...after."

"Are you sore now?"

"A little."

It was just a little bit of pain and he could easily ignore it...and it was good pain too, it was like a memory of something good travelling around with him.

"...sore to me, Casey."

"Huh?"

"Can you describe what you mean by ‘sore'?"

"K-kind of aching and...and there's a stinging."

"How long does it last?"

"It's only happened a few times." Casey shot a look at Sasha the Snitch, who was very red in the face. Oh, he knew how to get to the Snitch. He would just give them all the details, as much as they wanted, more than what they wanted...and he didn't mind talking about it because it was something that he cherished and he wouldn't hold back anything about it. Just thinking about his lover's body holding him and filling him...he was calmer, remembering. He was even smiling. "Most of the...dis-discomfort...it goes away after a shower or after a couple of hours."

"Do you use lubricant?"

"Always."

"What kind?"

"Astroglide or KY...we've used soap too, but that was just one time."

"Do you have pain during intercourse?"

"Not usually. Sometimes a little. And just so you know, Zeke is very careful. I'm always the one who wants go harder. I like it that way." Casey smiled at Sasha, enjoying seeing him squirm.

"Have you had any bleeding?"

"No."

"No bleeding at all? Because it's not uncommon and it's not — "

"None."

Dr. Chakri took a few moments to write some details on her chart. "All right, so what do you think is causing this soreness, Casey?"

"Hmm...well, Dr. Chakri, Zeke and I have been fucking a lot. We didn't fuck when we were fighting so I guess we're making up for it now."

"How often is ‘a lot'?"

Casey rattled off the information. "For the past week or so...we've been fucking a few times a day. That's not counting the other stuff."

"Other stuff?"

"Oh, you know...blow jobs and the rest."

Sasha's said tightly, "When the hell do you do all this fucking?"

"While you're at work...or sleeping."

"And when does Zeke find the time to study?" Sasha demanded.

Dr. Chakri cleared her throat. "When you have intercourse, would you say it's vigorous or more — gentle, for lack of a better word?"

Casey looked at her and let his voice devolve into a purr. "Hmm...depends. Sometimes he does me hard and fast...other times, like last night, he's just slow and methodical. He likes to take his time, actually. That way I really feel it...everything else goes away...except his cock."

Sasha closed his eyes, shaking his head slightly.

Dr. Chakri was all business. She said briskly, "All right, Casey...I'm sure that you know that with anal intercourse it's not uncommon to experience a little bruising or tearing. That's okay, but the really important thing is to give yourself time to heal. That's not to say you have to stop having sex, of course. There are lots of things you can do without having intercourse...which you know very well, from the sounds of it." She stopped her recitation, considered, then said, "Of course, another thing you could try is having Zeke be the bottom instead of you all the time."

Sasha snorted. "That's not going to happen," he said.

Dr. Chakri raised her eyebrows. Casey nodded, having his first moment of accord with Sasha almost since they had walked into this room. "He's right."

"Have you talked to Zeke about it?"

"I don't have to. He just wouldn't — but it's okay."

"It's okay — ?"

"Because I like being the bottom, Dr. Chakri."

"All right, but I would suggest that you give yourself a little time, Casey. If you get bruised or torn one time and then you don't wait for it to heal before you have sex again, then it will just become more and more aggravated."

"Of course," he said. He added, hoping to bring an end to this visit, "I'll be sure to do that."

She gazed back at him and said straightforwardly, "I'm not your therapist, Casey, so as far as the subject of your sex life is concerned...I'll limit myself to discussing your physical well-being. However, I think you have some things to discuss with Dr. Yves. Would you agree?"

"Oh, yes," he said, doing his best to sound sincere. "I'm going to tell her some stuff tomorrow."

"Very good. There's something you can do for me, though."

"What's that?"

"I would like to be able to share some information with Dr. Yves now and then, but I need your permission."

"Why?"

"I think that the situation with the Xanax could have been avoided if Dr. Yves were in possession of a little more medical information, but I'd need you to sign a release form so I could communicate more easily with her. It's quite routine when a patient is working with more than one doctor."

He had to wonder how stupid she actually thought he was. Okay, so she wanted to tell Dr. Yves that in her opinion he was being sexually abused or something...fine. Dr. Yves probably already thought that, and his refusing to sign the release would just raise more alarm bells. The trap was really closing around him now but it barely seemed to matter. He was just so tired of all this, all he really wanted was to get through tomorrow and then get to Sunday and get through that. Then he could rest.

"Okay," he said.

"Thank you, Casey. I'll go and get the form and have the nurse come in and take some blood if that's all right with you. We'll forego the weigh-in this time but I want to see a few pounds gained over the next two weeks."

"Two weeks?" he said in dismay.

"Yes, so you're going to have to eat three complete meals every day...I'll need to see you in a few days, just to check in on how you're doing with the Klonopin. Then a week from today, and then again two weeks from today — and I want to hear about more eating and sleeping and exercise." Dr. Chakri was not smiling at all as she stated, "There's only so much a doctor can do, the rest is up to you, Casey."

Casey tried to act like a diligent patient. "Yes, I...I understand."

Dr. Chakri whipped out her pad and wrote out two prescriptions. Offering the little slips of paper to him, she said, "Now, I want you to start with the Klonopin tonight, just before bed. And remember to phone me if you have any symptoms at all. I'll be right back with the release form."

The form was very generic, just saying that he authorized her to share information with Dr. Yves if necessary to fully assess his condition. He put the pen to paper knowing that Zeke would have forbidden him to sign it if he were here. Zeke might even yell at him if he found out — but it was really hard to feel the danger in signing a piece of paper given that once he finished telling Dr. Yves about the aliens she would probably have all the grounds she needed to ship him off to the nearest padded room. Zeke didn't seem to get that these doctors would always just do what they did. That was just part of the cost of slaying aliens, wasn't it, and it was always Casey Connor who made the payment.

After he signed the form it was back to routine, the nurses sticking him with a needle and filling some vials. Then he was allowed to get dressed, happily pulling the two shirts and sweater over his shivering body. The whole time he could sense Sasha's eyes fixed on him, alternatively scolding and pleading for understanding. He could feel those eyes when they collected their coats and left the clinic. He could feel them as his friend stalked to the driver's side of the car.

Casey got in on the passenger's side and Sasha sat quietly in the driver's seat. He started the engine but left it in park, turning up the heat to maximum. The air blasting out of the Mustang's vents felt frigid and would probably remain so for a solid half hour. Casey sank down, hunching his shoulders.

"That was quite a performance," Sasha said quietly.

Casey tucked his hands inside his coat and didn't answer.

"Kitten? Are you speaking to me?"

"You didn't have to do — what you did."

Sasha's chuckle was completely absent of mirth. "It's funny, every time I tell the truth someone tells me I didn't have to. Like it's optional."

"You made it sound like Zeke is — is h-hurting me on purpose. That's not the truth, that's your opinion."

"I doubt that he even knows he's hurting you — and being bruised inside and out isn't a matter of opinion, Casey."

"Sasha...isn't it enough that I'm going to go and spill my guts to Yves tomorrow?"

Sasha sighed. "Of course I'm very happy that you've decided to tell her something that she needs to know, but I'm not stupid either, kitten."

Casey's body vibrated, trying to generate some warmth. "I don't know what you mean."

"Oh, don't you?"

"No."

"Why did you freak out over the exam, Casey?"

"I didn't want her to touch me."

"Obviously, but why? You know her, you've been in her office several times and I'm pretty sure she touched you before."

Casey looked at Sasha just long enough to say, "Not like that."

"That's my whole point. I know there's more going on with you --- I know, and Zeke knows, and that's why I'm pissed at him for just rutting away without a care in the world."

"He doesn't just — "

Sasha overrode him with, "You shouldn't be having sex right now. Not with Zeke, not with anyone."

"That — it's not your right to say."

Sasha signalled that he was getting ready to make a Very Serious Speech by turning a full forty-five degrees, requiring Casey's attention. When he spoke, his voice was quiet with resolve and stentorian with passion for his subject.

"No, Casey, I don't have a right. I'm not your parent or your lover or your doctor — but I'm saying this anyway, because you are my business and when something's my business, I do what it takes. I look at you and I see you getting more and more ragged around the edges and the both of you are in total denial about it. Zeke's barely thinking straight anymore and you just egg him on, Casey. Of course he would never hurt you intentionally — but I can see him getting carried away."

"Maybe we got carried away," Casey said. He intended it to sound confident and forceful but it came out tiny.

"That's what I'm saying. You two need to take a break."

"No."

"Just for a little while, so you can both clear your head."

"No."

"Don't just keep saying no to me, kitten. Argue with me if you want, but don't just repeat that word over and over because it's not getting it done."

Emotion clotted Casey's throat and his eyes began to burn because he was failing, he was beyond arguing about this, he could only feel the fear that Sasha would somehow make Zeke leave him. He mumbled, "You can't make us stop anyway...and I need him...I need...There has to be something that feels good."

"Kitten..." Sasha paused, and paused some more. He said at length, "I'm not sure that you know what good feels like."

"And you do?" Casey croaked, glowering out the passenger-side window.

"Yes, actually, I do think that I do but that's not the point. The point, Casey, is that you need to take a break so you can remember. Going harder and faster and longer, searching for more intense feelings all the time is just going to make you feel less, not more. It's like...like when you have a really rich dessert. The first bite always tastes the best, have you ever noticed that? After that you're eating more and more of it trying to get back that first taste but your taste buds just get drowned and you feel bloated and disgusting."

Casey wished he could sneer or laugh that off, but he was having a vivid sense memory of the first time he had kissed Roy. His whole world had changed when that happened; it was like his body suddenly knew something his head couldn't sabotage, a knowledge that was terribly stressful but wonderful and he was a new person, so hungry for everything that nothing was ever enough. And then Roy gave him exactly what he wanted...and more and more and more and too much and even more than too much. He'd been drowned and he was still drowning but it felt so good he didn't see how he could go back the safe shore and play nice and normal.

"Kitten? What do you think?"

Casey hunched even further. "I don't...know..."

"Would you just consider easing off for a while? Give your body a chance to heal at least?"

Casey didn't answer at first. Then he said, "I told the doctor I would, didn't I?"

Sasha just sighed, and then put the car in gear. They didn't speak at all as Sasha drove, and that stiff, strained space gradually wrested the dregs of Casey's righteous anger away from him and left the suspicion that he was ready to beg for forgiveness. He needed Zeke, absolutely, but he would never survive without Sasha...and Sasha had never done anything but care about him.

The Mustang had pulled into the parking space in the alley behind their building. Sasha took a breath, forcing words through the silence. "How about we get those prescriptions filled before we shop?"

Ages ago, before the debacle with the doctor, he had convinced Casey to go with him to Sal's Grocery to buy the groceries for Zeke's party on Sunday. Casey had agreed, thinking that during the same expedition he would drop in at the shop where Zeke's gift was waiting. The entire project had been a rush job: On Tuesday night Casey had snapped several shots, then brought the film to the photo shop first thing Wednesday morning. Later in the day he'd selected an image from the negatives, to be blown up to 8.5 x 11, and chosen the matte and frame as well. He had called upon all of his limited powers of persuasion and begged them to have it ready by Saturday; they'd made no promises but then they called out of the blue this morning to let him know that it was ready for him to pick up. Fortunately, Zeke had already left for the library when the phone rang.

Casey looked up at the door of their apartment, wondering if Zeke was home yet. He probably was; he'd had to go on campus for a little while but he'd told Casey he'd be waiting when they got home. And he'd let Casey know that he would be anxious to find out how it had gone.

"Casey."

"Hmm?"

"You promised to go to Sal's with me, remember?"

"Right now?"

"As opposed to when?" Sasha followed the direction of Casey's gaze and said, "Zeke will still be here when we get back. It'll save us taking off our shoes and putting them on again. We can just drop in at the pharmacy on the way."

"Okay, but, um...I need to do an errand for Zeke's birthday."

"Oh." Sasha considered that. "What sort of errand?"

"An errand, Sasha."

"Okay. So how do you want to do this?"

"I could meet you at Sal's in half an hour."

"Sounds like a plan," Sasha said, still sounding a little suspicious. "I'll get that prescription filled for you in the meantime."

They both got out of the car and, as on some silent, even subconscious agreement, both stopped; Casey looked across the hood at Sasha just as Sasha looked at him. Sasha was wearing a long, navy blue wool coat with a orange scarf knotted around his neck. He looked tall and elegant and tremendously regretful as he said, "Kitten...I only do things because I want to help you get better."

"I know."

"You still mad at me?"

Casey shook his head and said, "Can't stay mad at you."

At that, Sasha grinned widely. "So I can get started on making you mad all over again?"

"Yeah," Casey said. He forced a smile in return.

They picked their way through the half-frozen mud of the alleyway and set out to their separate destinations; Casey walked even more quickly than he usually did when he was at large in the world. He so wanted to get this outside part over with and get home to inside and something warm — such as Zeke's body, yes, that would just do. Outside was probably not so very cold, but it felt awful, raw, and damp in a way that went right through him. The sun didn't have much warmth in it today.

The photo shop was several blocks away and not the closest to where they lived, but he'd gone there because they did both photo development and art framing. He had selected a classic black wood frame and white matte to go with a black and white image, and the woman who did the work agreed with him that it had turned out very well. The framing cost quite a bit more than the film and the enlarging had, and there was nothing to be done about that. It helped that he'd been able to use a standard rather than a custom size, but he'd still have nothing to contribute to household expenses for a while. Not to mention Christmas — but there was no point in thinking about that.

On his way back, Casey passed by Zorbas's as usual, this time on the other side of the street. He spotted Thomas' car parked out in front. It had been there almost every day but this was the first time that Casey dared to more than register its presence. He didn't even dare go to Zorba's for a chai; Stokely had asked him a couple of days ago and his refusal was a shade on the hysterical side.

Now that he actually allowed himself to think about it, Casey realized that he was unredeemable. Because he did want to see Thomas again, and not just because he wanted to apologize. He wondered if Thomas would even talk to him after what had happened — but he was not going to go over there, even if Thomas seem to offer a sort of understanding that no one else could.

Sasha was holding a small, white paper bag and pacing anxiously on the sidewalk outside Sal's Grocery when, a bit later than he was expected to be, Casey trotted up. "I was getting a little worried, kitten..." Sasha's eyes took in the 14 x18 flat package Casey was carrying. It was wrapped simply in brown paper with a little bit of raffia ribbon tied around it. "Zeke's birthday present?"

"Yeah."

"What is it?"

"It's a secret," Casey hedged, suspecting that there was something a little self-serving about gifting someone a photograph that you had taken, even if that person was its subject. Whatever his intention, Casey wasn't sure of how it was going to go over.

"But it's not my birthday, is it?"

From the tone of that question, Casey grasped that Sasha had no intention of giving up his interrogation any time soon. "Um...it's a photo I took."

"With that camera that Charly gave you?"

"Yes."

"What of?"

"Don't you want to be surprised?"

Sasha sighed. "Okay...yes, I suppose I do."

Something passed very close behind Casey — a person, presumably — and made all the hair on his body stand up. He asked, trying to keep the whimper out of his voice, "Can we go in? Please?"

"Oh...sure. Of course." Sasha eyed the package one more time with rampant curiosity. "You ready to shop?"

Casey shrugged. "I guess."

He didn't have to be told that Sasha loved grocery shopping. Sasha was in this store almost every day; some days he would come back with an armful of things, other days with nothing. Today, he started by grabbing a cart. Without comment, Casey put Zeke's present in it, then took up a position at the requisite end and started to push it, following Sasha. He liked the idea of having it in front of him, a kind of battering ram to clear away any threatening shapes in front of him so he just had to keep watch over what was going on behind him.

"Let's see...I need ground sirloin...shallots..." Sasha muttered to himself, with no apparent intention of going to where the sirloin and the shallots were to be found. He was perusing the shelves as though he had absolutely nothing else to do, like he was waiting for an idea to spring. Sasha didn't like to make lists, Casey had noticed that before; he might have something in mind, but he mostly would stroll up and down the aisles until something took his fancy.

"I thought you were just making nachos," Casey said, holding onto his cart very tightly.

"I was."

"But...?"

"I can't help it, kitten, I have to have something a little more substantial...but since it's Zeke we're talking about I'm just going to make some really amazing hamburgers with a fresh mango salsa...I was thinking about homemade fries too...or maybe one of those tasty potato casseroles, those are make-ahead..."

Sasha's inner chef was warmed up and their pace was now, definitively, a crawl. Casey figured he'd already spent far more than the requisite number of minutes in public today and now he really was whining, far too disquieted to be ashamed by it. "Sasha..."

"What?" Sasha returned, then, catching a glimpse of Casey's expression, "Oh. We'll go faster."

He moved on ahead but Casey had become stuck behind two ladies with their carts, neither of whom wanted to move. He waited for them to see him, wondering if would make any difference to them if they knew they were in imminent danger of being mowed down. He made himself count to twenty and resorted to reading the nutritional labels on the cereal boxes that were within range — and finally, one of the women realized. "Sorry," she said briefly, obviously lying. She moved, and Casey pushed on after Sasha.

There were times when he really could scream with frustration. He wanted to be able to do these everyday, mundane things like everyone else. He wanted to go to school and be exposed to some glimmer of new information. He wanted to ride the bus to school with Zeke so he could see him more, keep an eye on him — but no that was the crazies talking again, and he was going to deal with her so he wouldn't have to think about those things...but he was just so fucking tired of all this and having resolved to go to battle wasn't making it any easier. In fact, he suspected that telling Dr. Yves about the aliens wasn't going to make a whit of difference.

But he couldn't let them — he couldn't let her beat him — no, it was not over, not yet, he would do what it took and somehow Zeke would have to understand. Except how could he understand, he would leave and Casey would be alone but there was no other way because any way you broke it down Casey would end up alone, probably wrapped in a straight jacket to boot, even if he did deal with her the point was making Zeke safe but Casey wouldn't be safe he would always wonder if they were coming for him and he'd be helpless there in his little room when they came for him...they'd come in and he'd be helpless and someone would say we'll deal with him and then he'd just have to wait...take me, I'm ready, take me please don't leave me alone again...

He pawed for the emergency tin that he always carried, momentarily forgetting it was empty. Terror stabbed him as he replayed the part of the scene where the doctor had refused him his pills. No Xanax....you'll just go without Xanax because you've been bad or you can beg Sasha for one if you think you need it. But he hadn't fucking damn it all to hell and every time he took one he really needed it. Really needed it, really really really...

The last of that thought was drowned in a chaotic roar.

"Casey."

Someone was calling him, always calling him, poking and prodding and nagging him, that voice.

"Casey!"

It was Sasha speaking in a voice of whispered urgency and Casey realized he was standing in the middle of tomatoes and carrots and peas and mushrooms. He didn't have any memory of travelling to the canned goods aisle.

"Kitten?" Sasha looked very pale. "You with me?"

Casey managed a nod.

"Thank god," Sasha breathed, his eyes going wet. He'd probably had visions of Casey making a scene in the middle of his haven, his home away from home.

"S-sorry," Casey slurred.

"It's okay." Sasha smoothed Casey's arm for a few seconds, then glanced aside at a middle-aged lady with a disapproving mouth. "What? You've never seen a man pawing another man in broad daylight before?" He sprouted a grin, probably hoping to get a giggle out of Casey.

Casey just couldn't excavate one for him, not this time. He was so very done with the outside world for today.

"Come on, kitten," Sasha said softly. "Let's go home." He nudged Casey gently along with the cart, and got them through the checkout and back onto the street as quickly as he could, which was not terribly quick because the girl at the register knew Sasha well and was accustomed to chatting with him. Sasha had to be a bit rude to get away.

Finally they were finally back on the sidewalk, laden with six bags and Zeke's birthday present. Casey was exhausted many times over. "Want a nap," he said, and yawned, shivering. It had been a cold day when he started out, but now the damp wind was getting right into his bones.

Sasha winced. "But, kitten, remember the doctor said we need to get you back into some kind of regular sleep pattern?"

Casey was overcome by resentment. "What if I have a panic attack in the middle of the night?" he challenged. "I'll be awake then for sure, especially since I can't have any Xanax. Or maybe I should just try to have them during the day — for convenience."

Sasha looked at him, startled no doubt at his tone of defiance. "Obviously, panic attacks are an exception, Casey."

Casey passed beyond apology to misery in an instant. He let his shoulders slump, devoid of even the will to apologize.

"What's all this ‘tude about, kitten?"

"Dunno," Casey said, but he did. It was the possibility that he would never get to the point where what he ate, when he slept — and now, how many pills he took — were not controlled and regulated. No, it wasn't even that. It was the very fact that he needed to be monitored. Poor, helpless, useless Casey who would kill himself if he got his hands on enough drugs. Dr. Chakri and the lot of them were foolish to think they could have actually prevented him if he were really determined.

Casey's phone alerted him that Zeke was calling. He pulled it out with gloved hands that were made even more clumsy by chill and anxiety. "Hello?"

"Casey? Where are you?" Zeke's voice was thick and congested. It sounded like his cold was in full flower now.

"Almost home."

"Almost, like where?"

"Less than a minute away."

"Oh." Zeke made a phlegm-ridden sound. "See you in a minute then."

When he hung up, Sasha said, "You had better give me that."

Casey looked down and realized he was still holding Zeke's package.

"You distract him," Sasha urged, "and I'll sneak it into my closet."

Zeke was waiting at the door, but fortuitously, he was completely fixated on Casey. "You said you'd be back by two," he accused. He merely raised his brows as Sasha scuttled by, heading for his own bedroom with the brown-paper package camouflaged on his other side. Zeke didn't even comment that Sasha had dropped four plastic bags of groceries on the floor for the interim, even though it was a thing almost unheard of. Casey put down his own two bags as Zeke moved in to hug him. At the last second before contact Zeke sneezed, showering Casey with moist, germ- ridden breath. "Agh...sorry!"

"Oh, well," Casey shrugged. Maybe he could be sick by tomorrow and he'd have to cancel his appointment.

"I didn't want you to catch it," Zeke mourned.

"Too late now." Casey sealed himself to Zeke, enjoying the feverish heat coming off his skin and soaking through his clothes. "I probably already caught it anyway."

Sasha had reemerged from his bedroom to ask, "Hey, Zeke, don't you still have a class right now?"

"It's the last one for the course, Sasha," Zeke grouched, "and yeah, I skipped it...It's a review anyway and it so happens I have just over twenty-four hours to write ten pages. I thought I might as well get an early start."

"So you're going to be up all night?" Sasha said. He retrieved all six bags of groceries from the hallway and took them into the kitchen to unpack them. "Poor thing."

"Yeah," Zeke sighed. He loosened his embrace with Casey, leaving one arm draped around him. "Um...Case, I really don't want to disturb you, maybe Sasha would let you bunk in with him tonight."

Casey didn't look in Sasha's direction; he replied quickly and truthfully, "A little noise doesn't bother me."

"This time I'll be at it all night, Case."

Sasha said, "Sure, you can sleep with me, kitten. You know I like the cuddles."

"I don't frigging want to!" Casey burst out.

Sasha stopped what he was doing. Zeke stepped back. They both looked at him. "I think I'm hurt," Sasha mused.

Casey felt his lip tremble. "You'll...be at work until late," he faltered.

"True," Sasha said. "But what does that have to do with anything?"

Which meant, Why are you being terrible to me, kitten, when I'm just trying to help? and he knew he was being terrible and he hated that he was this way but he couldn't help it. It wasn't acceptable that he and Zeke sleep apart, especially now and hadn't Zeke just been on campus where she could get to him and the point of the matter was he wantedneededwanted Zeke to take him tonight with that slow, silent slide of flesh against flesh and it didn't matter about the raw skin and the bruising and anything at all that hurt. It was the only part of him that worked — so, yes, he would get in Zeke's way if he had to, he would seduce, he would pout, he would even lie because Zeke didn't know just how little time they had.

"I guess...we'll see how it goes," Zeke allowed. "So what did Dr. Chakri say?"

Sasha raised his brows, waiting for Casey to reply, then replied himself, "I guess you'd say she read my kitten the riot act."

"About what?"

"About the fact that he hasn't been taking care of himself properly. Not eating or sleeping right and she — do you want to tell him, kitten, or shall I?"

Casey shrugged, feeling like he was four and his mother had just caught him drawing on the wall with crayons.

"I guess that means I tell him. Dr. Chakri is worried at how quickly Casey has been going through his Xanax and in particular that he's using them as a sleeping pill. So she's only allowing him a few for absolute emergencies and I'm hanging on to them."

Zeke's eyes were unbearably hot on Casey's face and he felt his head and shoulders slump. Headline: Casey Connor, renowned alien-slayer, is nothing but a strung-out junkie.

"That seems extreme," Zeke remarked, with conspicuous pity.

Sasha shrugged. "According to the doctor, it's necessary...and she did give him a new prescription for another kind of anxiety medication. Don't forget to take one before bed, kitten — and on that cheery note, I need to be getting to work." He took the white paper bag from his pocket, removed one of the bottles inside and handed it to Casey. Then he went off down the hallway to change, taking the other, more precious bottle with him.

"What's the new medication?" Zeke asked.

Casey offered it to him for his reading pleasure.

"‘Klonopin'," Zeke noted. "You take it every day?"

"Yeah...but it takes a while to work."

"Will it stop the panic attacks?"

"Supposed to."

Zeke rested a hand on Casey's arm, briefly. "Well...maybe it's time to try something new." He placed the bottle of pills on the counter.

Sasha returned down the hallway, having dressed quickly in his white tunic and kerchief. "Kitten...if you want to crash in my bed you're welcome. I'll try not to be too late but you know how it is..." His voice trailed away. "Holiday season...it's pretty busy." He shrugged his coat on, and the running shoes that he always wore for work. "See you later...kitten, remember what we talked about."

Once Sasha was out the door, Zeke queried, "What we talked about?"

"Oh...he...I'm not supposed to — to have any naps."

"I could have told you that," Zeke sniffed. It was a miserable congested sound. "I'm going to have a short one...but you are forbidden to fall asleep, because I need you to wake me up."

"Okay."

"Maybe...you can lay down with me for a bit, though...if you want."

It took a little bit of choreography to get comfortable on their bed, under the comforter because, at some point, his afghan seemed to have migrated permanently to the living room couch. Zeke waited until Casey had nested in the position of choice, curled in against him, then asked quietly, "What did the doctor say about the bruises?"

"Nothing much," Casey answered. "I told her how I got them and she didn't say anything about it." He chewed on his lip, revisiting his answer. He was well aware that there were rules about lying, but the rules didn't like to admit that there were times when lying was absolutely necessary. On the other hand, Sasha would probably talk to Zeke at some point about it with the result that Casey would be caught out, so he might as well mention it now. "Except...she said I should try to take it easy...with..." It was fucking hard to say it. "We should take it easy...you and me."

He expected an immediate protest but instead Zeke just said, "That's probably a good idea."

Which meant that the end was coming sooner than expected. Casey was silenced, gaping, unable to think of a persuasive response that didn't involve confessing what he was going to do tomorrow.

"I mean," Zeke said, and he sounded very tired, like he just wanted to placate Casey so he could get on to the priority item of sleep. "Until I get through this end of term stuff, at least."

"Oh," was all Casey could say.

"Case...you know, it's not that I don't want you in the room while I'm working, you understand? It's kind of...I'm afraid I'll get distracted and I won't get this done."

"I promise not to distract you."

Zeke shook his head, shaking Casey along with it. "You distract me just by breathing." Casey felt a hand along his neck, a long, gentle stroke of Zeke. "Do it for me, sleep in Sasha's bedroom tonight?"

"Okay," Casey agreed. But could you just fuck me first, he cried silently, even though I'm going to disobey you and break our arrangement and who knows where I'll end up. It might just be our last time — but hey, I understand you've got to do this paper so you can be amazing and brilliant and go on to have an amazing life as an academic while I rot in some nuthouse.

"Thanks," Zeke said. He stroked Casey, he played with his skin and his hair while he fell asleep as though Casey were a favourite stuffed bear and Casey didn't have either the will or the desire to pull away even though it wasn't nearly adequate or satisfying... but he knew it was all he was going to get tonight and he had never felt quite so alone.

When Zeke was in grade nine there had been this substitute teacher — he still recalled the name even though the man was only around the one time and was never invited back, it was Mr. Regimbold — who had a very memorable approach to the English language. His drawl, and his almost gentrified language at times, suggested an origin in southern state; also, he had a barrel of quaint stories and expressions that the fourteen-year-old Zeke had never heard before. On that single day that he had taught them, he presented himself in the classroom and informed them that he had just stayed up all night — cause unspecified — and that his eyes felt like "two piss-holes in a snowbank." Zeke had always wondered what the fuck he meant.

Now he knew.

He had been sitting hunched in the lousy computer chair all night, staring at that screen by the light of a single desk lamp. Occasionally he would look over his shoulder at Casey, who was sleeping soundly, and grit his teeth. Officially, he was happy that Casey was having no difficulties getting a full night's sleep, but in the deep, petty corners of his soul he was burning with envy.

This was going to be absolutely the last sociology course Zeke ever took. Maybe he hadn't learned a fucking thing from the professor but there was a lesson here nonetheless — that a course might sound incredibly intriguing from its description in the bulletin and still be a complete dud. He would apply this new knowledge when he selected his courses for next term, a task that was awaiting as soon as he finished this bloody paper.

Part of this was his own fault, though. He'd picked what he thought was a really interesting topic for a paper, only to discover two days ago that there wasn't much material on it unless he wanted to spend years of his life doing primary research. So with just over forty-eight hours left he had changed the topic to something more straightforward and then spent a solid eight hours in an emergency research session at the library yesterday. Another lesson he'd learned during this term was that research could be fun, but it hadn't been fun yesterday — not when he'd been forced to stretch three tissues to deal with an entire day's worth of free-flowing snot, not when his head had been bursting and he just wanted to lay down and absolutely not when he'd been hyper-conscious that while he was buried in dusty stacks of books Sasha had been escorting Casey to see Dr. Chakri, with the specific objective of getting her to agree that Zeke was an abusive, violent creep.

Normally Zeke would have had full confidence in Casey's ability to defend him from the charge. But Casey's passionate vindication of Zeke couldn't have gone over very well when he was banged up and strung out the way he was; the more he argued on Zeke's behalf, the worse it must have seemed. Worst of all, Zeke didn't even have time right now to worry about what conclusions the doctor had drawn.

On top of all that, he felt fairly certain that everything he'd just written was nonsensical garbage. In fact, there had been about ten minutes in the depths of the night when he was determined to just forget this fucking course, let it be an ‘F'. His ego could handle it — but that moment had passed and he realized that he actually did want to excel this time. He was not going to satisfy himself with knowing that he could excel if he wanted to. Which still left him with a garbage paper, but there was nothing more he could do with it until he grabbed a few hours of sleep. He hadn't typed anything for almost twenty minutes now, and his mind was conspicuously devoid of words.

He stretched out on the bed, not bothering to undress or get under the covers.

It literally felt as though he had just lain down and blinked. He pulled his eyes open, jolted by the knowledge that time was getting away from him. The clock told him had slept four hours, not nearly enough to feel human but still too long to leave him with enough time to make this paper beautiful.

Coughing and swallowing phlegm, he hauled himself to the kitchen and found Casey, who despite his "emergency" visit to the doctor yesterday actually appeared a lot healthier than Zeke felt. Casey was fully dressed for the day, his face scrubbed, hair perfect in its funky imperfection, probably with no effort whatsoever on Casey's part. He was leaning back against the counter holding a cup of suspicious, dark liquid. His slight start of guilt was a dead give away.

"Is that coffee?" Zeke demanded, pointing at Casey's cup.

"Um," Casey said. "Yeah."

All sorts of emotional matter welled up, stuff that Zeke didn't have time to analyze — but he instantly acted on it. "No way," he said. "Pour it out."

Casey looked outraged but he obeyed, tipping his cup out in the sink.

"Sorry," Zeke muttered. "But you did have the riot act read to you...that was what Sasha said, right?" He stumbled to the counter and poured himself a cup of his own. "Did you take the new meds?"

"Yes," Casey replied stiffly. "I took the new meds."

"Do you feel any different?"

"Not yet."

Zeke thought he saw a shudder go through Casey and he wanted to ask about it but he noted the time on the microwave and muttered, "Shit."

"What?"

"It's twelve-thirty and I have to do one more read-through." To underscore his misery, Zeke indulged himself in a brief cough. "But I can barely think."

"It's done," Casey announced simply.

"Huh?"

"I edited it for you this morning. It's all done. You'll have to fix your citations but that's all."

"Edited...when?"

"While you were sleeping."

"You mean...but...on the computer?"

Okay, so he was tracking a little more slowly than usual today. Patiently, Casey nodded and it started to sink into Zeke's skull that his ordeal was nearly over. There was another burst of feeling inside his chest, this time intensely enjoyable. He went with it, grabbing Casey and yanking him in his direction.

"You rock my world," he rasped, then launched into a passionate smothering, excluding any viral considerations from his thought processes.

"Consider it...an..." Casey was having trouble getting words out. "...an early birthday present."

"Does that mean I don't get anything else?" Zeke whispered.

"Nothing...you don't already get."

Zeke stepped back, considering the face in front of him. Casey might have been teasing — he was almost, but not quite deadpan — or maybe he was trying to tell Zeke that he couldn't afford to get him a birthday gift. "Well, this is the best gift ever," Zeke declared. "I can't think of anything better...can I go look at it?"

Casey now wore a slight grin. "Knock yourself out."

Zeke hastened back to the bedroom and the computer; Casey followed Zeke in and stood behind the computer chair while Zeke riveted himself to the screen. He read a few paragraphs and it was still all his material, just tidied up. Casey had delivered him from his suffering — and maybe the paper hadn't been all garbage if Casey was able to fix it up in an hour or so.

"This is awesome," he announced, still reading. "Hey, did I mention that you're awesome and you have the most beautiful brain I ever saw?"

"So it's okay?"

"It's..." Zeke swivelled and grasped Casey's forearm. "Come here, I need to thank you properly."

Casey moved in the circle of Zeke's arms, tentative at first — but suddenly it was as though something broke and he melted into Zeke while his arms went around Zeke's neck in a kind of death grip.

It was an unambiguous warning. Even sick and exhausted, Zeke had no trouble receiving it, but his initial, uncensored reaction was Must he do this now, can he not just act like everything's okay until tomorrow? I am not going to ask him about it now, I don't have time and that's okay isn't it for me to just look after myself for a little while? That went through him, and then, next, he remembered how stressed he had been that Sasha had been doing all the caretaking and not really consulting with him and that was followed by shame at his less than noble thoughts. Especially since Casey had just rescued him big time.

"Okay," Zeke said. "What's this about?"

"What's...wh-what?"

"Something's going on...you're all intense and shaky."

"It's...it's nothing."

"Uh-huh...really feels like nothing too."

Casey let go of Zeke and stepped back. He had schooled his face into a mask of no-more-than-typical anxiety. "It makes me n-nervous...not having Xanax anymore."

Zeke took that in and decided he didn't buy it. He said, "Case, I know I've been off in my own little world and..." He coughed slightly. "...I promise, as of tomorrow you're going to have all of my attention. No, as of five o'clock today."

"But...you still have exams."

"The first one's not for over a week. I'm taking a few days off...so we should talk about holiday arrangements too."

"Holiday arrangements?"

"You know that thing on December twenty-fifth — " Zeke broke off, apprehending that Casey was more or less a quivering wreck. "All right, what's wrong?"

He hadn't mean to sound that impatient but he did, and it was hardly surprising that Casey shook his head.

Zeke's brow furrowed. "You're going to see Yves, now, right? That was today?"

The trembling worsened. "Yeah."

"And what are you..." Zeke closed his eyes and battled with the urge to question Casey yet again about what he was planning to reveal. Tactically speaking, it wasn't a good idea to torture Casey about it over and over because eventually Casey would spill his guts to Yves or Charly or the world at large out of nothing but obstinate resentment. Yeah, that would be perfectly in character for Casey Connor...Remind him about being different one too many times and he would eventually try to show you up by becoming the most alienated person on the planet.

Casey was staring, caught up in dread of the rest of Zeke's sentence.

"You aren't — going to — " Zeke stumbled, agonizing.

He hated to sound like the prototype of the controlling boyfriend...but he also had a responsibility that mustn't be abdicated just because some folks thought he sounded unreasonable. After all, Casey had told him outright that he wanted to speak to Dr. Yves about the aliens. The fact that Casey didn't really want to do it and was just saying it to avoid his other issues did not make it less of a threat.

Still, Zeke was much too tired for arguments, tears, passive aggression or manipulation...in other words, the usual. He tried on a shrug. "So I'm a control freak — but I know how this is supposed to work. I'm supposed to trust you, Case."

There was silence as Casey continued to stare.

Sasha called from elsewhere in the apartment, "Come on, Casey, time to go!"

"See you later," Zeke said. He smiled briefly at Casey, then turned back to the monitor. It was actually quite easy to put the Yves problem out of his mind. Behind him, he heard Casey leave the room without a word.

He zipped through the paper, tweaking the citations and let it print while he got showered and cleaned up. Then he was headed for the bus stop — and all in less than an hour.

He skipped his usual smoke while waiting for the bus; he'd tried smoking yesterday, but with his congestion a cigarette actually tasted quite disgusting.

The last sentence of Zeke's paper read Until the pendulum swings again, gay communities in large urban centers will enjoy a certain degree of tolerance, if not actual acceptance. Sitting cross-legged on the computer chair, Casey changed the will to a may and saved the document one more time.

The bedroom door was ajar; Sasha pushed in with a "Kitten..." and an "oh," as he saw Zeke sprawled on top of the bed in his clothes, sleeping hard after a long night of academic stylings.

"It's chilly out today," Sasha noted.

Casey was already prepared, wearing at least four layers of clothing, including two of his thickest pairs of socks. It would pay off, though, because today was undoubtedly the coldest day they'd seen so far in this city. Today it was virtually winter; he could feel the cold coming off the window panes. It even looked like snow, although he'd been told that didn't really happen much here.

Sasha whispered, "Your appointment's in forty-five minutes."

Casey was more than aware of it.

"If you're going to shower..." Sasha added.

"Already had one." Casey had bathed methodically and gotten dressed through shivers, and he'd diligently taken his pills although he didn't see much point to it now.

While Sasha showered, Casey listened to the water run in the bathroom and stared at the unconscious, innocent Zeke for a while. Then he took out his journal and opened it to the last entry. I know what I have to do, was all he had written. Almost a week ago now. He added, in handwriting that was severely compromised by nerves, So just in case I disappear I want to write it down...I'm going to tell Dr. Yves my big secret today. I don't know what's going to happen and it's gotten almost impossible to think through why I'm doing this. I remember something about not wanting to be afraid all the time but that's pretty funny right now.

He closed the book and put it back in its usual resting place.

There was a fragrance of coffee in the air. Casey decided that it didn't matter one way or another if he had a little caffeine today; he was already a mess. He went to kitchen and filled a cup, doctoring it to his liking. His intention was to wake up Zeke in just a few minutes, right after he had gotten down a few substantial slurps of coffee — but Zeke woke himself, appearing in the kitchen before Casey could even take a sip of his contraband.

Casey had never thought that Zeke could look so bad. His eyes were red and it sounded like he was breathing through liquid. His mood evidently matched his physical well-being too — although he cheered considerably when he discovered Casey's intervention on his paper. It was all Casey could do not to fall on Zeke crying for forgiveness for the betrayal he was about to commit.

Of course, even as sick as he was, Zeke remembered to worry about the fact that Casey was going to see Dr. Yves. No, of course he remembered. He was Zeke Tyler — brilliant, perceptive...devious. He had spent weeks, months controlling every aspect of Casey's life — fuck, he had already done it this morning without a moment's hesitation — but now, now when Casey made a decision to truly rebel, that was when Zeke chose to offer trust? And then to turn his back on Casey at the critical moment, like he was daring him to be trustworthy. And say, oh- so-casual, "See you later."

Casey couldn't take the risk that the last thing he ever said to Zeke was a lie. Sasha summoned him and he went, squandering the opportunity to say something meaningful.

They took Zeke's car; Casey stared out the window and gnawed on his fingernails until they were bleeding stubs. Zeke was just too fucking smart, there was no way he wouldn't find out. And he was also wonderfully generous; he had told them they were to use the car whenever necessary to get to appointments or work... still, why shouldn't Zeke be able to take the car himself instead of having to wait for the stupid bus all the time, Zeke should have the best of things and not be lied to or betrayed...Casey didn't deserve Zeke and Zeke would be well rid of him...I know what I have to...the hell I do. I don't know, I don't know a damn thing. She's not going to believe me because no one ever does...This is going to be bad, Zeke's right, Zeke's always right...

"Kitten...we're here."

Casey looked out his window; it framed a perfect view of the front of Dr. Yves' building. He tried, he really did, but he couldn't seem to compel himself to move his legs, or even to open the door. Sasha had to get out and come around to the other side of the car to pry him out, employing a excess of comforting nonsense to get him up the steps and into the reception area: "It'll be all right. Just open the door, stand up...that's it...it's going to be okay, you know...it's going to be fine, kitten..."

They were still a few minutes early so the receptionist asked them to have a seat. Sasha took a seat but Casey couldn't; he applied himself to his chosen sector of carpet and paced. He was never going to get to see Zeke open his presents and he was glad that his was finished, hiding in Sasha's closet, Zeke would see it someday and know how he felt about him...but he was never going to see his parents again —

"Kitten, would you please...please sit down?"

Just at a nervous glance, Sasha was doing his utmost to model the proper sort of waiting room behaviour. "Can't," Casey said.

"Yes, you can. You're making me want to crawl the walls."

Casey made himself sit, although he made no promises about being still. "Sasha," he whispered. "‘m...sorry."

"Sorry for what?"

"For everything...every t-time I...I was mean or cranky...h-hurt your f- feelings..."

A warm hand closed on his. "I know, kitten...but somehow I think you'll get to talk to me again."

"I don't know."

"Yes...and you can do this."

"I'm..." betraying him again...I can't stop betraying him...

Somehow, Sasha heard what he didn't say. "This is for Zeke too, kitten. Just remember that."

"Casey?"

It was her. He stood up, seriously considering running.

"Hey..." Sasha observed, getting up. He looked over Casey's shoulder. "Dr. Yves, right?"

Casey angled himself away from Dr. Yves, towards Sasha and took hold of Sasha's shirt with one hand. He didn't burrow. He stood close, holding onto Sasha. He saw where the shirt had a tiny speck of tomato sauce on it but still it smelled like Sasha's aftershave and laundry soap and deodorant. It smelled like safety.

"Hello," said Dr. Yves. "You must be Sasha."

"Yes." Somewhat awkwardly, Sasha reached around Casey and held out his hand. "Pleased to meet you."

"Likewise. Are you joining the session today?"

"Um," Sasha said, carefully peeling Casey's hand off him. "I don't think so." He gave Casey a little nudge. "Go on, I'll be waiting out here, kitten."

As he trudged after Dr. Yves, Casey reflected on how amazing it was that his feet were actually working. His body was so drenched in adrenaline that he could feel virtually nothing; only his eyes told him that he was walking.

Dr. Yves held the door for him, ushering him in. "Have a seat, Casey."

"I'd prefer to stand."

"But I would prefer it if you sat."

The slight tone of command was helpful. She had gone to sit in her usual place behind her desk and so he took his chair — but he didn't sit back and he most definitely didn't repose.

"I don't think I've ever seen you this agitated before, Casey. Can you tell me what it's about?"

"No," he blurted. "And I don't want to count or breathe — but — okay — I'm — I guess — "

"Take it easy."

"I can't." He was up again, out of the chair but rooted in place by indecision. "I think — I have to leave."

"Please don't do that, Casey, please sit. I know it was hard for you to come back but you can trust me."

"Um...see...I don't know that, I...I come here — come h-here all those weeks and I never know what you think --- " He got a short taste of oxygen "— and I think that you probably hate me now or if you didn't you do hate me now — "

"Sit down, Casey, please."

Well, his knees were happy to give way; he didn't resist them, landing once again in the chair.

"For a start, I don't hate you, Casey. I've never hated you — and I'm very glad you brought this up. Are you thinking maybe that I'm angry because you didn't show up last time?"

He did his best to nod.

"I'm not angry, Casey. I'm very pleased you're back. That last session didn't end well and I've been concerned — "

"Were you really?"

"How do you mean?"

"Are you really c-concerned about me? Do — do you think about me when you leave the office and wonder if I'm off killing myself?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"I want to know how much I...if you..." He couldn't say it, it was somehow too revealing.

"You want to know if I care about you," she deduced.

This time he couldn't move his head at all; he couldn't even look at her.

"I do care for you, Casey, but it's a professional kind of caring only. I think about you in the context of my work, which I do sometimes take home with me...but mostly I try to leave it here. I think it would be dangerous and unprofessional to care more than that for my patients. Does that set your mind at ease any?"

He made himself breathe out. "Ac-actually it makes...me feel...better...kinda comforting."

Dr. Yves settled back in her chair, like she was getting comfortable for the long haul. "How is it comforting?"

"Be-because you...won't...you won't muddy the waters with a bunch of personal stuff, I...I had another sh-shrink...who did that."

"How so, Casey?"

"Well, I'm...he's from Herrington and I'm from Herrington...he knew me already, he had...ideas about me." The pounding in his chest, which had begun to subside a little over the past minute, revived with a vengeance.

"What sort of ideas?"

"Okay, this is...I kinda...I've...decided to tell you something."

"Yes?"

"It's...it's hard...really..."

"Would this be one of those things you weren't able to tell me before?"

"Yeah...and I don't know if should...still."

"It's okay, Casey, just tell me. Take your time. I don't have anything scheduled after you today, so it's all right if we go a bit over." When he didn't start speaking she asked, "Why now, Casey? What changed your mind?"

"Basically? I...think I'm losing it. I have all these scary thoughts and dreams and I'm scared and pissed off — and Zeke said I shouldn't talk about it, he made me promise and I agreed and he doesn't know I'm doing this but I just can't do it anymore..."

"Breathe, Casey."

He obeyed; it was a pitiful, shallow gasp.

"It's painful," she said calmly, "to keep something inside. The longer you keep it the harder it gets and the more twisted up inside we get."

"I know," he gulped. "I know because I don't know what I'm doing anymore and I did something...I never thought I would do."

"What's that?"

He clenched his elbows, holding himself. "I don't know if I can say, it's too..."

"You're doing really well, Casey, don't stop now."

"Okay, I...so I had a fight with Zeke and Winona showed up at our door and I thought for sure they were going to hurt me so I ran away and I just...there's this man I know but he's basically a stranger and I came onto him, I knew it was wrong but I did it...I did it because I wanted to hurt myself and I wanted to hurt Zeke...and yesterday I...I was at the doctor and I was scared...so scared I would have done anything to get her to move...I know she's not — not the — not one of — but sometimes I can't help but think — "

"Not one of what?" Dr. Yves asked, very calmly.

"This is what I was going to tell you about..." His throat was so dry he could barely swallow. He pulled up his knees and put his feet on the chair, unable to care what befell the cushion. "I'll be in so much trouble when he finds out!" he sobbed, burying his face.

"Trouble from Zeke?"

"Yeah."

"What sort of trouble?"

"He'll b-be m-mad...might not f-forgive me..."

"What will happen if he gets mad?"

Casey jerked his head up. "He doesn't hit me. Everyone thinks that but it's not true. He might yell and say things but he doesn't ever...lose control..." A sort of numb acceptance now began to spread through him, as he began to know, really know that he was really going to really do this. "That's the thing about Zeke...He's very...very controlled."

"I believe you, Casey."

"He's...he so used to being in charge."

"And he's good at it, isn't he?"

"Yes."

"All right, but I want to stick to where we were going a second ago, Casey. What is it you want to tell me?"

The numb feeling was all through his body. Casey mumbled, not caring if she heard or not, "He's going to be really hurt."

"But this is something that you've decided you need to do, isn't it."

"Yes."

"Tell me, Casey. You can do it — just say it. It's just words...just sound and air put together."

He tilted a look at her. "It isn't what you think."

"I have no assumptions about it, Casey. Just go ahead."

"Okay, so...when I was s-sixteen..."

"Yes?"

It seemed that he had been fighting this battle forever — not just since he left high school nor since he met Roy nor since he and Zeke came to Seattle, nor since he came into this room — no, it had been his whole life, it seemed, and he was so ready to give this problem over to someone else, let them solve it. Except they — she — wouldn't be able to solve it for him, because it was his. It belonged to him. His gift. It had to be Casey Connor against the aliens, no one else.

"Say it, Casey."

He said, "Something happened at my school...it was in the papers...the news. It happened but a lot of people think it didn't and they blamed me."

"What happened?"

In the end, he just let the syllables form and go about their way: "Aliens invaded my high school." And then he watched.

Dr. Yves blinked slowly. "Say that again?"

"Aliens...invaded my school."

He could tell that she was stunned — but in proper psychiatrist form, she tried not to react. He went on, "You're already thinking I'm nuts, I know that. No one believed me before and I don't expect you to now but it's true...it got national news, we were in Time magazine and everything."

"I remember the story," she said slowly. "I think I saw something about it on TV. That was you?"

"Yes, and Zeke and Stokely and...there were five of us but I was the one who did it."

"Did what?"

"Killed her."

"Killed...who?"

"The alien queen."

It appeared that shock had caught up with Dr. Yves. She was taking a brief time-out, a few seconds where it was quite obvious that she needed to regain her composure — and Casey tried to comprehend what he had done. It was entirely possible that he had just nailed the lid on his own coffin, he might just be totally fucked now...but she wasn't going to let him see it if he was. After that pause, she went on like they were chatting about what he'd had for breakfast. "What...What do these aliens look like?"

There was no point in holding back now. If he was fucked, he should just be well and truly fucked.

"They look like us," he replied.

"How's that?"

"I mean, they're actually like...well, most of them are like slugs but then there's the queen, she controls them. They go into your ear or your mouth and then you're one of them. You look like a regular person but you're under her control...that's what happened, they got the entire town, everyone at my school. At the end there was only me and Zeke left and Zeke got knocked out so it was just me...and the...and Mary Beth."

"Mary Beth?"

"She was supposed to be a new student but she was actually the queen, and in the end she was chasing me but I killed her."

"How did you kill her?"

"With scat — that's this chemical concoction that Zeke was making. It dried them out, they were from an ocean planet so they needed a lot of water and the scat was full of caffeine. When I stuck it in her she died and everyone turned back."

"Everyone, who?"

"Everyone in Herrington."

"So everyone in Herrington was an alien."

"Yeah...but no one will ever talk about it except me. I told the police, I told everyone and they all listened and then they — they wrote these things that made me sound like some crazy kid who...who — and my parents won't even admit it happened, Zeke doesn't want me to talk about it...I asked him twice and he said no, he thinks I should talk about other things but he doesn't realize this is...this is..."

"It's good that you told me this, Casey," Dr. Yves said.

"Do you believe me?"

She paused, replied, "I believe that you believe it."

"But it's true! Everyone knows it, they just won't admit it...and maybe the F.B.I. know it too because there was the — the remains — still there in the gym at the end...maybe they covered it up." He was watching her face as he spoke, and he saw nothing to reassure himself. "I'm telling the truth, I swear it."

"I know you are, Casey."

"You think I should be in a hospital now, don't you?"

Dr. Yves' reaction was not what he might have hoped for; it was not surprise, amusement or outrage. She said, obviously choosing her words with great caution, "Casey, the issue isn't whether it happened or not. There are plenty of delusional people — not that I necessarily think that you're delusional — plenty of people walking around who are clinically psychotic but they're not locked up because they're harmless and they can take care of themselves, with help. My biggest concern is if you're hurting yourself...or someone else."

"But — I didn't have a choice," he whispered.

She went on as though she hadn't heard him. "To be honest, Casey, I don't know what to think about this. I can tell you that you don't act or talk like a person who's psychotic, but I am quite concerned about your well-being. I'm thinking we should revisit your diagnosis, that's for sure, but I don't want you to go home and worry that I'm going to have you carted off to the hospital. If there was ever a time that I thought you should be in a hospital, I would hope that we could discuss it and make a decision about it together."

That wasn't encouraging either — and to think that he had done this to himself. Zeke was going to be so disgusted with him. How is it that you never learned when to keep your mouth shut, Casey? I try and try to help you, to show you and you just blab everything when it's so easy to impersonate normalcy, don't you get it? And I thought you were smart.

Casey stammered, "That — that's just what Zeke's afraid of."

"How so?"

"Zeke is afraid...I think because he had to handle the doctors and everything last summer when I was sick, and...I don't know, he doesn't like to talk about it at all but I think he feels like it was his fault."

"That's understandable, Casey, although I'm sure he did the best he could...Do you think he might be willing to come back here and talk about it?"

"No, I...I don't want him to know I told you."

"You don't think he deserves to know about what you just shared with me?"

"Of course he deserves to."

"What will happen if he finds out?"

"He'll be mad, hurt...he'll leave me. Dr. Chakri...you don't know how much crap I've been putting him through lately, this might be the final straw...He's...he's like obsessed with me not talking about this. I mean, we were at a friend's for Thanksgiving and she's kind of interested in the alien thing so she tried to talk to me about it and he freaked out."

"Why do you think he ‘freaked out'?"

"He would say he's scared of losing me."

"But what do you think?"

Casey shrugged. "I don't know."

"You talk all the time about how you're afraid of him leaving you, Casey, and meanwhile it sounds like he's afraid of you leaving him. Don't you think that's kind of interesting?"

Casey shook his head. "I think it's more about him losing control."

"Control of you?"

"Control of everything."

"Are you mad at him for wanting to control you?"

"No. I don't blame him."

Dr. Yves helped herself to another short time-out to consult her notes. When the five seconds were over, she resumed, "Okay, let's step back for a second. You've just told me something huge about yourself...because it was something you thought I needed to know, and you're right, I do need to know this...I remember us discussing your fears about 'being hurt' by people, just people in general, do you still have those fears?"

"Yes," Casey replied, knowing an unexpected, fearsome thrill. It was the wondrous sense that someone was about to understand something about him where they hadn't before. It was scary...but he wanted it. He wanted it so very —

"So trying to put this together now...Is it that you fear they are aliens? Is that what you're thinking when you look at a person and think they might hurt you?"

"Yes."

"And how does this connect to your panic attacks?"

"I'm...not always thinking about aliens when I have a panic attack, but a lot of the time...I'll look at someone and there'll be something about the way they talk or move and next thing I know I can't breathe. I just don't want to be around people because any one of them could be...one of them. They could have gone anywhere, not just Herrington, they could be like bees with hives...one queen to a hive. Maybe they're all over, maybe..."

"Maybe I'm one of them?" Dr. Yves supplied.

"Yes."

"And yet you've chosen to trust me."

He stared.

"What I mean," she said, "is I can understand how the world must seem like a very scary place to you. If all this happened as you say, it only stands to reason that you would have these worries but still you come here, you trust me enough to tell me. I think that's because you have a really good reason for telling me."

"What's that?"

"You want to get well, Casey."

He had no idea why that bothered him as much as it did. He returned, "I just can't keep coming here — I mean, I have to come here, Zeke and Sasha won't let me not come here but I can't talk about being afraid and not...talk about the aliens."

"I think you're right, Casey, but I also think that there's a bit more to it."

"Like what?"

"Well, if you really believed that everyone was an alien why would you bother to come here or take your medications or do any of the things that Dr. Yves wants you to do to get healthy? Perhaps on some level, you know that I'm not an alien."

"No," he protested. "I'm telling you something that happened and I can't — can't stop be afraid — that it's still happening. I try to do normal things because there's nothing else to do but I can't just forget — "

"I'm not trying to negate your fear, Casey. Your fear is real, no question about it. I treat the fear as real regardless of whether or not it really happened. But think about it...your fear is that you're not safe, that I or someone else you run into is going to hurt you." There was a frown of concentration on Dr. Yves' face. "It occurs to me...this only became a problem recently, correct?"

"What do you mean?"

"That it was only this past summer that you developed this severe anxiety. It may be built around something that happened when you were sixteen but it might have been triggered by something that happened very recently."

This was turning into a replay of the last time, the session with Zeke, and he couldn't, he had to stop it...He argued, fingers clutching onto the worn denim he was wearing, "I've always thought about them — about the aliens. When I lived in Roy's apartment I used to be afraid to go out. I hardly ever went anywhere."

"Yet you didn't have the same kind of anxiety about it that you have now, where you panic when a person looks at you or accidentally bumps into you."

Casey didn't answer.

Dr. Yves waited until she was sure that she wasn't getting a response from him, then said, "Well, this is going to take some time to work through. Let me ask this, though...What exactly would the alien do to you that frightens you?"

He blinked hard, trying to figure out where she was heading. "I...don't understand."

"Would they kill you?"

"No...they would make me one of them."

"Would that hurt?"

"...she said it would be painless."

"She?"

"Mary Beth. She talked about how it would be so wonderful and so safe...fearless, she said...like..."

"Like?"

"Like...just belonging somewhere."

"Would the process be painful?"

"At first...I guess...but it wouldn't be me anymore."

"Like you all were a part of her?"

"Yeah."

"I see." Dr. Yves shifted her weight and looked pensive. "That's very interesting, Casey."

"Wh-what is?"

"You see, it's a classic anxiety, the loss of identity. I know you like to watch movies, Casey, you must have noticed how frequently that sort of terror is played out...in movies, books...it's all over, this tension between wanting to belong and fighting for individuality. There are entire schools of psychology that are preoccupied with studying identity-formation. Because we don't start out as individuals, you see. We all start as part of someone else and we gradually learn to have boundaries."

He stared suspiciously at her. "You aren't thinking about writing a paper, are you?"

She laughed, and that was somehow comforting; she wouldn't laugh at his jokes if she thought he was a dangerous psychotic, would she?

"No, I'm not thinking about writing a paper...but this is very good, Casey. I think we're having a good session, and we've still got a lot to talk about — but before you go I want to make sure we discuss a few other issues."

"Um...all right."

"How are things with Zeke?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'm pretty sure you were furious with him when you left here last time. How did that work out?"

Casey clutched his hands, scanning his words before answering. "We had a major fight. I didn't really talk to him for a few days."

"You must have been extremely angry, then."

"I guess."

"Have you made up now?"

"Yeah...pretty much."

"Pretty much?"

"Zeke's all worn out with end of term stuff. He's sick and...in a bad mood and he's still — " Casey almost choked on these words. He couldn't think about what was going to happen later, how and if he was going to be successful in hiding this. " — worried that I'm going to tell you about the — the aliens."

"And yet you decided that I had to be told. That took a lot of strength on your part."

"Yeah, although I'm not sure that I did the right thing now."

"I'm sure you did, Casey." Dr. Yves tilted her head, thinking. "I suppose that Sasha knows about the aliens?"

"Yes."

"And he knew that you were going to talk about them today, and that's why he came with you?"

"Yes, he helped to convince me."

"Sasha is a really good, caring friend, isn't he?"

"Yes," Casey answered, suspicion tingling. "Why?"

"I'm thinking about the trip to Los Angeles that you and Zeke mentioned last time. Have any decisions been made?"

"Nothing...for sure."

"Do you think Zeke will go?"

"Probably...if he does I'll be going too."

"Do you feel comfortable with that?"

Casey hesitated. "...I don't know. I know I don't want to be alone."

"But would you be alone? You have Sasha around and he certainly seems willing to go the distance to help you."

"You don't think I should go."

"You have to decide, Casey, but I want you to consider that this is a very good way to test being apart from Zeke for a little while. Do you agree that it would be a good thing to try?"

"No."

"You don't agree?"

Casey didn't care if he sounded rude. "Next question?"

His shrink sighed. "I'll give you credit for being very tenacious, Casey...All right, then, have you been to see Dr. Chakri lately?"

"I went to see her yesterday, why do you want to know?"

"To be honest, Casey, you look worn out yourself. What did Dr. Chakri think?"

He squirmed a bit, then admitted, "Dr. Chakri thinks I've been taking too many pills and not getting enough sleep. She doesn't want me to have any more Xanax."

Dr. Yves looked mildly surprised. "Really?"

"She gave me a prescription for something else...Klonopin?"

"I see," she returned, scribbling a note. "You just started taking it?"

"Last night. You can talk to her about me if you want. I signed a release."

Now Dr. Yves graduated from mildly to very surprised. "I wouldn't mind that," she said. "Just to make sure Dr. Chakri and I are not at cross-purposes."

"And discuss whether or not I should be locked up?"

She frowned. "I'm going to ask her opinion about how well you've been caring for yourself."

"I just told you that."

"Would you not agree that you tend to minimize how sick or injured you might feel? And you just told me that you've had periods of disorientation when you run away from your home and you're not sure what you're doing. I'm concerned that if this continues, you could potentially get hurt."

She and Zeke were so alike sometimes, using their frigging reason on him. He retorted, "If I hadn't been sick before, it wouldn't be an issue. I'd be like any other fucked up human being and doctors wouldn't always be watching me and trying to tell me what I need."

"Maybe other people need intervention too but I can't help them because I don't know about them. I'm just lucky enough to be in a position to help you — but if you don't want me to talk to Dr. Chakri, I won't."

"Whatever," he muttered. "It'll be a relief anyway."

"What do you mean?"

"That I'd like for all this to be over."

"Statements like that don't exactly reassure me, Casey. What do you mean when you say you want it to be over?"

"Nothing...just, I'm tired of it."

"Is there more that you haven't told me?"

He stared. "Like what?"

"I'm referring to what happened when Zeke was here a couple of weeks ago. Obviously it couldn't have been aliens since you've made it very clear that Zeke doesn't want to talk about aliens. There was something that Zeke did want to tell me, that you were worried about him telling me."

"There's nothing."

"So it isn't possible that you're telling me this alien story now to keep me from asking about the other stuff?"

He muttered under his breath. "You think you're so fucking smart."

"What's that?"

"I said, you're always trying to trick me."

"I'm not trying to trick you, Casey. I just want us to have honest conversations."

"Can I go now?"

"Yes, our time is almost up, I'll show you out — " She watched him almost leap up and caught him with a question. "Are you coming back?"

"I guess I have to or you'll sic the paramedics on me."

"So that's a yes."

"Yes, fucking yes!"

"Monday, regular time?"

"Yes!"

"When are you going home for Christmas?"

"Don't know yet. My mother wants me to come home earlier since I don't have school or anything."

"Casey? It's okay to be angry at me, I'll still care about you."

He felt an explosion of tears rising. He said quickly, "I've got to go."

As he went out the door he heard from behind him, "You did well today, Casey."

It seemed that this time she was following him out. He hurried to stay ahead of her, almost forgetting that Sasha was waiting for him in the reception area. In a split second he noticed his friend sitting exactly where he had left him and rushed over, sensing that Dr. Yves was not far behind him. Sasha barely had time to look up from his issue of Cosmo before Casey stopped hard in front of him.

"Everything okay?" Sasha asked. His eyes travelled up behind Casey, acknowledging Dr. Yves. He stood up, loping an arm around Casey's shoulders as Casey turned to keep her in his line of sight.

"It's fine," she said briefly. She addressed her receptionist: "Casey has an appointment next Monday, Susan."

"Excellent," Susan said, with a toothy smile like she was on an American Express commercial. She turned her attention to her computer.

Dr. Yves said, "Have a good weekend, Casey."

Casey mumbled, "Yeah...th-th-thanks." He tugged on Sasha, telling him he wanted to leave.

He made it as far of the front steps of the building before he started to shake so hard that he had to sit down right there and just wait for his body to stop convulsing. A voice began to croon in the background but it didn't really help. He put his hands over his face. If he had opened his mouth the only thing that would have come out would have been the silent, airless gasping of a creature made helpless by terror, unable to do anything but cringe and wait.

There was none of the elation Zeke had expected as he delivered his last paper of the term to the sociology office, not even a sense of accomplishment. There was only a delayed intent to go home and collapse — but not until after he attended his final class of the term. He figured it must be some sort of point of pride to go to the bitter end now, even if he almost nodded off trying to listen to the review of the philosophical schools; Winona had to nudge him several times. He had to wonder why she wasn't a zombie too... Probably it was because she had exercised some time management skills. And she didn't have a Casey in her life, she just had a room-mate that she avoided by going to the library or hanging out with Zeke. Okay, that wasn't really fair. She also had a difficult family life — but that was in another city, too.

Since no one can hear me talking to myself, let's just say it, Zeke mused. In my opinion, I am the most hard-done-by person in this room...in this entire city, in fact. It felt good to think it, like sharing nasty gossip behind someone's back even while knowing it was probably not true. It provided for a nice wallow.

There was movement around him. The class, and the term, had ended. Zeke forced himself to converse briefly with Winona. "Okay, I'm going home to sleep."

"No coffee?"

"No...I can't taste anything anyway." He got wearily to his feet. He felt somewhat more emancipated now, but that might have been because he wasn't carrying fifty pounds of books. He'd already decided to return the last of the library books on Monday. "Have a good week — " he started and broke off, realizing he wouldn't see her until the exam.

"Uh, Zeke? I decided to come to your thing."

"My thing?"

"You know...the party."

"Oh." He'd actually forgotten about the party completely, and certainly forgotten that he'd invited her.

Suddenly he was enveloped by a fantasy where she was no longer in his life. Next term they could very likely have no classes together; she was majoring in political studies after all and he was in philosophy and it was just chance that they ended up sharing two courses this term. The absence of her would reduce the tension in his life by half at the very least — probably more than half. And giving up his one school friend for Casey did not mean that he was overly obsessed or co-dependent. He already knew that Winona was going to turn out to be one of those friends who came without fanfare into his life and just as easily drifted out. She happened to be someone he could give up and if that made Casey happy, then he was happy to do it.

"Is it okay?" Winona asked, and he considered giving her the real answer to that question instead of the polite answer. But that would come off as pretty rude and illogical since he had pressed the invitation upon her in the first place.

"Yeah, I told Casey and he was fine with it." He took up his backpack. "So I'll see you Sunday night."

"What time?"

He didn't actually know, so he picked a time that sounded reasonable without being too early. "Uh...anytime after eight."

"Right...now go home and crash, you sicko."

As Zeke walked to the bus stop, he suddenly recalled that Casey should be through his session with Yves and nerves began to eat his stomach. He pulled out his cell phone and tried phoning their home number. He got no answer, so he tried Casey's cell. Again, nothing. He waited a few minutes, until he was almost at his stop, then tried Casey's cell again. Nothing.

He managed to hold himself to a walk, although the walk became faster and faster as he got closer to home. So fast that he almost missed Casey standing in Wellth, talking to Stokely. He appeared quite intact and unharmed.

Zeke made a sharp angle and went in. "Hey."

Maybe it was just the noise of the bells on the door that startled Casey, but he went completely white when he saw Zeke. "H-Hi," he stuttered.

"Zeke," Stokely said, her manner a little cool. He had talked to her and requested forgiveness for his all-around rudeness at Thanksgiving dinner — and she had given it, but they were still in a state of essential disagreement over Charly and her intentions. For now they seemed to have consensus that they would avoid the topic.

"Hi, Stokes," he answered, ignoring the slight tension. Shifting his gaze to Casey, he said, "I phoned you."

"S-sorry."

"Sorry for what? Did you hear it ring? Why didn't you answer?"

"Zeke, shut up," Stokely said, rolling her eyes. "He was talking to me and I told him I thought it was rude to stop just so he could answer the phone. You know...rude? That thing when you're not giving people the politeness they deserve as human beings?"

Meanwhile, Casey had begun to gaze intently at the floor.

"I worry is all," Zeke said, hoping to mollify them both. "I guess I overdo it sometimes...call me sick in the head."

Stokely said, "You're sick all right...You sound all snotty."

"Thanks."

"Is the party still on, do you think?"

In Zeke's interpretation of the question, she was asking him if they were still pals, and he was quick to answer in the affirmative. He couldn't afford to lose any friends — and he would actually miss her if she went. "I think so," he said. "I just need a day to recover. Come on, Case..."

"So we'll do that thing tomorrow, Case," Stokes said as Casey compliantly began to follow Zeke out.

"Um...yeah," Casey answered, without enthusiasm.

"What thing?" Zeke wanted to know.

Stokely said, far too cheerily, "Oh, we just want to get a few things to decorate for the party."

Zeke stopped walking and turned. "Absolutely no Pin-the-Tail-On-The- Donkey."

"Of course not," Stokely returned, looking innocent.

Zeke scowled a warning at her, but didn't have energy for any more repartee. He hated being sick; he resented having to listen to his body's mutinous demands. At the sports store there had been times when his staff were dropping like flies all around him and he would never develop any symptoms. This could only be stress-related — and, of course, the immune system always functioned better in a body that had more than ten hours sleep over five days.

Upstairs, Zeke just dropped all his belongings in the hallway, emitting an enormous sigh. He wanted his bed now.

Someone was creeping around behind him; Casey, picking up his things. When Zeke turned it must have startled Casey badly. He jumped like a mouse caught by a sudden flood of light.

Zeke said, "What the hell is it, Case?"

"Just — you know — how S-Sasha is."

"No, I mean...why so jumpy?" The moment he said that he realized it was a ridiculous question — like Casey ever was anything but jumpy. "Fuck...don't listen to me, I'm an idiot. In fact..." He snagged an arm and pulled Casey in his direction. "I had all these ideas about the fun things I'd do when this ordeal was over but now the only thing I want to do is sleep. Do you mind?"

Casey shook his head. "No...you need it."

"What are you gonna...?"

"I dunno." Casey shrugged, never quite meeting Zeke's eyes. "Read or something. Play a game maybe."

In his current condition Zeke was too tired and miserable to push Casey for any additional information. He staggered in the direction of the bedroom, contenting himself with a brief expression of leadership: "No napping, Case."

As he stripped down in preparation for sleep he found that he was shivering. He put on thermal socks, and a sweatshirt over his thin t-shirt. Then he tumbled into the bed.

A mattress and sheets had never had so much feel-good power before — but despite his exhaustion, he couldn't find the quality sleep he'd been looking forward to. Once freed from his mind's demands for performance and possessed of the requisite time to lay around, his body decided to show him that he was a lot sicker than he had allowed himself to feel. He lay tossing and spinning for two hours or more, half-sleeping, shaking with that chill that made him hate the thought of getting up. His whole body was aching now, but the more conspicuous problem was now that he was lying down he couldn't breathe at all. The phlegm now had gravity on its side.

Eventually, he forced himself to move, motivated by the desperate desire to be unconscious, but for that to happen he had to get up and go find some cold medicine. He coaxed himself to walk on trembling legs to the bathroom, shaking and clinging to the anticipation of comfort in the future...except there were no fucking meds, nothing but the bottle of Tylenol and Casey's prescriptions. The acetaminophen would help somewhat, but he really needed something to knock him out. For half a second he considered stealing a Xanax and quickly put that out of his mind.

"Zeke?"

Casey had snuck up on him again, and he was feeling too dreadful to react much. He just took in that most familiar face behind him in the mirror without comment.

"Why are you up?" Casey asked.

"Can't sleep. Need drugs."

"Oh."

"I was hoping," Zeke croaked, "for something with chlorpheniramine maleate or my favourite...pseudoephedrine hydrochloride."

Casey looked blank for a second. "You mean for colds."

"Yeah."

Without just a hint of a nervous twitch Casey offered, "I'll go and get you some."

Zeke tried to focus on something beyond the prospect of relief...like Casey volunteering to go out of the apartment for him. He said, "You don't have to...I could just put on a bunch of sweaters and do it myself."

"No, you should s-stay in. It's okay, the pharmacy's like t-two minutes away." Casey was already turning and heading back down the hallway.

Rather than returning to that cursed bed Zeke went to the living room and huddled on the couch with Casey's afghan. He watched some mindless drivel on TV for a bit, finding it soothing.

It seemed like Casey had been gone for hours when Zeke heard the door opening and closing. Moments after, Casey appeared in front of Zeke, looking rather predictably unsettled by his trip outdoors. Still, to Zeke's eyes he presented an image of reasonable good health, even with the bruise on his chin and the bluish shadows under his eyes. His nose and ears were pink and he was wearing a thick, orange scarf, one that Zeke recalled seeing knotted around Sasha's neck.

"Wh-why are you out here?" Casey asked. He pulled off his gloves and blew into his cupped hands.

Zeke shrugged. "Wanted to stare at the tube. Did you get the stuff?"

Casey nodded. "Yeah...just a sec."

He walked away, unwrapping the scarf, and there was another interminable wait. Zeke heard him puttering in the kitchen and the kettle whistle and he hoped that Casey wasn't going to try to make him drink tea. Because he didn't drink tea. Period. Not black tea, not green tea, not camomile or ginseng or any of those bits of bark and grass that Stokely was always pushing —

Casey came in finally with a steaming cup that he placed in front of Zeke, along with a glass of water and two of the Tylenol that Zeke had skipped earlier. Zeke leaned forward and sniffed. The liquid was yellow but he couldn't derive its scent. "What is this? Chicken soup?"

Casey made a face. "No, it's Theraflu. Didn't your mom ever — ? Well, anyway, my mom used to give me this when I was a kid. I guarantee it will knock you flat."

"What's in it?"

Casey just looked at him, then wordlessly went back to the kitchen and retrieved the crumpled packet, from the garbage Zeke presumed. Zeke scanned the ingredients. There were a few things he didn't recognize but clearly it was cold medicine in a liquid form. He sipped the drink, which tasted sweet and lemony — and was scalding hot.

"Hmm...not bad."

Casey nodded and went away; shortly, though, he was back with a cup of tea for himself. He sat down beside Zeke and they watched South Park together while Zeke finished the entire mug of Theraflu. The stuff worked pretty fast; Cartman was still ranting about something when Zeke noticed that his eyelids were too heavy to hold up. He slid sideways, putting his head in Casey's lap. It wasn't terribly comfortable on those bony, wiry thighs, so he squirmed and hunted for a pillow to cushion his head.

Finally, he was in the zone...he was warm, he was less achy, and he was going to be asleep any second now...even better, someone's fingers were playing lightly in his hair. "Oh, yeah..." he said. "Keep doing that."

The fingers stopped. "What?"

"I said, don't stop."

"Oh." The stroking resumed.

Zeke couldn't stand it. He made himself speak as clearly as he could given that he was near unconsciousness. "‘R...y'okay?" he slurred.

"Huh?"

"You...oh, n'ver mind, Case..." Zeke gave up. It would have to wait, but he did have to say one thing. "Y'saved my life today...you know."

"Oh...not really."

"Yes-s...saved my life, you're a lifesaver...a lemon-flavoured lifesaver."

"Christ," Casey muttered. "Go to sleep, Zeke."

Good idea, that.

It was a gorgeous, perfect sleep overlaid with the hum of drugs. Zeke could actually feel and hear them inside his head, smashing down consciousness. He drifted away knowing that endless amounts of time could and would go by and that he would still be sleeping and it was a delightful knowledge to have. He woke up just once and appreciated that he was still on the couch, by himself and that was wrong for some reason...but it was night and he was heading right back for more of that wonderful sleep.

Some hours, or even an eternity later, Zeke laid in bed curled up and half- conscious, pondering the possibility that it might be Saturday.

There was no certainty to be found on the question though; meanwhile there was one thing he was certain of — his head was still one, big disgusting ball of snot. It had even crusted around his nostrils while he slept. At last he rolled over onto his back, fighting to get his eyes open, then struggled to sit up, pushing through dizziness and the blood pulsing in his ears. He yanked a tissue out of the nearly empty box beside the bed.

For the next few moments his mission was to clear a breathing passage.

Unsolicited, Sasha stuck his head into the room and grinned. "The birthday boy wakes!" His expression became one of yuck at the sounds that Zeke was making. "It ain't pretty but it's alive. Say something, darling."

"Fuck you," Zeke said, hacking.

"That's my boy."

Casey slipped in under Sasha's arm, and there were glimpses of a third body right behind him, jarring Zeke for a moment until he realized that it was Stokely. "Happy birthday, Zeke," she said, finding a place in the doorway while Casey continued towards Zeke and sat cross-legged on the bed.

After a long stretch of sensory deprivation, Zeke felt compelled to help himself to a long, thorough stare at Casey. The moment he focussed that particular lens, an image imposed itself on his eyes with crystal clarity — it was Casey afraid and miserable, or more afraid and miserable than usual. However, it was not something Zeke needed or wanted to see at this moment and, whatever was going on, it had to be something that Sasha could handle because Zeke just wasn't equipped for it right now.

"How do you feel?" Sasha asked, stepping just inside the door.

"I need more tissues," Zeke said.

Sasha smirked. "You're a crabby birthday boy."

Zeke ignored him. "Do I smell something baking?"

"Oh...you mean your nose is working?"

"Just barely."

"It's your birthday cake," Sasha informed him.

"I thought Stokely was doing that."

"I am...I did," Stokely replied. "I decided to bake it here and save myself carrying it on the bus. I just took it out of the oven. Chocolate all right with you?"

"Fine."

"Casey and I are about to go out and get a few things, do you want something? Besides a box of Kleenex?"

Zeke eyed Casey again, wishing that his head wasn't still stuffed full of snot. He was also still stoned but he didn't mind that so much. "Orange juice," he said, as he was desperately thirsty as well. He lay down once again, because it seemed like the thing to do.

"We have juice — " Sasha started to say.

"No," Zeke refused. "I want orange juice, the regular kind that doesn't have a lot of oranges in it."

"It's not as good for you — "

"Well, I want it!"

"Okay, okay." From his supine position, Zeke heard Sasha comment, "Somebody's a grumpy gus." Then his and Stokely's voices receded, and it was blissfully silent in the bedroom.

After a pause, Zeke felt Casey's weight shift on the bed. "I assume it's Saturday," he said, with eyes closed.

"Yes."

"And what time is it?"

"About one."

Shit. He'd slept for sixteen hours. "You weren't kidding about that stuff. And your mom gave this to you when you were a kid?"

"Not when I was really little..."

"I'm teasing. It's good shit. I like it."

"Do you — um — do you want something to eat?"

Zeke opened his eyes to watch Casey doing the I'm nervous dance with his hands. "Not really."

"Sasha...h-he made soup."

"Oh...I guess I don't have a choice, then. What kind? Not chicken, I hope."

"Um...not sure...your dad, I mean your f-father called."

At this news, Zeke felt the need to sit up again. "What did he say?"

"That he'd...call back."

Casey's breathing was becoming laboured and Zeke felt the stir of real concern beneath the weight of medicated somnolence. "What's going on?"

"G-going...on?"

"With you, what's going on with you?"

"Nothing."

Zeke didn't feel like dignifying that with his own opinion, so he went on to the next question. "Does it have to do with my dad calling?"

"Um," Casey said, with a somewhat desperate face.

"I guess we haven't really officially talked about going to that wedding."

"I'll go."

"But do you want to go?"

"If you want me to."

Zeke was worn down by this exchange already. "Well, you can always change your mind," he said, resting his burning eyes. He was going to need more drugs. Okay, need was a slight exaggeration. Apart from helping him to sleep, they did nothing but mask his symptoms; he was very well aware of that, but it seemed like he'd done nothing but worry and negotiate Casey's various complexities for the past three months and it would be nice to take a few days off and just lie around in a stupour.

In the interim, he would give Casey something to do, to distract them both. "Do you think...would you mind bringing me some of that soup?"

The soup that Casey brought to him wasn't chicken. It was full of potatoes and carrots and meatballs — Sasha's idea of his favourite soup, Zeke supposed. His appetite wasn't up to its usual vigour but he finished the bowlful. After that, he dragged himself up and had a shower, suffering through wave after wave of chills. It was worth it though; having purged some of the sick sweat from his skin and put on fresh clothes, he felt somewhat better. Casey had departed to help Stokely carry out her mission — and while Casey going out right now when he seemed to be all nerves didn't strike Zeke as a great idea, he assumed that since it was birthday-related Casey would consider it a high priority. That was a somewhat pleasing idea.

Once Zeke had gotten cleaned up, Sasha helped him make a little nest on the couch with a magazine, the phone, and the remotes for TV, stereo and DVD. When he was comfortably settled with the afghan and a box of tissues, Sasha sat down in his usual chair, close to where Zeke was ensconced, and put his hands on his knees like he was Abraham Lincoln, wearing a very serious face.

Zeke let himself be studied for a while and then he couldn't ignore it anymore. "Okay, what?" he said wearily.

"You know, you're a suck when you're sick."

"So sue me. I don't get sick...hardly ever."

"Well...do you think you'll be recovered by tomorrow?"

"I intend to be fully recovered, yes."

Sasha chuckled, shaking his head. "Even your body must obey, is that it?"

"Something like that."

"It's not surprising, though, the way you've been pushing yourself. It was like you weren't even living here last week."

"I know...and, yes, I've been neglecting Casey."

"I doubt that," Sasha remarked.

Zeke puzzled momentarily over the comment and just let it go. "Anyway...at least it's over now. Next time I'll manage my time better."

"But it isn't over...is it?"

Zeke looked Sasha up and down. "What is this?"

"Just making chitchat."

"Bullshit."

"Okay, then I'm just saying try and pace yourself. Can't a person show concern for you without getting their head bitten off?"

Zeke rolled his eyes. "Of course. And thanks for the soup."

"You're welcome. Concentrate on getting well for tomorrow, okay?"

"Maybe we should cancel it."

"Oh, no!" Sasha laughed. "We're having this party even if you have to be carried in on a stretcher. Anyway, it's not much of a party. Just you, me, Casey, Jerry, Stan and Stokes --- "

"And Winona."

"Pardon me?"

"Winona's coming, too. Casey knows about it, I told him over a week ago."

Sasha's eyes widened. He rested his forehead in his hand; and then, peering out from under it with palpable disbelief, he said "Why the fuck did you do that?"

"It was an accident," Zeke defended himself, feeling rather pathetic about it but pathetic was about his speed right now. "She asked what I was doing for my birthday...and it was obvious she wanted to be invited..."

"So you could have ignored the hint — I mean, people ignore things all the time!"

"It just — look, she was unhappy and she's lonely and I had a hard time ignoring it. It's not like I want her here."

"Oh, right. Look, what is it with that woman, Zeke? I know it isn't what Casey thinks, but I can't figure it out."

"Am I never to have friends unless Casey gives them his stamp of approval?" Zeke burst out, a bit surprised by his own vehemence. He accepted, he understood so much and no one seemed to appreciate — "Or talk to another female person ever again?"

"So it's a control thing again."

"No...fuck, maybe it started off a bit like...I just thought she was fun to talk to at first and...it's just not so easy."

"Okay," Sasha said, noticeably fuming. "But my advice to you is keep her and Casey at least ten feet apart tomorrow. Or you call her and uninvite her."

"I'd rather not do that."

"In my experience you've never had a problem being brutally to the point, Zeke."

"I know, but..." Zeke resented being required to think consistently and logically right now, especially when he knew that the chemicals were making him just a little bit less careful than usual. He blurted, "I'd like her to go about her life thinking I'm a nice guy and not a prick, okay? It's just a small stupid thing that happens to mean something to me."

After a moment of being visibly taken aback, Sasha reached over and put a hand on Zeke's knee. "You are a nice guy," he said. "Well, most of the time...and I like you, Zeke. I've always liked you. And it isn't fair to expect you to always choose Casey's preferences over your own, I realize that, I just...I'm worried about her and Casey being in the same block, never mind this apartment."

"They'll just politely ignore each other," Zeke declared. "And if it'll make you feel any better...I think it'll be the last time Casey has to interact with her."

Sasha nodded, although not with great confidence. "Okay. I'm heading out soon, do you want anything?"

"I'd like another shot of that lemon drink."

"You sure? It packed a whallop on you."

"Yes, I want to get this thing out of my system and to do that I need to sleep."

Sasha headed off to the kitchen. Zeke laid back and closed his eyes. He was a nice guy, wasn't he? Sure, he tried, but too many people knew him from before, from that time when he didn't care if he was nice or not. He didn't know why or when he had started caring about it. It was a strange thing to care about. Being nice. Nice. It was a stupid sounding word — a stupid word, come to think of it —

The phone rang and Zeke picked it up with a hunch about who it was.

"Hello...Zeke?"

"Yes...hi, Jacob."

"I...called to wish you a happy birthday."

"Thank you."

"Casey told me you're sick, though. Are you feeling any better today?"

"A bit."

"Oh." An awkward silence, then: "You're having a party for your birthday, right?"

"Tomorrow. Just a small one."

"That's nice."

Zeke hoped that someone would get to the point. He was way behind schedule on his planned lounging in front of the TV.

"Zeke, I was wondering...have you decided about coming to the wedding?"

"Yes. I'm coming, and so is Casey."

Jacob didn't miss a beat. "That's great. I'll pay for everything, of course. The wedding itself is on New Year's Eve but I thought you might want to come a few days early...I remember Casey wanted to do a little bit of sightseeing."

"Yes," Zeke said, reluctantly, not saying that what Casey wanted to do and what he was actually going to do when the moment arrived were two different things.

"So what day did you want to come?"

"I don't know, maybe the 29th or 30th."

"But you'll need to get fitted for your suit..."

"Oh, I...I don't think so."

"Sorry?"

"I mean...I just don't feel comfortable with...the standing up part."

A long, long pause. Zeke told himself that there was absolutely no logical reason to feel guilty.

"I see."

Zeke gripped the phone hard and held to his silence.

"So...have you, er...been using the Playstation I got you?"

Sasha walked into the room, his eyes questioning. Getting no real response from Zeke other than a shrug, he placed a hot mug of liquid on the table in front of Zeke then walked away, probably to get dressed for work. Zeke answered, "Yeah, except, you know...the last few weeks I was up to my ears in writing."

"Of course." Jacob paused. "I'm glad you're working so hard. Casey's a good influence, huh?"

"Yeah," Zeke said sourly, feeling not quite as remorseful as a moment ago.

"All right, I'll look into flights for the 29th, then. We don't want to leave it too late, it's a really busy time. And when would you return?"

"I guess on the second or third."

"There's a family dinner on the third...Mel's parents are inviting everyone over, it's one of those post-wedding traditions..."

"All right, the fourth, then." Zeke had a sudden, horrible thought. "You didn't invite Rachel, did you?"

Jacob sounded amused. "No...but I was thinking about hiring security just in case she decided to crash."

The visuals that this inspired were hilarious.

"My, you do sound quite froggy," said his father after Zeke had finished laughing.

"Yeah."

"Do you not talk to your mother at all?"

"Not since I moved. I don't think she has my phone number and I intend to keep it that way."

"I understand," Jacob said wryly.

Zeke almost didn't say what he said next. "Why do you...?"

"Why do I talk to her?"

"Yeah."

"Just habit I guess."

Zeke didn't feel qualified to comment on that.

"I've known her for over thirty years," Jacob added. "I guess I'm just...used to her."

"Hmm."

"Well, I guess I'll let you go."

"Okay...hey, um...Jacob?"

"Yes?"

"I suppose I could...do the...the standing up at the wedding thing."

"Really? Thank you, Zeke. That means a lot to me."

"It's okay...but is there some kind of uniform I have to wear?"

"No, just a tux, but with a certain colour tie and cummerbund that Mel picked out to match her daughter's dress."

"It's not pink, is it?"

"No," Jacob replied, chuckling. "I think it's a kind of deep blue...perfectly masculine, never fear. If you find a good men's clothing shop there in Seattle you can get fitted there and we can make arrangements about the accessories."

"All right," Zeke sighed. "When do I need to do this? I'm going to Herrington for Christmas but I do have to stay here until the 18th."

"May I suggest next week?"

"Don't worry...I'll get it done."

"Good. Thank you."

"No problem."

"Take care of yourself, Zeke...and have a good time tomorrow."

"I'll try."

Putting down the phone, Zeke slowly sipped his lemon drink while it cooled to a non-scalding temperature. He had dim, unfocussed thoughts about Casey coming to Los Angeles with him...it was potentially scary and potentially exciting...or very scary and very exciting. He and Casey with a hotel room all to themselves, perhaps visiting some of the Hollywood sights...and showing off Casey to a bunch of L.A. types...yeah, it could be good...maybe Casey needed a new suit as well...

Soon, Zeke was finding it tough to think about anything. His head filled up with a lovely, cottony hum and he found himself staring at some cooking show that had become absolutely enthralling. He could have watched it all day, as long as he could just exist in this complete state of sublime stupefaction.

He didn't hear when Casey was back; he didn't even know Casey was in the apartment until he brought Zeke his juice. After that, Casey disappeared to amuse himself elsewhere, Zeke didn't know and didn't care to ask. A pile of snotty tissues grew beside him, some spilling over onto the floor, while he just stared and stared until his lids grew heavy. He gave himself permission to sleep again.

He woke up to Casey and some more soup. He ate it despite having little interest in food, and drank the rest of the carton of juice. He noticed that it was night once again, and again Casey cuddled up with him, putting on some movie on TV that Zeke never did follow because he kept nodding off.

The next time he woke up, he was alone in the living room. "Case?" he called, his voice scratchy. All the lights were on and it seemed far too bright. His bladder, he also noticed, was uncomfortably full.

There was no answer, but then he hadn't been very loud. Casey was probably in the bathroom or kitchen, he thought fuzzily, without turning his mind to the question beyond that. He decided to put himself to bed, making a pit stop in the bathroom along the way. He didn't run into Casey at all en route but he didn't let it concern him.

Much later he woke again, this time in darkness. He was in bed, staring directly at the red numbers on his clock. It was early morning and Casey was lying pressed up against his back, his face nuzzling a space in Zeke's sweat-shirt right between his shoulder blades. Zeke's head was muzzy and his throat as dry as parchment, but he could tell immediately that he had broken the back of this virus. He was too warm, but he was not feverish. He had the full use of one half of his sinus passages which was sufficient for breathing.

He twisted about and sat up, yanking off the sweatshirt, then laid down again facing Casey. He discovered that Casey's eyes were open.

They didn't say a word, just gazing back at each other for a while — full, solid minutes of just looking and Zeke apprehended that while he wasn't sick anymore, he was still very much drugged. He put a hand out and slowly traced Casey's features; touching Casey was like moving through honey right now. He could have watched himself do it all night — just like earlier watching the TV, except in this instance his cock was hard enough to hammer nails.

Maybe it went on for hours, he didn't know, time had gone strange on him. He just brushed the lines under his fingers, over and over...down the bridge of the nose, across the cheekbone and back, and across, and back, and down with his thumb. At some point he would choose another part of the canvas, connecting other points and lines, and then others, continuing the slow work of sketching them until Casey suddenly caught his wrist for a second — gripped hard but let go immediately, like a cat who had just delivered a warning swat: I don't want to hurt you but I will if you don't stop pushing me.

Getting the message, Zeke ceased his explorations. He stilled, then moved his hand tentatively to tug on Casey's sleeve. Without conversation, they performed an intricate dance to remove Casey's sweater. Casey pushed off his boxers, and helped Zeke with his. In Zeke's mind everything was still happening slowly, so very slowly but Zeke was nevertheless burning with a languorous, distant heat.

He sought for the lube and discovered that there was not very much left. They'd gone through so much of the stuff this week and Zeke hadn't thought to buy some more in his travels. Nor had he bought condoms, but he didn't give a damn about that. He was probably taking a greater risk every time he smoked a cigarette and he couldn't stand the condom business anymore, just like he couldn't contemplate quitting smoking. These were risks that he was living with and what did it matter when there was a constant risk of all sorts of dire things happening, just constant disorder...so many little parts of his life hanging out now. Nothing was tidy, everything was getting away from him but not entirely, just enough that he couldn't keep track of all the loose ends that needed trimming. He wasn't him anymore.

"What?" Casey whispered.

"No lube."

"Some."

"Not enough..."

"‘s okay."

"Sure?" And if anyone would be sure, it was Casey, Casey was the experienced one here who knew what he could take and Zeke needed to slake that heat that was burning him alive, the smoulder that was crawling under his skin and in his brain saying be sure...please be sure...

Casey nodded.

Zeke squeezed out all of what was left in the tube to slick the fingers on his one hand while Casey shifted to make himself more accessible, parting his legs and putting his feet flat, bending at the knee. Zeke put his hand down, circling the tiny opening, rubbing and stroking it, gratified to hear Casey making tiny, involuntary sounds. He pushed in with two fingers; Casey made another noise, his body stiffening and Zeke thought belatedly about Sasha on the other side of the wall. He was a sound sleeper, but certainly not impervious to any and all outbursts.

Leaning in for a kiss, Zeke whispered, "Shh. Remember Sasha."

He stroked the spot inside Casey that made him rise up off the bed and attempt to cry out; Zeke took the sound into himself. And another sound, more urgent this time. He removed his hand and moved closer, in between Casey's legs. Dipping down for one more breath of a kiss, he savoured that moment — with Casey's arms and legs not quite clasping him, not quite surrounding him and Casey answering a gentle whisper of a kiss with equal delicacy. When Casey's mouth stopped moving altogether, Zeke tilted his head back after a few seconds and looked down at him. He saw eyes lost in darkness, laid bare and concealed all at once. Zeke had to know what was there, to finally see it and possess it because then he might actually understand something, he might have one thing that was not getting away from him.

Slowly he put his cock into Casey's body, watching Casey's eyes for a sign that he should halt his advance. Casey's eyebrows flexed, shaping something ambiguous. He blinked several times, gnawing on his lip. There wasn't a sound. Zeke hovered, gripping his lover's bent legs just above the knees and waiting for some signal.

Casey made a questing motion with his hips. Zeke noticed that he and Casey were both shaking. He knew he was not quite clear-headed, he could almost see trailers in front of his eyes and he heard a buzzing in his ears and he could have just lain down right here and gone to sleep like this if it weren't for the ache, the need...

He set about possessing Casey, intent upon taking those eyes and that body with every stroke. He fucked slowly, in and out while Casey was in perfect syncopation with him, working his body to welcome Zeke's full momentum and then release him only to be ready for the next, measured rush forward. For an eternity Zeke glided, transfixed by the eyes beneath him...and he was finally himself, he was the man, he was opening up his perfect partner in one absolute act...he was happy and he was perfect.

The mouth beneath him strained, opened. At first there was nothing, and then a stream of soft, broken syllables that Zeke didn't have any way to stop and didn't really want to: "...ugh...you...you you you...oh...love...love you, love you..." A hitched breath. "Ungh!" And Zeke felt his lover's come, a heat spreading around his belly. It was that sensation that tipped Zeke over the edge.

Shortly, he became conscious of the fact that he was panting, sweating, and his arms were trembling so hard he knew he would crush Casey if he didn't move. He pushed back on his knees, removing his softening penis from Casey's body and releasing his legs, then collapsed beside him.

He would have expected to have something to say, but as he lay there catching his breath there was really nothing much in his head. Casey wormed in closer to him, putting his face right up against Zeke's skin, and Zeke absently put his arms around him, drawing up the thoroughly bedraggled sheets and comforter to cover them both completely.

Now he felt hot tears leaking down his front. Lacking any meaningful thoughts about that, he stroked Casey's hair and back until he sensed from Casey's breathing that he had fallen asleep, and so he went along for the ride.

Zeke's eyes had been drugged shut for the second night in a row. Once he was sure that those eyes would not be opening any time soon, Casey rose to his feet, found his coat and shoes and snuck out of the apartment.

He had done the same thing the night before, sitting on the couch with Zeke's head in his lap, waiting until he was sure that Zeke was completely out of it and then sneaking across the street to Zorba's. He wasn't sure why he needed to talk to Thomas, but it was totally commonplace by now to have no idea of what he was doing or why. Blab everything to the shrink, fetch and carry for Zeke bringing him juice and soup and tissues and drugs, chat with Stokely...hunker down shaking on the bathroom floor for an hour here and there, spend more time with a strange man in a coffee shop...it was all the exact same kind of surreal.

Yesterday Thomas hadn't been around but tonight he was, sitting at a table with an older woman. He waved to Casey when he came in. Casey went up and ordered a chai; he stood off to the side waiting, keeping an eye on the people around him, tapping his foot nervously. There was quite a babble of conversation in Zorba's, created by far more people than he had ever seen there. Some bearded guy with long hair and John Lennon glasses was playing a guitar on a tiny stage in the corner that Casey had never really noticed before.

A strange thing: One of the young women servers took Casey's order and made his chai, but Rob the Coffee guy took it from her when she was finished and presented it to Casey, leaning over the counter and gesturing with one hand for Casey to meet him halfway. Casey just looked blankly at him, and Rob scowled impatiently. He gestured again, this time to the side of the service counter. The motion was much more defined and sharp, a slash through the air in front of Casey's face.

"I just want to ask you something," Rob said. "Come over here...Jana, I'll just be a sec."

Jana's eyes roamed over Casey and looked disinterested. "You bet," she tossed back.

It had the feel of official barista business although Casey couldn't imagine what it might have to do with him. He slipped through the clot of people surrounding him and joined Rob off to the side, plotting an exit route just in case.

"You left your chai on the counter," Rob noted. When Casey said nothing, he rolled his eyes and said, "You talk to Thomas, don't you?"

There was a twist to that ungenerous mouth; it was nothing if not a smarmy, half-grin.

"The guy in the gold suit?" Rob prompted.

Casey involuntarily glanced in Thomas' direction, and saw him still engrossed in whatever conversation he was having with the woman at his table.

"Yeah, that one. Look, we've had a few complaints."

"What d-did he do?"

"I don't have anything against the guy, but he hangs around here constantly peddling these seminars of his. And I remembered seeing you talking to him and I just wanted to ask you to let me or the management know if he gives you any trouble."

"H-he doesn't give m-me trouble."

"Okay." Rob sounded like he had discharged his professional obligation and was washing his hands of the matter. "But you should know that he may not be allowed in here after today."

"But — why?"

"I told you...he's disturbing the customers."

"S-so ask him to...to stop."

"We have. Several times."

"Oh," Casey said, for lack of any real comeback.

He started to wade his way back to the cash register to pay for his chai but Rob told him to "forget it" and fetched it for him, bringing it to him from around the back of the counter and then turning his back on Casey in an obvious dismissal. Casey surveyed the coffee shop in dismay, clutching the hot beverage with both hands. There wasn't a single free table.

He was going to give up and run home when Thomas waved to Casey again. "Mr. Casey!" he very nearly shouted, drawing the attention of most people in the room. Casey cringed, and began to make his way over.

It turned out there was an extra chair at Thomas' table. Casey planted himself in it, not failing to observe the tense, uncomfortable expression of the woman who was sitting there with Thomas, and now Casey.

"Hello, treasure...this is my friend, Cheryl."

"Sharon," the woman muttered.

Thomas didn't appear to hear her.

"Hi," Casey said.

Thomas had begun doing what, presumably, he had been doing just moments ago — talking loudly and at length about his business, and how wonderful it was and how many people had shown interest today. Even though it wasn't entirely relevant to the sales pitch, if that was his intention, he also talked about the book that he had begun composing in his head since he didn't have time to actually sit down at a keyboard — but it was okay because it was all in his head. Casey stuck to his chai and observed that Thomas' clothing was looking increasingly rumpled, and there was an edge about him too, something that was out of control and even a little angry. Casey had never felt any physical threat from him and he didn't think he should now — but there were several occasions when Thomas slammed his hand down on the table while he was talking, startling the woman he was talking to rather badly.

After the fourth or five such occasion, Sharon rose, interrupting in mid- sentence. "I have to go," she said curtly.

"No, you don't!"

It was probably intended as an expression of enthusiasm, but it came out with just a little too much, verging on menace; Sharon looked more than a little apprehensive. "Yes, I do," she snapped, and quickly walked away.

Thomas stared after her, then shrugged. "Oh, well, you win some, you lose some, right?" He grinned, then reaching across the table and lifted Casey's empty cup. "All gone...would you like another one?"

"No...thanks." Casey's mind wandered back to the apartment...where Zeke might have wakened and realized that he was gone.

"Not my treasure."

"Huh?"

"It's Zeke's treasure, isn't it. What do you want, Zeke's treasure?"

Zeke might even discover what he was up to. It was unlikely, highly improbable but if Zeke found him missing and came out looking for him...Casey hurriedly put together a sentence. "I told my shrink — "

"Told your shrink?" Thomas broke in, trying to finish it for him. "Told your shrink...you mean about your ‘them' or whatever it was." The words were quick and dismissive. "Well, it's like I said, treasure, some things have to be talked about. Now did I tell you about that lady, Cheryl? I can't remember. She's quite a mass of contradictions...obviously unresolved Oedipal crisis but we won't go there."

Notwithstanding the general buzz surrounding them, his voice carried throughout the coffee shop; several people nearby craned to look in their direction. "Turn down the volume," Casey whispered.

"What? Why's that?"

"You're too loud."

"Oh, I see, treasure...that's a good name for you, isn't it? Treasure." Thomas smiled, and his smile was something that he did have in common with his former self. His eyes and his teeth almost sparkled. He also exuded a frenetic sex appeal that hadn't been evident before despite his overall attractiveness — and there was no question that he intended for Casey to notice. "You are a treasure...so little, I could just hold you in the palm of my hand. I think you should come with me some time when I go to Portland, you could help me market my business, does that sound like a good idea?"

Casey shook his head. "You're not serious."

"Of course I'm serious, treasure."

"I can't go to Portland."

"Can't, can't, can't...why not?"

Thomas reached for Casey's hand which was clutching at the edge of the table. Casey pulled it back.

"Now what?" Thomas snapped. "What's wrong with you?"

"I think...call me Mr. Casey, okay?"

Raising sarcastic eyebrows, Thomas said, "Very well. You know, I thought we were a lot more comfortable with each other than this. We're friends, aren't we?"

"Yes," Casey said slowly.

"Well, then, why do you keep looking and staring at me with those bambi eyes, Mr. Casey?"

"T-Thomas...do you...um...you remember what happened?"

"Happened?"

"In your car."

Thomas began to smile again, this time with more than a hint of slyness. "Of course, I remember... but you know, I was thinking, I may have been a bit hasty hasty hasty." Both his hands began drumming on the table top, repeatedly and rapidly ...ratta-tat-tat...ratta-tatta-tat...ratta-tat...ratta-tat...ratta-ratta-ratta-ratta...

"Why do you sleep in your car?" Casey blurted.

There was a glimmer of something awful and sad, something caught, and then Thomas said gaily, "Sleep in my car? You're so funny and cute and insane. I don't sleep in my car. I have a house an hour out of the city and sometimes I can't be bothered to drive back there so I get a hotel room. The Hilton, downtown Seattle, that's where I stay. Of course I realize I look pretty unkempt, but you know, I put the suit out to have it pressed and they didn't do it so naturally somebody there is not getting a tip — "

"Thomas."

The man got quiet for a second, then looked up at Casey. "So what if we don't follow the rules, Mr. Casey? We're very different sort of people you and I. You know how it is."

His warmth had never really gone away, Casey realized then, but it was now a desperate, haphazard thing. Thomas was so completely other than the man in the car last week that Casey wondered if he had murdered him with his mortifying come-on. He looked into his empty cup and whispered, "Thomas...I'm sorry...f-for what I did."

"What do you mean? You didn't do anything, treasure." Thomas's long arm spanned the table easily; he started patting Casey's hand. "You can't help being the way you are anymore than I can. Don't fret your head about it, it's nothing." The patting metamorphosed into a firm grip. Casey lifted his head and saw Thomas wearing a grin that was rampant with invitation. "Of course I will keep it a secret...but any time that you want to renew your offer."

"I can't."

Thomas removed his hand, the invitation dissolving. "Because of your Zeke. Yes, I understand, and I think he's lucky."

"I don't know about that..."

"He is lucky and don't you dare, Mr. Treasure. None of that with me." The tone was distracted; Thomas was staring off in the distance even as he spoke. "You see that man behind the counter, that skinny little twit? He's got it in for me."

"Th-they're concerned — "

"The only thing they're concerned about is their bottom line. They think I'm a problem but I'm not." Thomas smacked the table again. "I'm not!"

Casey forced himself to remain in his chair, but his mind went involuntarily to Zeke, alone and sick at the apartment. The image was becoming more appealing by the second...followed closely by a little white pill...but no, he wasn't allowed to have it. He swallowed hard, grabbing onto the table, and said, "I...I've got to go."

Thomas eyed him knowingly. "Just know this, Mr. Casey...I would never hurt you. I told you that, didn't I, that I would never hurt you I told you and I meant it. I don't damage pretty things, it's not what I do, ever...ever ever."

"I know."

Casey started to rise. Thomas grabbed his arm, and it hurt. "Thomas — " he pleaded, twisting to get free. Thomas loosened his grip — then let go.

"Sorry, Mr. Treasure...I just wanted to ask if you knew, if you made up your mind about me...am I one of ‘them'?"

Casey shook his head. "I don't...I don't know."

"What did your shrink say?"

"She didn't believe me about them."

Thomas laughed hard at that. "Of course she didn't. She's the one you have to watch, her kind...not mine...my kind is harmless. You have to be careful what you tell her kind."

"But you said..."

"What did I say?" Thomas demanded.

"You said it had to be talked about."

There was a quiet, a moment of calm in the swirl of words and ideas in those dark eyes. "Did I? Yes, I remember...good for you, Mr. Casey. Really good for you."

Casey didn't know what was going on with this man, but he wasn't really coming off like a sane or non-alien person. He faltered, "I...wanted to tell you that...that it's...I don't know who you are but I appreciated you trying to help me...and I'm sorry."

"Oh," Thomas said, and looked both exhausted and sorrowful. "I didn't know that helping was what I was doing...but all right." He offered his hand. "Take care of yourself, treasure."

Casey wished there was something he could offer to make him smile again because he had the feeling this was all his fault somehow — yet uppermost in his mind now was the need to get home. Casey took Thomas' hand with all due solemnity. "Thank you, Thomas," he said.

"Will I see you again?"

Casey considered that.

"I don't know," he said.

When he got back to the apartment he found that Zeke had already gone to bed even though it was only ten-thirty. He must have noticed that Casey was not there, Casey thought, ready to start hyperventilating...but then there was really no reason for Zeke to wonder. Casey could just tell him that he had gone out for a chai, which was the truth. Of course it would sound ridiculous because Casey never just went anywhere but at least it was somewhat plausible.

He joined Zeke in the bed, snugging up behind Zeke as close as he could get. His heart was pounding at first, but even after he calmed down he felt quite sure that he wasn't going to have much success falling asleep.

But the next thing he was aware of was the middle of the night and those eyes that had been blinded by sickness and drugs were open and clear. Watching him, staring right down into him, knowing, saying I know what you've been up to, Casey, I know what you've done but it's okay because you belong to me, lie back and I'll show you...and don't concern yourself with limits. You don't have any need for those.

And his lover's eyes are all he can see. They compass his entire realm of vision, they are a universe of gold-brown all around him — they, and the hard heat spearing his body. They tell him things, and without making those stupid, mundane speech sounds...there'll never be anyone like you...loveyouhateyouownyoufuckyoufillyou...On occasion there will be a sound, something will float up and break free from his lover's open, panting mouth...it's usually Casey, but it's just a faint whisp of breath because it is so important to be silent, to have no cries, not even a creaking of springs right now.

He is being fucked in slow motion in the middle of the night. He knows he is being tested. They are both being tested. The standard is perfection at all times because that is Zeke's way and that's okay because he can stay this way forever. Well, he'll have to, he can't feel his legs anymore as he is folded up underneath the larger body and numb from lack of proper circulation and his lover's hands holding him like two iron bands. He has long since stopped feeling the pain. There is a flimsy bit of material soaked through with sweat that's glued between their skin, the rest of what they were wearing is somewhere inside the bed so there is nothing else between them but those eyes and his own eyes speaking back... loveyouloveyouloveyouyoursallyourstakemeallyoursogodfuckmeneverstop...

His mouth was crushed against something...a man's hard, sweaty pectoral, and there was a hand cradling the back of his head. He realized that he was sobbing — because it was so perfect and now he was cold and vile through and through and nothing could really assuage the fact that it was probably the last time.

He kept his own eyes closed; he wrestled the terror down, giving all the strength he had left to not thinking about anything but the information coded to his senses...the feel, taste and smell of Zeke, the reality of that body holding him, until exhaustion overtook all of it and he miraculously lost consciousness.

Then it was daylight and Casey was alone, the sheets tugged up under his chin. He could still smell his lover but he couldn't see or feel him. He couldn't remember what to call out, which name...He was alone, horrifically disconnected and aching all over. Without thought he pushed himself upright — and he wailed.

He didn't know what form the sound took, what word, but his lover — Zeke, it was — flung himself into the room a second later. He was naked to the waist, wearing pajama pants and a face half-covered in shaving cream. "Case?!"

And a moment later Sasha was barging through the door too. "Kitten, what's wrong?"

There they were, Zeke flawlessly male and half-shaved, holding a razor. He seemed completely recovered from his cold. Meanwhile Sasha's hands were covered in raw, pink hamburger meat. They both wore expressions that were just slightly shy of exaggerated, slapstick horror.

The urge to giggle took hold of Casey and he just let the laugh escape even though he didn't really feel all that mirthful. He supposed that was rather obvious how totally non-mirthful he was and that made him laugh harder as a chill, sick sensation spread through his body. He was completely gummed up down below, and there was a pain that suddenly had him in dread of movement.

"For god's sake, what?" Sasha pleaded. "What, kitten?"

Seeing the looks of panic on their faces, Casey managed to clamp down on the hysteria and say almost calmly, "S-Sorry."

"Why did you scream?" Sasha asked, his eyes round. Those same eyes were scanning him again, all over his body.

"I didn't scream," Casey said, yanking the sheet up as high as he could get it.

"You made a sound that scared us to death," Zeke said. "I think that qualifies as a scream."

"Oh...I think I was d-dreaming..." He tried moving. It didn't go well and when he glanced up, he saw that Sasha hadn't missed it. He attempted to be casual, asking, "Is there any hot water?"

"Should be," Zeke answered, studying him like he was some mutant species.

Neither of them had taken the hint that he was interested in some privacy. They remained exactly where they were, as though trying to work out some conundrum that had been placed before them. Zeke took a single step forward and then apparently remembered the shaving cream on his face, or perhaps he just hesitated. He paused, while Sasha continued to linger in the doorway.

Something broke in Casey's head and began to rattle and so he danced to it. He purred, "So you wanna come here and get some cream on me, lover?

It worked just as intended; Sasha scowled and backed out, saying, "When you're ready, kitten, I could use some help."

Zeke remained for a little longer, staring wordlessly at Casey. Then he said, "I've gotta finish shaving."

He was gone an instant later, leaving Casey to try his feet, while muffling any and all noises of discomfort. The pain in his ass was definitively beyond "a little sore" and he had to force himself to push back the sheets and look between his legs. By some miracle, there was no blood. He felt raw inside, though; it hurt every time he moved. Plus, as Casey viewed his naked body he found on his thighs, just above his knees, two brand-new, almost-perfect sets of fingerprint-sized bruises.

Casey knew better than to let any of it be seen. He crept out of bed and pulled on the nearest pair of sweat pants before shuffling to the bathroom.

Zeke was shaving, but quickly, like he needed to have it finished and move on to something else. He noted Casey in the mirror and said, "You okay?"

Okay was far too uncomplicated a word for what Casey was at the moment.

"Case...answer me, please."

Casey whispered, "I can feel you every time I move."

Still grasping his razor, Zeke put both hands down, resting them on the edge of the sink. "I don't know what happened there last night...I was a little stoned but that's no excuse..."

"It was perfect."

"I'm...afraid...that I went too far."

Casey crept up and put his arms around Zeke's torso, resting his face sideways against his back. "It was perfect," he murmured. He realized, too late, that Zeke would be able to feel that his body was shaking with fine, constant tremors — well, since it was too late, he pressed in even harder, getting as close to Zeke as he could get. Zeke clasped one of his arms and they just stood there that way.

It was comfort, it was good — so it was a terrible, sickening thing when Casey suddenly felt himself dislodged. Zeke had twisted around to face him and reached for both his hands. Just for an instant, Casey didn't know what he was going to do and he clenched up, preparing to propel himself away until he saw Zeke's eyes, consumed with guilt.

"Tell me you're not hurt," Zeke said quietly.

"I'm not hurt."

"Say it again."

"I'm not hurt."

Zeke shook his head. "It's no good...I don't believe you." He moved away from Casey and sat down on the toilet seat, resting his head in his hands.

"It was just a bit...a little mistake. Things happen...I'll have a shower and I'll be as good as new...okay, Zeke? It's okay, don't worry..."

Maybe he had convinced Zeke; maybe not. He would never know, because at that moment Zeke stood up, advancing to his full height all at once. Casey's body involuntarily propelled him back a step, betraying him with an unmistakable flinch. He wouldn't be able to take it back.

Zeke looked stunned. "You're afraid of me."

"No...no, I'm not."

"What was that, then?"

"You just startled me, that's all. I'm all...just really disgusting and I...I don't want you touching me right now."

Casey realized the instant he finished speaking that he had fucked up. By the look on his face, Zeke was devastated.

"I'd like to take my shower," Casey said, feeling his mouth tremble.

Once he was feeling the magic of hot water, he would be better. Closer to normal — not actually normal of course, but capable of a convincing simulation. He washed himself with extreme thoroughness, checking himself again to make sure he wasn't bleeding. He just couldn't seem to stop trembling.

He dressed and presented himself in the kitchen, where Sasha was working with that raw meat, pressing it into hamburger shapes. Sasha sized him up from head to foot, no longer bothering to even attempt to disguise it. Casey forced himself to walk with a normal if not very smooth gait, which wouldn't have been possible without the shower.

From the smell in the kitchen, there was a lot of garlic in the meat. It made Casey feel a bit queasy and it occurred to him that his stomach was turning over mainly because it was empty. He decided that he wanted to make himself cinnamon toast although it somehow never tasted quite the same as when Sasha made it. He took the bread out of the cupboard — Sasha was forever putting away things that Casey and Zeke would have been content to leave on the counter — and pulled out two slices of multi-grain, putting them in the toaster.

"Before you ask," Sasha said lightly. "Zeke's upstairs having a smoke."

Casey nodded, fetching the other things he would need --- butter, and a shaker of cinnamon-sugar mix that Sasha liked to keep on hand.

The question came unexpectedly: "Sore, kitten?"

Casey tried to tough it out. He breathed though his alarm and acted dumb. "Huh?"

Sasha lowered his voice. "You promised to take it easy."

"I'm fine."

"Really? Because you don't look fine. You don't look or sound or act fine." From the sound of it, Sasha was quite angry. Casey put his back to the counter, facing him.

Finished with his burgers, Sasha moved to the sink; he washed his hands with neurotic thoroughness. "You know me, kitten. I don't want to be asking or thinking about what you two do. I'm all for public displays of affection but when it comes to sex...I think things like that should stay in the bedroom." Sasha rubbed his hands with a towel, again being extra vigorous.

"So stop talking about it," Casey muttered.

"I can't do that...especially when I get wakened in the middle of the night by creaking and moaning." Sasha advanced a step. Casey backed away, not wanting to be petted or stroked by him; Sasha halted in the middle of the kitchen and went on, "You know, I tried really hard to ignore things, I told myself a little wear and tear once in a while is nothing to worry about — and it wouldn't be except we're talking about you here, Casey. I could catch you with marks around your neck from some guy trying to throttle you to death and you'd try to tell me it was some special jewellery he gave you because he loves you so darned much."

Casey whispered, "At least then I know that something really happened."

Sasha just stared at him. Then he said, "Oh, kitten..."

They both heard Zeke's step at the same time and turned just as the door from the upstairs opened. "Something's burning..." Zeke said, and frowned as he took in their tableau.

Casey wrenched himself out of Sasha's long reach, noticing for the first time that a steady stream of smoke was rising from the toaster. Zeke casually reached for it and popped up two charred pieces of bread.

"Well, those are done for," Sasha said, his voice rough. "Anyway...it's lunchtime, you should have something more substantial, kitten."

"I don't want anything," Casey said, meaning it. It was just as well that the toast had been immolated.

"You need to eat."

Biting down on a snarl, Casey threatened, "I'll puke."

"What was going on just now?" Zeke asked quietly.

"You want to know?" Sasha returned.

"Yes. I want to know."

"Then I'll tell you," Sasha began, and paused, taking in Casey and Zeke and the half-finished hamburgers on the counter. "...but it'll have to be later. Right now we have a birthday party and I have a bunch of salads to make."

"Oh, just...chill about the party," Zeke said.

"Zeke, come on now — "

"But I don't really need a party."

"Please don't cancel it," Casey heard himself begging. He couldn't ruin this too, he couldn't, and if there was no party there would be no reason for Sasha not to tell Zeke at this very moment what he was going to tell him later...then it would all be over and he wouldn't be able to finish what he'd set out to do and Zeke would have left him too and he wouldn't have finished what he had to finish... "Please, I don't want it to be..." He sucked a breath and put his hand on the counter to steady himself. "There should be a party with candles and cake and s-streamers because...you know...it's...your birthday, Zeke...you de-deserve it...I — I mean — Sasha's got h- hamburgers — w-we went to the grocery store and bought — and Stokely baked with gluten so we have to..."

He trailed away as he saw how Sasha and Zeke were both staring at him. No one spoke for quite an eternity and he was teetering on the edge of an abyss. For those seconds his fate was entirely in their hands. They could speak and save him or just let him fall.

Finally, Sasha said, "You're right, kitten...We did promise Zeke a birthday event, didn't we? But the first thing I'm doing is...is...I'm going to make you a sandwich or you can make it, I don't care, but you're going to eat the whole thing. I don't care if it takes you all afternoon."

His voice was at its most familiar — pure solicitude with a tinge of bullying — and the void pulled back to crouch just at the edge of Casey's immediate awareness so that he could breathe at the very least. He could do what Sasha asked of him. "Okay," he mumbled obediently. "Okay...okay, Sasha."

"How's peanut butter sound?"

"Okay."

Sasha took the bread out and removed two fresh slices. Casey stepped back, getting out of his way, although he was not having quite as much success at standing still. He rocked from one foot to the other and watched Sasha fetch a butter knife from the drawer — and Zeke, who took the peanut butter from the cupboard and handed it to Sasha.

"Fetch me the jam, kitten."

It was a relief to have a task, and Casey went immediately to the refrigerator to carry it out. Behind him, he heard Zeke mutter to Sasha, "Are we actually doing this?"

"Yes," Sasha answered. "We are. We're going to have kick-ass burgers and cake with gluten — "

"And beer," Zeke threw in.

"Yes, beer..." Sasha accepted the jar of strawberry jam from Casey. "Thank you, kitten. So we're all going to have fun, okay...even if it kills us." No one said a word and Sasha pressed, "Right?"

"Right," Zeke chorused grimly. "Fun."

"Kitten?"

"I can do fun," Casey said.

"Excellent," Sasha said wearily, and lathered on the peanut butter.

Around five, Stokely showed up — to ice the cake she said, but it was a task that Sasha had already decided to take off her hands. When informed, she didn't seem particularly offended: "I'm no good at that stuff anyway."

She had also brought the assembly of cheap party favours that she and Casey had presumably hunted down the day before: Crepe paper streamers, a cut out "Happy Birthday", balloons, horns and a conical gold hat for the birthday boy. Zeke had been sitting there — taking the whole production with very good humor, he thought — until that last item was unveiled. "Hand it over," he said, as politely as he could under the circumstances.

"Why?" she said suspiciously.

"I want to try it on."

"Hah! Yeah, right. Like you'd make it that easy."

"You might as well give it to me. It is for me, isn't it?"

Sighing, Stokely handed the atrocious accessory over to him. "You know, Casey told me he really wants to see you wear this."

Zeke craned his neck to look up at Casey, who was standing just behind him. "That's not true, is it?"

It took Casey several seconds to acknowledge that he was being spoken to, and then he just shook his head.

Stokley made a face. "Work with me here, Case."

Zeke thought for the fiftieth time about cancelling the party, even though they were more or less past the point of no return now. There had been a lump of dread in his chest ever since — well, since he woke up. Even before he heard Casey make that terrible sound and he was propelled by horror and fear into the bedroom earlier today, there had been an ominous feeling of something not-good about to happen. He couldn't quite work out the shape of it, but it was bad fucking shit.

For that matter, if only he could have cancelled the last fourteen hours or so...wake up again in the middle of the night and this time pay better attention than he actually had. The fact that he had done nothing that Casey hadn't wanted was no absolution. He had been entirely inside his own head for most of it, swollen with his own power and maybe if he'd just switched that off for a few seconds he might have noticed that Casey was sounding like someone who was being broken. Of course Casey would deny it, but that was irrelevant to the facts.

This wasn't a way to live — and yet it was the story of Zeke's life since August. He was Zeke Tyler, supposedly one of the smartest people around. He had helped to save the world through the power of illicit chemistry. He had owned and managed his own business at twenty-two. He was supposed to be brilliant and here he had been brought low by as ephemeral a thing as a feeling? It was impossible but true.

He broke open the paper hat easily, snapping off the staples, and for extra measure, he turned the paper into confetti. Stokely pouted but said only, "Well, it was funny enough just picturing you wearing it. Case, you wanna help me with the rest of this stuff?"

Plainly, Casey was going along with the whole business of the cheap decorations for Stokely's sake only, but he willingly followed Stokely went into the living room; Zeke began to hear the sounds of plastic and paper crinkling and decided not to watch. He went to lean on the kitchen island and watch Sasha icing his birthday cake.

"Chocolate?" he asked, making conversation.

"You like chocolate, don't you?"

"Oh, yeah, sure — " Zeke stuck his finger in the bowl and got slapped with a spatula. "Ow!"

"How old are you, again?"

"Um...twenty-three."

"That old, huh." Sasha spun the cake, smoothing icing on the sides. "Ah, I remember twenty-three. It was a good time in my life."

"It is for me, too," Zeke said, and he meant it. He believed that people made their own luck, destiny, happiness, whatever...and he was going to make this time in his life good. He was going to stop acting like he was a pinball and get a handle on things. Exactly how he was going to do that he had no idea — but just having decided it was liberating.

Sasha took a break from his task and smiled wistfully at Zeke. He opened his mouth to speak but at that moment a blast of music came out of the speakers in the living room. It was Zeke's Nirvana CD, but at Casey's volume. Zeke wasn't able to control his initial flinch.

"Hey!" Sasha shouted. "A person would like to be able to carry on a conversation!"

Casey was already turning it down. "Sorry," he said over his shoulder.

Zeke straightened up and announced, "I think I'm going to have a beer now." He could feel a few party vibes starting tentatively in his gut — not because it was a particularly joyous occasion, but because there was now a significance to this day. This party was a temporal marker of his new resolve. He would not be Pinball Guy anymore. He would think before he spoke or acted, and especially before he listened to what any of his other body parts had to say on a matter. Starting tomorrow. No, starting right now. "Do we have chips?" he asked, because they went with beer.

Sasha uttered a sigh. "Yes. We have chips. But we also have a nice platter of veggies and dip."

"Surely there's nothing wrong with eating vegetables and chips at the same party."

Behind him, he heard Stokely directing, "A bit higher, Case. No, higher. No, that's too high, drop it a bit..."

Sasha handed him his beer over the counter. "There you go, birthday boy."

"Thanks."

Zeke retrieved the vegetable platter and a couple of bags of chips and set them out on the kitchen table — after Sasha stepped in and insisted that the chips be properly served in bowls — and then just sat down and watched the various preparations happening in front of him. Stokely and Casey had gotten one of those "Happy Birthday" signs that expanded accordion-style, and they were attempting to tape it up to the wall. There were also multi-coloured streamers hanging off things. Zeke noticed that Casey was looking a little bit tight-lipped and figured it was annoyance at Stokely's nitpicking.

They were almost finished when the doorbell rang; it was Jerry, carrying a wrapped parcel and a bottle of wine. Sasha welcomed him with an almost chaste kiss and immediately opened the wine; it had to breathe of course before Jerry would drink it. Meanwhile, Jerry had strolled in and offered Zeke a handshake.

"Happy Birthday, Zeke."

"Thanks, man."

"So is school all wrapped up for the semester?"

"I still have exams, I'm just taking a few days off."

"Good idea. You don't want to overdo it." Jerry waved to Casey in the living room. "Hey, Casey...Stokely."

Zeke called over, "It looks like you're done, guys, take a break from that and come over here. Sasha's letting us have chips so you had better make your move before I eat them all."

"Oh, ha ha," Sasha said from the kitchen. "Like you two don't eat nothing but junk food every night that I'm not here." He squirmed as Jerry came up behind him and kissed his neck. "Hey! Stop that or I'll muck up the cake."

"It's fixable," Jerry said, and deliberately disobeyed him, kissing him again. "I feel like I haven't seen you in decades."

"You saw me just last night, silly."

"Work doesn't count — "

It seemed that Jerry suddenly noticed that Zeke was listening; he left off that discussion but Zeke had an idea that Jerry didn't consider it anywhere near finished. Meanwhile, Stokely and Casey came in from the living room; Stokely immediately started mining the chip bowl, while Casey stayed back slightly.

"Hey, Casey," Jerry said, "What happened to your face?"

Casey jerked a look at him.

"I mean — your chin. That's pretty spectacular."

"Fell in the shower," Casey replied.

"Must have hurt."

Casey shrugged, staring off into some corner of his personal head space.

In the background, Kurt Cobain was wailing: Let me clip your dirty wings...let me take a ride...don't hurt yourself...I want some help...to help myself —

Zeke stood up suddenly. "I'm going to put on some other music," he said.

He tried to find a CD in their collection that could be approved by everyone but there was no such item. He ended up putting on Duran Duran's Greatest Hits since it would offend the least number of people and didn't feature any suicidal rock musicians.

Stokely groaned as the first strains of "Planet Earth" sounded throughout the living room and dining area. "Oh, Zeke...why?"

Returning to his seat, he retorted, "We don't have any CD's that everyone here would like."

"How about some nice Billy Holliday?" Sasha called out. "Who could object to that?"

"I would," Stokely muttered. She grinned at Casey, who was standing nearby, looking fidgety.

"You know, we could all sit in the living room," Sasha proposed as he came out from behind the kitchen island. He had a glass of wine within reach, and Jerry was also on hand, acting as his assistant. "There are much comfier seats there."

Of course, no one moved, which was consistent with Zeke's experience. For some reason, all parties gravitated toward the kitchen.

"We have soda, kitten," Sasha announced. "I'll get you one if you want."

"Soda and chips!" Stokely decried.

"Only on special occasions."

"Maybe he'd like a beer," Jerry suggested, encouraging Casey to misbehave with a nod and a wag of his eyebrows. Sasha scowled at him.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Zeke said without hesitation although he wasn't in possession of completely sound reasoning about it. Casey had been warned about drinking alcohol while taking Klonopin but he probably wouldn't suffer any harm from a single beer. It was just that if he needed to take a Xanax at some point, it could get really complicated. Not that Zeke was expecting anything to happen. He was just being proactive.

"Oh, for Christ's sake," Stokely said. "Are you ever going to let Casey decide something for himself?"

"I'm just saying..."

"I agree with Zeke," Sasha put in, addressing this to Casey. "Kitten, you shouldn't...and not just because it's illegal — "

"I don't like beer," Casey said, overriding all of them.

Stokely snickered. "I guess that settles that."

"Or wine," Casey added. "I don't really like the taste of alcohol."

"Huh," Jerry commented. "I wish I could say that. But in the meantime, I have to say this is one damn tasty Merlot." He held up his empty glass.

Sasha patted his arm. "Yes, I'll get you a refill. And a soda for you, Casey."

"What's that, Sasha? Would I like a beer?" Stokely said archly. "Why, yes, thanks."

"Really?" Zeke said to Stokely.

"Yep. I'm cutting loose tonight."

Sasha made a face but otherwise the potential illegality of giving beer to Stokely didn't seem to bother him all that much; he headed to the refrigerator laden with drink requests.

Stokely plopped herself in a chair. "So what do you think of the decorations, Zeke?"

Zeke swallowed his first reply and tried to be gracious. "Very nice," he said.

Stokely burst out into giggles, appealing to Casey who obliged her with a slight grin. "They're supposed to be a joke, you don't have to like them!"

"Oh. In that case I can't stand them."

"That's better!"

The doorbell rang once more, and Zeke suddenly felt certain that it was Winona. He could see Casey's body tense and his own heart started to pound violently until he heard Stan's voice and suddenly recalled that he had told Winona to come at eight. There was still almost an hour's reprieve.

Stan was welcomed in and he greeted everyone in his slightly diffident, jock way before helping himself to the beer stocks. The first thing he did was clink his bottle with Zeke's. "Happy birthday, man."

"Thanks, buddy," Zeke replied.

"Hey, Case." Stan's gaze stuttered over the bruise on Casey's face for a second, but he didn't comment. "So, like, I asked Aunt Charly if she wanted to join me but she just couldn't make it."

Zeke felt his eyes bulge slightly.

"Just kidding." Stan slapped Zeke on the shoulder, and that was his way of letting him know that there were no hard feelings, although it probably had something to do with Sasha calling to apologize. Zeke hadn't asked about it but he supposed he should be grateful for that since his friends were still speaking to him. They were really quite tolerant of him, knowing that he still had an opinion about the alien issue and willing to let him prevail with it. And he was willing to let them disagree, even to let them think he was unreasonable. He didn't care, as long as Casey was safe.

"So what are we eating?" Stan asked.

"Stan!" Stokely protested.

"What? I'm just asking...I'm really kind of hungry."

"We're having hamburgers a la Zeke," Sasha answered readily. "I'm going to barbecue them up on the roof, but I wanted to wait until everyone is here."

Stan looked around. "Who else is coming?"

"Winona."

"Never heard of her."

"She's a friend of Zeke's from school," Sasha explained. He paused, then made free to say, "And she's late."

"No," Zeke corrected him. "I told her eight o'clock. I wasn't sure about the time so I just picked a number."

Casey moved suddenly, propelling himself away from the table. Everyone stared and Zeke clenched himself for some kind of outburst but all Casey did was walk down the hall, presumably to the bathroom. Zeke had to exercise extreme discipline not to go after him, which was a good thing because Casey was back maybe five minutes later and had apparently made the decision to adopt Zeke as his chair. It was fine by Zeke but a bit odd because Casey didn't seem at all comfortable on Zeke's lap. He didn't settle; he perched, holding his body rigid as though he much rather would have been standing. Zeke put an arm loosely around his waist to steady him.

The conversation broke into splinters. Jerry and Sasha were animatedly discussing some business from the restaurant, while Stan and Stokely were going on about that Tara person who was Stokely's co-worker. Zeke watched the two of them interact and wondered if they were back together. Suddenly they seemed far more close and easy with each other than they had ever been before the break-up. He knew for his own part that he still considered Delilah a friend — but then they all had something a little extra holding them together, didn't they? Or was it just that Stokley and Stan had been friends for a long time and wanted to continue being friends? And would it be rude to just ask outright if they were dating?

Speculation about the correct classification of Stan and Stokely's relationship couldn't quite beat down the rising knowledge of Winona's imminent arrival. Casey's strange posture and tense calm were a constant reminder, and Zeke was feeling pretty edgy himself. He downed his first beer quickly and put out a general request for someone to get him another since he didn't want to dislodge Casey — but Casey jumped up before anyone else could and fetched it for him.

As Casey put the beer bottle on the table beside Zeke, he moved in close to Zeke's body, right in between his knees. Still standing, he lowered his head and initiated a searing kiss that Zeke felt all the way into his toes. Casey's fingers crawled up into his hair as the taste of him spread through Zeke's mouth and throat. It was a gentle, constant pressure that expanded into a firm, open-mouthed exploration. Finally it wrapped up with a tender flurry against Zeke's lips and jaw.

Casey stepped back, with a faint and mysterious tilt to his shining lips. He took his hand and gently traced Zeke's wet mouth with his thumb...so Zeke supposed that he was drooling. He was also in no state to stand up in public.

When he dared to look beyond Casey he saw a range of expressions. Stan, he noticed, merely looked stupified. There wasn't a trace of disgust that Zeke could see, but perhaps shock had overtaken it for now. Stokely was grinning openly, and Jerry was smiling somewhat self-consciously, almost but not quite hiding his eyes. "Whew," he said, his cheeks pinking. "What was that?"

"A birthday present," Casey said throatily, his attention still mainly on Zeke — but with that he turned himself to meet Sasha's gaze. Zeke had no idea what was passing between them. Sasha didn't look angry or disapproving — just sad.

"Um...thank you, I guess," Zeke said. His voice cracked a bit, making everyone laugh. Even Sasha smiled a little.

Casey didn't resume sitting on Zeke's lap. He just stood, remaining very close to Zeke, and Zeke had a moment of insight which may very have contained an element of psychosis too — that Casey was standing because he couldn't sit down and everyone in the room knew it and they were looking at the two of them, scrutinizing them, trying to make up their minds about Zeke and Casey's relationship just as Zeke had been doing to them, on an off, all evening. And they were thinking that, whatever this relationship was, it was very good for Zeke but not very good for Casey.

"So, um..." Zeke faltered. "Stan...you going back to Herrington for Christmas?"

"You bet!" Stan replied. "Only for a week, but I am so totally looking forward to a bit of time off. Aunt Charly works me like a dog."

A deliberate infusion of sarcastic wit went a long way to repairing Zeke's composure. "Why does that not surprise me?" he returned.

"Hey...be nice," Stokely warned, eyes narrowing slightly.

"I don't mind working hard," Stan said. "Not at all...it's just nice to have a break."

"I hear you," Zeke said, and looked pointedly at Stokely. "What about you, Stokes? Going home for Christmas?"

"Of course — hey, Case, we could get everyone together for a little Christmas movie festival at my parents' house."

If she was hoping for some animation from Casey, she was disappointed. He just nodded and smiled slightly. He reached across the table and took a couple of chips. There was something odd about the motion and Zeke had to puzzle over it for a few seconds until he realized that Casey was not shaking. Casey was absolutely steady, like a person completely comfortable in his surroundings — or not comfortable but completely resigned.

"When are you going home, Zeke?" Stokely continued brightly.

"Um..." Zeke started, distracted. "Well, I'm not going home per se...I'm going to stay with the Connors but anyway, my last exam is on December 18th...so right after that I guess." Halfway through his second beer, Zeke noticed that the alcohol was affecting him far more than he was accustomed to. It must have to do with the anti-histimines and decongestants still in his system, even though he hadn't taken any for over twenty-four hours.

The doorbell rang. Involuntarily, Zeke reached for Casey's hand and gripped it tightly. Casey looked down into Zeke's eyes and Zeke abruptly remembered his voice last night choking on the "love you" like it was some last act of surrender.

Sasha had gone to get the door. "Hello," they heard him say in his best host's voice.

"Hi."

A pause.

"I'm Winona."

"Hi, I'm Sasha, Zeke and Casey's roommate."

"Yeah, it's great to meet you. I, uh...I hope you don't mind, I brought an extra body. This is my friend Karen...she lives in my building..."

Whatever Casey had prepared himself for, it could not have included an additional guest. He had gone absolutely rigid. His face was long past the colour white, taking on a bluish tone. Zeke squeezed and massaged his hand, trying to reassure him. From across the potato chips, Stokely met Zeke's eyes with her own brows raised.

"Oh, sure...the more the merrier," Sasha replied.

"Hi, uh...Sasha, right?" said a strange voice. "Sorry to crash like this, I hope it's okay. I just wasn't doing anything tonight and I thought I'd drop in on Winona but it turned out she was going out, so I thought I might just...you know, tag along."

"No problem."

"Great — hey, it's snowing out there. Did you see?"

There were mutters and various manoeuvrings of getting coats and shoes off, and drinks for the new arrivals. Karen had brought a case of beer with her, Zeke overheard...then finally they appeared to those assembled around the dining table. The new girl was skinny and blond, perhaps thirty-five, with a ruddy complexion. She was wearing tight jeans and a sleeveless cotton t-shirt that stated "Diva". Zeke tried to decide if Winona had just gotten away with something or if she had just been trying to have a good idea. He would have been tempted to go with "good idea" except that Casey's unease was still entirely evident and showing little sign of abating. He was trembling slightly, the spell of eerie calm completely unravelled.

Sasha launched into a round of introductions. "Okay, this is Jerry, that's Stokely and Stan and — Winona, you know Zeke and Casey, of course. Everyone, this is Karen."

"Which one's the birthday boy?" Karen asked, squinting a little. She had a slightly gruff, overused voice, and Zeke realized that Karen was already more than half in the bag.

Zeke raised his hand.

"Oh, hi, Happy Birthday! I didn't bring you anything, I'm afraid, but I give great birthday kisses."

There was a slight, strained moment. Zeke said, "I've already had one, thanks."

Winona nudged her friend. "He's spoken for, remember."

"Oh, damn."

Winona held up a small gift bag that was perfectly decorated with multi- coloured tissue paper and ribbon. "Do we have a place for prezzies?"

"Yeah, right there." Sasha directed her to a spot on the floor nearby where they had been collecting the gifts. "Excuse me for a second." He went back to his kitchen; Zeke heard him banging around, putting something in the oven.

Stokely asked, "Did I hear you say it's snowing? For real?"

"Uh-huh," Karen returned. She tipped back her beer and took in three quarters of it like a pro. "But you know it will probably be raining soon and by morning it'll just be a skating rink out there. Right now it looks real nice."

"I've never cooked in the snow," Sasha mused, reemerging from the kitchen.

"Say again?" Karen asked.

"I was going to grill some burgers. I bought a hibatchi just for the occasion."

"Where? In the alleyway?"

"No, up on the roof, we have a space up there..." Sasha was obviously thinking as he spoke. "In fact...I think I'll go to it before it gets any wetter."

He took a step in the direction of the kitchen and Casey jerked into motion. "I'll help," he said.

"Naw, kitten, it's damp, I don't want you to — "

"I want to help," Casey insisted, a note of almost hysterical obstinacy entering his voice.

Sasha gave him a once over and conceded. "Of course," he said, and then made an enormous production of getting Casey sufficiently bundled for the roof, doubling his own scarf around Casey's neck so that in the end almost half of Casey's face was obscured. Casey refused the suggestion that he put on his new, as-yet- unworn boots, however, preferring the convenience of his running shoes. Zeke watched and listening along with everyone else, and hoped that when he was doing his own overprotective shtick, he didn't come off half as cloying and over-the-top as Sasha.

Finally, they went upstairs, lugging the new equipment, related accessories, and the platter of raw burgers.

Karen sat down in the chair Sasha had vacated, while Winona remained standing, nibbling on carrots and cauliflower. "Duran Duran!" Karen exclaimed, noticing the music emanating from the speakers in the living room.

"Yeah — " Zeke said, preparing to defend his choice.

"Cool. Oh, god, when I was twelve I had such a crush on Simon le Bon."

There were blank looks, although Zeke thought that Jerry showed some reluctant recognition.

"Come on!" Karen said. "Simon le Bon, Nick Rhodes, John Taylor..."

"It was a little before our time," Stokely explained primly, as though she had never heard of the band. Zeke was pretty sure that she had.

"Right, of course..." Karen sighed. "I feel so old." She put her purse up on the table and began rummaging through it. "Is it okay if I smoke in here?"

"Actually..." Zeke answered. "Smoking only happens up on the roof."

"Shit. And I'm not ready to go outside again just yet." Karen sighed. "Oh, well...in a little while, then." She looked around, taking in the living room from where she sat. "You guys have a nice place here."

"Thanks," Zeke said.

Stan got up. "I'm getting another beer, anyone want one?"

"Yeah," Zeke said.

"Me, too," Stokely added.

Over the next twenty minutes, Zeke relaxed slightly and admitted that there was one good thing about this new person: She never let the conversation lapse for more than a few seconds. Winona had probably thought that bringing another person would dilute her own presence, which was a sound theory. Unfortunately, she didn't quite grasp the nature of Casey's anxieties. She knew he had difficulty when outside the apartment, of course, but probably hadn't considered the impact of bringing one of the outside people inside without advance notice.

"I'm going to have a smoke," Zeke announced. He was feeling two kinds of need, in fact; the urge to talk to Casey and entice him back downstairs was perhaps the more pressing.

To his dismay, Karen immediately jumped up and retrieved her scarf and coat, following him to the door. "I'll go with you, then."

She kept talking the entire way up the stairs, but Zeke made no effort to follow what she was saying. He thought it had something to do with the weather. It was indeed snowing, with the kind of enormous wet flakes that often accompanied a mild temperature and Karen was right; it would probably change to rain at some point during the night.

Sasha was standing at the small barbecue wearing a heavy jacket, holding his glass of wine. Casey was standing very close to him, brandishing the tongs in his gloved hands like he was assisting a surgery. At the sound of Karen's voice, they both turned quickly.

"Hi, guys!" Karen said.

Tipping out one of his cigarettes, Zeke joined them beside the hibatchi. Twelve burgers were sizzling delightfully.

"Almost done," Sasha said.

"Those smell fantastic," Karen said, lighting up her own smoke and shivering. She cupped a hand over it to protect it from the wet snowfall. "What's in them?"

"Just garlic, salt, some parsley..." Sasha answered, shrugging.

Casey was wild-eyed. Zeke couldn't remember seeing him look this freaked out about a new person, not even when Winona had come to their apartment for the first time, and the implication that absolutely no progress had been made after all this time, that they had in fact managed to accomplish the opposite of progress, aroused a terrible weariness in Zeke. He put his hand on Casey's arm and gave Casey a look that pleaded with him to make the assumption, just for tonight, that everyone was really who they seemed to be...Just take the night off, Case, please, we'll figure this thing out, I promise.

In response, Casey pulled away like he was going to head to the door. Zeke tightened his hand and said, "Case..."

The anger that Zeke witnessed in Casey's face right then was stunning in its completeness. Casey yanked his arm away without a word and took several quick steps away from Zeke — and stepped on a patch of snow that was already well on its way to becoming ice. He slipped, going down in an undignified heap.

"Kitten!" Sasha cried.

"Shit!" Karen exclaimed.

Zeke put an arm out, warning Sasha to keep back, and got to Casey first. Casey was already up on his knees; Zeke took hold of him and helped him up, brushing bits of snow off of his jacket. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Casey said, his cheeks flushed. He tried to shrug off Zeke's hands. It was always embarrassing for an adult to fall in front of other adults, Zeke knew that, and he knew that he was compromising Casey's pride further by holding on to him as he was...however, he didn't let go.

"Did you hurt yourself, kitten?" Sasha wanted to know.

Casey squirmed in Zeke's grip and protested, "No, I'm — I'm okay — Zeke — I want to go back down."

"Fine," Zeke replied, and then whispered, "Would you just try a little?"

Casey retorted, not bothering to modulate his volume, "I always try. Please, would you...would you take your hands off me?"

Stung, Zeke let him go, lifting his hands in the air with exaggerated resignation.

Casey took a step backwards. Just one step and then he said quietly, "You're so afraid of how things look."

"I am not — "

"You are. You worry all the time about how crazy it looks how everyone might be laughing at us and saying we're just lying or mixed up...but you don't really know a thing about it."

"What?" Zeke gasped. "What do you mean by that?"

Casey just shook his head.

"What are you trying to say?" Zeke demanded.

"Nothing." Casey took two more steps. "Just...I don't want to be the crazy one but I have to...You deal with the real stuff, Zeke, and I deal with the stuff that might not be real but if it is then we're all in trouble. So I have to be crazy, see? I can't figure out any other way."

"Casey...what the fuck are you talking about?"

Casey swallowed, like he was trying to find the courage to say something. Then he slipped away from him and down the stairs. He muttered something else as he went, but Zeke couldn't hear it.

Sasha and Karen had probably heard bits of the hissed conversation but not all of it. Sasha watched Zeke with open anxiety. Karen dropped her cigarette and cleared her throat. "I don't bite," she commented.

"Of course, you don't," Zeke muttered. That was the entire point he had been trying to make, wasn't it? She might be a party-crashing, beer-swilling loud- mouth, but she wasn't dangerous, for fuck sake.

Karen blinked at his tone. "Um...it's a little chilly here. See you downstairs." Zeke finally lit up his long forgotten cigarette. He took several hauls on it and dropped the remains on the ground, noting rather belatedly that his hand was shaking.

Sasha declared, "I have things to say to you."

"Not now, please."

"I'm not planning on saying them now — except keep an eye on him."

"When do I not keep an eye on him?"

"Zeke, you..." Sasha shook his head. "You've been kind of distracted, you know? It's not your fault, you were sick and you had stuff to do...like you said, you weren't paying attention." Before Zeke could react, Sasha asked, "Can you fetch me a platter for these?"

When Zeke went back downstairs he didn't see Casey at the kitchen table, but Stokely gave him a brief, unspoken report, pointing to the living room. Zeke quickly delivered the platter to Sasha upstairs, then hastened back inside. Karen and Winona were at the stereo, making like they were DJ's; Duran Duran had been silenced. Jerry was busy setting out everything they would need to eat, including the condiments and the salads. Stokely and Stan had moved to sit near Casey, who was in the furthest corner of the living room. He was resting his elbow on the arm of the sofa and his head in his hand like it was hurting him, occasionally jerking and staring at Winona or Karen in accordance not with their actions but with some internal cues he was receiving.

"Hey, Zeke, what kind of music do you like?" Karen called. "Linkin Park, Deftones, Kidney Thieves...ugh, Marilyn Manson...this stuff isn't yours, Zeke, is it? ‘Pod'. What's that mean?"

"I think that's ‘P.O.D.'," Zeke said, glancing in Casey's direction.

"Don't you have anything danceable?"

"It's ‘Payable On Death'."

Casey had spoken this, and Karen and Winona both twisted to look at him. "Say what?" Winona asked.

"‘P.O.D.' stands for ‘Payable On Death'."

"How cheerful," Winona muttered.

Zeke pulled out a compilation of Top Forty pop tunes that was one of Sasha's collection and offered it to her. "Try this."

"Oh, this looks good."

"Come and get it!" Sasha called.

Everything was quiet while they ate, if not peaceful. The burgers were delicious and Sasha got the raves he deserved. Being Sasha, he had naturally paired the burgers with some exotic salads, but as a concession to Zeke's palate, he had concocted some kind of cheesy potato casserole that could been drawn from a lady's auxiliary cookbook of the sixties, except being Sasha he had jazzed them up with several different kinds of cheese and a conspicuous absence of canned anything. It was a hit with everyone, though, even Jerry. Zeke ate two burgers and a mound of the potato goo and a large pile of salad. He also had another beer.

Once again, Casey wasn't eating; he had put some food on his plate but was sitting with it on his lap, contemplating some mysteries that only he understood and Zeke was fed up with the whole business. This not-eating crap was nothing more than an exercise in jerking people around, a way for Casey to take and hold control over something.

Evidently, Sasha hadn't figured that out. He made a horrible scene of trying scold and bully Casey into eating; Zeke noticed pained faces all around. Even Jerry was squirming at the saccharine lacing every endearment that dripped from Sasha's lips. None of it worked, of course. Sasha should have been able to recognize by now when Casey wasn't in the mood to act mature or well-adjusted.

Soon it was time to bring out the cake. Having exhausted his repertoire of wheedles and bribery with Casey, Sasha turned to the production of bringing the cake out, complete with candles. Stokely insisted on singing, which was painful enough but then she wanted Zeke to blow out the candles. At first he absolutely balked — until it was pointed out to him that wax was beginning to drip down onto the icing, so he swallowed his pride and blew them out, amidst overenthusiastic applause.

Sasha did not ask Casey if he wanted a piece; he cut one for him along with everyone else and as he handed it to Casey, he said, "No way do you get out of eating this...it's tradition."

Apparently, Winona had also reached the limit of how much of this she could hear without commenting. She rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath to Karen, something that Zeke couldn't hear. Zeke wondered if she really believed that she wasn't observed, or if she just didn't care.

Karen said to Casey, "You're a fussy eater, aren't you?"

"Oh, he just eats like a little bird," Winona put in. It was almost sneering.

Zeke was going to say something but Casey glared right back at Winona and said, "I'm just not feeling very hungry for some reason."

Winona shrugged. "Too bad...this is really good."

Perhaps motivated by obligation to his friend, Casey put his fork to it and took a bite. "It is good," he agreed unexpectedly, and politely finished a quarter of the piece that Sasha had given him, which was no less than five inches thick.

Everyone quickly agreed, heaping Stokely with praise. The ambience in the room lightened slightly and Sasha announced that it was time to open some gifts. Zeke found himself bemused by all of the energy surrounding a single day, even if it did commemorate his coming into the world. He had no memory of ever having any sort of party or celebration before. His parents would give him gifts, often lavish ones, but his mother had declared early on that he was too smart and precocious to enjoy stupid fripperies like paper hats and loot bags. On that point if nothing else, he would have to say that she wasn't far wrong.

The first gift that Sasha brought to Zeke to be opened was from himself. It was a large, heavy gift bag that Zeke assumed to be books. He briefly turned his mind to the question of Casey's gift, which he hadn't seen and was kind of curious about...but he made himself stop there. Casey didn't have a lot of money, after all.

Sasha's gift was three books, actually, and they were perfect — one a work of contemporary philosophy, another called The Home Chemist which made Zeke laugh out loud, and the third was Help, My Apartment Has a Kitchen. For a gag, Sasha had also tossed in a package of Nicorette.

"Oh, that's hys-sterical," Zeke said, surprised to hear his words slur.

Sasha smiled at him but said nothing.

"If you're going to quit," Karen volunteered, "You should try the patch. I managed to quit once for about a year and it really helped."

"I didn't say I was quitting," Zeke returned.

Thankfully, no one pursued the topic any further and went on to open Stan's gift. It was a thirty dollar gift certificate from the Bayview. "Hey, that's-s awesome," he said happily. "I didn't even know they had gift certificates."

"They do when it's for you," Stan answered. "I think you're their best customer."

"Thanks, pal," Zeke said, meaning it.

Sasha brought him another package, this one from Jerry. Unwrapping it, he found a very stylish wool sweater in shades of red — maybe Jerry had overheard Zeke complaining about how all his sweaters were misshapen — and a book on the history of beer.

"Wow, thanks."

Jerry shrugged. "Don't mention it."

And Stokely had also bought him a book, titled A History of Bisexuality.

"Fuck, I have a lot of reading to do," Zeke said, not displeased at all. In fact, he was quite surprised by how skillfully his friends had chosen gifts for him. He had been going around thinking he was inscrutable, but apparently he wasn't.

"Is it — " Stokely began anxiously.

"It's great. I think I could get into this birthday thing." With that, Zeke peered into the gift bag from Winona. He found a bag of chocolate-covered coffee beans and a nondescript envelope. He was expecting gift certificates of some kind but when he opened it, it turned out to be two tickets to Garagefest, a major Seattle rock festival in April.

"What is it?" Stan wanted to know.

"Tickets to Garagefest," Zeke replied, stunned. The cost wasn't printed on them, but Zeke knew they had to be expensive.

"Fuck me," was Stan's comment.

Zeke said to Winona, "You didn't have to do this."

"I know," she replied, shrugging. "It's kind of a thank you for supporting me."

"But can you afford this?"

"I was working full-time for quite a few years before this year so don't worry about it."

"Well...thank you." Zeke wondered if she had bought herself a ticket too, if she intended for it to be a threesome or if she was assuming that the second ticket was for her. He doubted it, though; it just wasn't very likely. Zeke looked over at Casey, who was therefore also a recipient of the gift, and in a way it was much more appropriate for him than Zeke. Maybe Winona was aware of that and she was making a peace offering. "Look at this, Case."

"Mmm," Casey said only.

His arms were folded across his chest; if he got the point, he refused to acknowledge it and Zeke thought it best not to push him. He put the tickets and envelope down on the kitchen table with the rest of his loot and said, "Thank you, everyone, this is great. Only one thing would make it complete."

"What's that?" Sasha asked, frowning slightly.

"If someone would fetch me a beer."

"I'll get — " Winona started.

But Casey was already up and heading to the kitchen. "No, I'll get it."

She waved her hands. "Fine, whatever. Could you bring me one too, then?"

It was as though he hadn't heard her. Moments later he was back with Zeke's beer only; after handing it to Zeke he took up a position standing against the wall near him, not even looking in Winona's direction, and dashing any lingering hope that he might be capable of playing nice for just a few hours.

Winona traded a look of incredulity with Karen. "Okay then," she loudly. "I'll get one myself."

The air in the room was getting difficult to breathe. Zeke said to Casey, "Are you going to sit?"

"No."

"Not even with me?"

"No."

At that moment Winona happened to be passing Casey on her way back in from the kitchen. She paused in front of him and offered, with a magnanimous wave, "You can have my seat...I don't mind standing for a while to stretch my legs — "

She hadn't given the appearance of even contemplating touching him but he leapt into motion suddenly, exploding off the wall and pushing her with a measure of force that amounted to a blow. She staggered and dropped her open bottle of beer on the carpet. Staring down at the spreading stain, she growled, "What the hell is wrong with you?"

In a voice that sounded like a repressed scream, Casey said, "Don't you ever fucking touch me again."

Zeke considered diving to pick up the beer that was still emptying itself onto the carpet and decided that it was not the priority. All the same, he felt the need to be on his feet.

"I wasn't going to touch you. I've never done anything to you." Winona's face was contorted with emotion. "You know, I don't know what else I can do. I try to be friendly — "

Casey made a harsh noise that resembled a laugh only slightly.

Winona blurted, "For the millionth time, I'm not interested in Zeke that way!"

"You think you can erase me," he accused.

"What? You're fucking nuts."

During the course of this exchange, Sasha had moved gradually closer and was now hovering near Casey. Casey didn't miss the fact that his friends were not too subtly closing in on him. He took a step back, the warning on his face very clear.

"Case..." Zeke pleaded with him.

Casey mimicked him: "‘Stop being crazy, Casey'...'stop making a scene, Casey'."

"That's not what I'm saying."

"No, you're saying stop being mean stop being afraid Casey she's not going to hurt you she's just a person like anyone else.'"

"Why can't you get it through your head that I'm not your enemy!" Winona cried.

"Winona, don't help," Sasha said urgently.

It was too late; Casey had already fixated on her words and he said, "But you see, I have this problem. I can't really tell the difference between friends and enemies because aliens came to my home town this one time and took over everyone's body — "

"Casey!" Zeke exploded.

" — they took over everyone, they tried to invade me — invade us — "

"Casey, shut the fuck up!"

Silence prevailed while everyone in the room gaped at Casey, and then Zeke, and then back at Casey, bracing themselves for the next act. Zeke expected histrionics, fear, remonstrations from his friends. He expected Casey to run away or cringe and beg for apology, but Casey did none of that.

He gazed intently at Zeke for several moments, with a look that Zeke would never quite manage to break down to its component parts. Anger was a big part of it, and grief, but there were other things going on that Zeke didn't recall seeing mixed up with those before. Casey said, "I'm sorry, Zeke, but I can't. It's too late..."

"Too late for what?"

"I can't shut up about it."

"What do you...?"

Casey lifted his chin. He didn't say it, but Zeke just knew.

He had imagined, over and over, how he would react when he learned that the thing that he feared the most had happened but the reality was surprising. He had imagined screaming and jumping up and down and yelling in anger. Instead, he just did his best to hear what he was hearing. "You told Yves," he said. Just to make sure that he and Casey were talking about the same thing.

"Yes," Casey said, and he was not just telling Zeke. He said it almost vindictively, like he wanted it to hurt.

"Well," Zeke said. His mouth felt numb. "That was always your call to make." He realized the moment after how cold that sounded but there was no way to take it back. Nor did he want to. What he wanted was to seize Casey by the neck and shake him, shake him and shout Why don't you listen why do you have to do this to me don't you realize how much I've given to protect you and now you just go and throw it all away you just have to prove that you're crazy and fucked up don't you —

Zeke would have liked to focus on the matter of own personal meltdown but he didn't have the luxury, because Casey was not finished with Winona. He told her, "I want you to leave and never come back."

She put her hands on her hips. "Or what? You can't control who Zeke talks to...I mean, you hide here all day and you expect him to just stay here in a little box?"

"I may be fucked up," Casey hissed. "But I know how to deal with you."

"What is that? Is that a threat?"

Sasha raised his hands, trying to invoke a more peaceful energy. "Come on, guys, let's just chill here, okay?"

Casey didn't seem to hear him. He grabbed at something on the nearby kitchen table; Zeke realized that it was the Garagefest tickets.

"What are you doing?" Winona demanded. "Those are for you and Zeke — !"

"I'm not going to let you do it!" Casey sobbed. "All the time...it's have a coffee with me...Zeke have a beer with me go to a concert with me...you think you can get away with it but I know what you're about..."

He tore the tickets in half, to the accompaniment of various cries of dismay and protest — while Zeke just looked on. Zeke had known moments of paralysis in his life, but they were nothing to his current state of dysfunction.

Before Casey could rip the tickets into even smaller bits, Sasha sprang forward and grabbed his wrist. At about the same moment, though, Winona got to him. She attempted to snatch what was left of the tickets from him, and it was a mistake.

He launched himself at her, screaming, "I won't let you, not this time...not this time...!" His fists landed two blows before Stan grabbed him and pulled him away from her. Using Casey's own momentum, Stan propelled Casey into the nearby armchair and held him face-down against the upholstery.

All became pandemonium. Jerry was stunned into immobility initially, then, rushing to get paper towels, he knelt down and attempted to sop up the beer puddle but not very efficiently as he was more busy with gaping at Casey. Stokely stood rooted in place, tears in her eyes. Winona was crying outright and mumbling "He hit me...he hit me..." while pressing her hand over a bleeding nose; Karen tried to console her with "Jesus fuck...fucking hell, he attacked you...that was...total sucker punch..." and all the while Stan's pleading rose through it: "Take it easy, Case, take it easy..." His words had no effect on Casey, who was still struggling violently and pouring out a stream of invective: "No, I won't, you can't do it you bitch you fucking bitch leave me the fuck alone go away!"

And still all Zeke could do was watch.

Sasha took action first, grabbing Stan's collar. "Get off him!"

"But he's — "

"Just get off!"

Stan let go and Casey immediately surged up only to find himself hemmed in by Sasha's long arms and legs. Casey continued mindlessly to resist; his hysteria even intensified as he fought with Sasha and the chair. "Jerry," Sasha said calmly, keeping his head just out of range of Casey's, "there's a bottle of pills in my right bedside table. Could you get me one?"

"Yes...yes..." Jerry mumbled, straightening up. He left the sodden paper towels as they were and quickly scuttled out of the room.

"He hit me!" Winona sobbed once more.

In response, Casey thrashed a bit harder and renewed his screaming. "Leave me alone leave me alone fucking leave me alone...!"

"Winona, can you please go somewhere else?" Sasha requested, managing to make it sound polite.

Karen glared at Sasha but said to Winona, "Come on, let's go wash your face, sweetie."

"I'm sorry," Zeke mouthed to no one in particular as Winona was escorted to the bathroom.

Stan and Stokely were now standing together holding hands like they didn't realize they were doing it, reaching out to each other for comfort out of habit. "Can I help?" Stokely asked Zeke, wiping the back of her other hand across her face.

Zeke shook his head, his eyes on Casey and Sasha. Sasha had gotten Casey to be almost still; Casey remained half folded in the chair, his body rigid and ready to erupt the moment that he was released, his fists clenched. Sasha had his cheek pressed against the back of Casey's head and was desperately and methodically caressing his hair.

Zeke compelled himself to stand and take a step towards them. Casey jerked violently in Sasha's hold.

"No, no, no, kitten!" Sasha said, not-quite calm. "Still...be still..."

"Can't — " Casey choked. "Can't — she's — here — they'll make me — "

"Yes, you can because it's safe, it's okay..."

Jerry had returned with a pill in his hand and a glass of water. He came to stand nearby, just within Sasha's reach.

"I have a pill for you, kit — "

"No!"

"Yes, you'll feel better."

"Don't want to — have to — have to get her before she — she gets us — she'll get us all — get me — please — "

"Casey, stop this now, do you hear me!" Sasha ordered. "This is not you! Now I'm going to count to three and then you're going to let go and take this pill and that's that! Ready? One...two...three..."

Nothing happened at first. Then Casey's body sagged noticeably. He started to tremble. He closed his eyes and tears began to squeeze out from under his lids. His hands fell open, signalling surrender.

Zeke had seen all he could stand to see for now; he stepped over the beer- stain and walked to the bathroom, intending to see if Winona was okay. It had looked like Casey hit her hard enough to draw blood — somehow, his Casey had done that and he couldn't comprehend it.

The door was halfway shut, blocking his view in, and as he walked down the hall, he gradually made out voices. They were hushed, intended to be secret, but from just outside the door he could hear everything perfectly.

Winona's voice: "...all fawn over him, and I really don't get it."

"To each his own," Karen replied.

"But he doesn't even look right, those eyes just freak me out and the way he's always making scenes...it bugs me."

"I do kind of feel sorry for him."

"Huh...maybe I would if I thought it was for real instead of for show. I can't stand his type, I wish he would just cut his wrists already if he's going to do it — no, seriously, Karen, it's fucking bullshit to go around holding that over everyone's head so they feel sorry for you."

"I guess."

Zeke pressed the door open and targeted Winona, sitting on the toilet seat holding a damp cloth against her face. Her right eye was beginning to look inflamed. She started guiltily to see him. She knew he must have heard something and said, "Zeke," exactly like she would have said, "Oh, shit."

Karen addressed Zeke indignantly. "She told me about him but this is just totally — "

"Shut up," he said, and somewhat to his surprise, she did. He closed the bathroom door most of the way, leaving it just ajar and asked Winona, because it needed to be asked, "Are you okay?"

"No," she whispered. "I'm not fucking okay."

He stared at her, muzzled by the emotions coursing through him. When he spoke, it was a feeling that had managed to surface and demand articulation: "He doesn't deserve to be hated by you."

Winona lowered the cloth and Karen took it from her to re-soak it with cool water. "Zeke, I didn't mean what I...I was just — I mean, he punched me in the face! I'm entitled to be a little pissed."

"Right...but that's what you really think...what you really thought all along, isn't it?"

Winona couldn't answer.

"You should press charges," Karen declared fervently. She squeezed out the cloth, handing it back. "He totally assaulted you."

"Please don't." Zeke had heard it rumoured that he was supposed to be quite articulate, but there was no sign of it now. His vocabulary seemed to have been reduced to a few, hackneyed phrases. "He's not...like that."

Winona sighed, "It wouldn't make anything better."

"Thank you."

"I get that he's sick, I do get it, Zeke, but I really think...I know that you're letting him take advantage of you. Your life seems to revolve around him and he doesn't even appreciate it. He has no idea how much you're giving up for him all the time, every day and it isn't right, just because someone's sick doesn't mean they can use you."

Zeke was silent for a second, taking that in. Then he said, "Winona...we can't be friends anymore."

Winona's mouth pressed together and quivered. "Because I said a bad thing about him?"

"No, not that."

Her voice hardened, sounding more like it had when he was eavesdropping. "But Casey gets what Casey wants, doesn't he?"

"Winona..." It's hurting him and that should be reason enough...It should have been all along. "I can't be your counsellor or your guru, Winona. I don't have it in me. I'm sorry, I don't think you're a bad person but I don't have time to be your friend. I never did...but I was just trying to be a regular college student when I'm not. Not yet, anyway."

"Oh, that's nice," Karen commented.

Winona's eyes had gone to liquid. She retaliated, "Since day one it's been ‘Casey, Casey, Casey', we can't hurt poor Casey. He's abusing you, Zeke!"

Now was the time to be, as Sasha put it, brutally to the point.

"Maybe," Zeke returned, amazed at how easy it felt. "But it's my problem and I don't want to hear any more about it from you. Please leave."

Winona flinched like she had been stuck all over again. "Fine, you don't have to ask twice." She rose to her feet, putting the washcloth down on the bathroom sink with a dignity that Zeke recognized and respected.

Karen rose also, but she let Zeke know her opinion: "I think this sucks."

"Thank you for sharing," he said, which sounded rather ridiculous after the fact. He resolved not to ever say anything stupid ever again, and escorted them down the hall. He watched them pull on coats and hats and boots. Just as Winona put her hand on the door, he blurted, "I'm really, really sorry about the tickets. It was a thoughtful gift, I'll...pay you back for them if you like."

"Forget it," she growled. "Have a nice life."

"I wanted to say good luck with your son."

Winona paused just for a second, then said shortly, "You mean that?"

"Yes."

It would have been wishful thinking to hear a softening in her tone. What Zeke heard, he thought, was something infinitesimally less bitter. "Thank you," she said, face to the door.

Then she was gone.

Zeke returned to the living room and was momentarily alarmed to find no one there. After a moment he went to Sasha's room, which he had already passed by once in his state of general alarm, not noticing that everyone was standing in there as though they were holding a very awkward court. Sasha had gotten himself and Casey arranged on the bed; Casey was cradled in Sasha's lap, staring blankly at his chest.

"You guys should go too," Zeke said softly. "No offense."

Stan nodded, perhaps appreciating that the only thing he could do for Casey now was to reduce the embarrassment that he might feel. Stokely said nothing — but Jerry protested, "No, I want to stay."

Sasha glanced up. "There's nothing you can do to help, babe."

"But I want to be here."

"Jerry..."

"Even if I can't be useful, I'd like you to feel that I'm here for you."

Almost absently, Sasha shook his head and said, "I'll call you tomorrow."

With obvious pain twisting his mouth, Jerry whispered, "Right." When Sasha didn't reply, the sadness progressed to active grief. Sasha's preoccupation with Casey at that moment was complete and he didn't appear to realize when Jerry backed out of the room.

Zeke heard the door slam.

Stan and Stokely exchanged a look and made their way to the door; since Zeke had grasped that Sasha wouldn't permit him to have much more use right now than he had allowed Jerry, he followed them. They had put on their coats and shoes and had only to open the door to leave when Stan said, sounding miserable, "I didn't mean to make it worse."

Zeke blinked, trying to dredge up some response.

"When I pushed him down," Stan expanded. "I think, I..."

"Oh, no...no, I don't think you did anything wrong, Stan. I'm just relieved you stopped him."

Stokely whispered, "I never thought I'd see him actually hit someone like that...I can't believe it. Self-destruct, yes, but not...attack a person."

"It's not going to happen again," Zeke said immediately.

"How do you know?"

"This is a blip...I'm going to fix it."

There was a silence. Then Stan ventured, "Zeke, man...I don't know about...I mean, Casey doesn't seem very..."

"This is a blip," Zeke insisted, knowing he was arguing out of guilt and defensiveness and still unable to stop himself. "I'm going to deal with th —"

His voice broke. His two friends looked at him, appalled.

"You're right, Zeke," Stokely said, obviously placating him but he wasn't about to stop her. "I think it's going to be okay." She reached, paused, then resumed the motion, patting his arm. "You're good for him."

He was going to cry; it was only a matter of when. He nodded jerkily, hoping they would take the hint and see themselves out before he was completely exposed before them. Good friends, he was learning, knew when to take off so you didn't cry in front of them.

Standing alone in the entranceway at last, he put his head against the door and mashed his lips together, fighting back the tears. He breathed through it until he felt relatively calm, then walked back to Sasha's room. Sasha was still cuddling Casey, talking to him under his breath. Just from Casey's posture and the laxness in his body and his face, Zeke could tell that the Xanax was beginning to take effect. The real Casey had not yet been restored to him, but this Casey actually looked up at Zeke and didn't flinch or scream or rage. Zeke felt nothing much, neither guilt nor gratitude, but he sat down on the bed beside Casey.

"Oh, he's much, much calmer now," Sasha said, still in singsong. "Isn't that right, kitten?"

"Yeah," Casey said. He blinked heavily, and Zeke recalled that he was now operating under a double punch of sedatives. They would have to keep a careful eye on him once he was asleep. "Zeke...s-s-orry...I..."

"Winona's gone. We won't be seeing her again."

"...I told Yves."

"So I hear."

"I jus' wanted to...get better..."

Obeying some inner impulse that he wasn't sure he could identify, Zeke stood up, taking a few steps away to stand at Sasha's window. "What did she say?" he asked, noting his own coldness.

"She...she was-s very s-surprised."

"I guess so."

"She s-said...she needed to...to think about what it meant."

Zeke clenched his fists.

Casey ventured in a tiny voice, "M-maybe...maybe you could tell her too...s- so she knows I'm not the only one."

Zeke growled, "Oh, I don't think so. One of us has to maintain some credibility with the mental health profession." He heard a hissed intake of breath from Sasha and whirled on him. "I have you to thank for this, I suppose."

Sasha's expression tightened with anger. "Not at all. Casey knew what he had to do, I only encouraged him and supported him — like a friend should."

"I can just imagine how you supported him...listing all the things I do wrong, getting him to say it out loud..."

"I'm not going to have this fight with you."

"No, but you'll go around behind my back, won't you?"

"Zeke," Casey's voice slurred. "I had to ex-plain it...to her...or s-stop seeing her...tried to explain that to you but you...just kept saying ‘no', you wouldn't even talk about it. What else could I do?"

"Nothing, just what you did." Zeke took a few steps towards the door, stopped to say, "All we can do now is just hope that I am wrong." That was all the reassurance that he could give.

Casey whispered, "Where are you going?"

"For a smoke."

Zeke went and found his new birthday sweater and put it on, and another jacket, and went up to the roof. It had stopped snowing but it must have been raining just as Karen had forecast; the chairs were soaked. All the water was beginning to crystallize as the temperature dipped below freezing. He took up a safe position looking over the side wall down at the street and distractedly smoked one cigarette, and then another. His mind was brimming with fragments of concepts and words and images, all swirling around in one great malevolent mess that added up to nothing.

He didn't know how long he had actually been up there when Sasha appeared.

"Was that my surprise birthday gift?" Zeke wondered bitterly.

"What? No. Casey's present to you is hiding in my closet. He wanted to give it to you in private." There was fury in Sasha's tone. "You couldn't have managed to be just a little more understanding?"

"No. I couldn't." Zeke flicked ashes, asked despite himself, "Is he asleep?"

"No. He's fighting the Xanax but I don't want to give him another one." Sasha paused. "He's quite sure that you're leaving."

"Of course he is."

"Are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Leaving."

Zeke looked directly at Sasha for the first time. "No. Fuck, no — absolutely not. No one ever believes a word I say, do they? I've said over and over that I'm never going anywhere and it's like I'm not even talking, is it? Nothing I say or do makes a fucking bit of difference around here!" He threw his cigarette butt on the ground.

Sasha's eyes had gotten quite round. He said, "You do make a difference. You make a hell of a lot of difference."

"I don't think so. Hey, let's add it up...I'm just a controlling jerk who's abusing him and exploiting him. I'm sleeping around on him, I can't be trusted to go anywhere or do anything without falling for the first woman I run into, I'm going to bail on him if it all gets too hard for me! The facts don't count, it's just what he believes — "

"I think ---"

"I tell him and tell him and it never sinks in! And I've been patient, you have no idea, no fucking idea...I reminded myself he has issues, I waited for it to get better, I ignored when he acted like — like he acted — and you know, maybe I have issues about the aliens, maybe I am irrational, but I guess my issues aren't to be tolerated! There's only room for his issues around here!"

"Zeke."

"I go crazy every time I think about him talking to another human being without me there to run interference but if I act controlling then I'm the crazy bastard, for him it's just expected that I understand and ignore it but I can't keep doing it, you hear me? I can't even fucking think, he's taken my ability to think and I'm — I'm — "

Sobbing, was what he was. He was staring helplessly at Sasha and sobbing and Sasha just put his arms around him without a word. Zeke couldn't bring himself to move away or shrug him off. Nor could he stop. He rested his head on Sasha's shoulder and let the grief just pour out of him.

"I f-feel so out of c-control — "

"I know, I know..." Sasha said, using the exact same voice he'd been using on Casey a little while ago.

"I try — try so hard but no m-matter what I do I can't get my head — around things — "

Sasha mummered some nonsense like, "Oh, baby, my poor baby, it's okay just let it out," things that usually would have Zeke on the point of nausea but this time it just felt good to hear and now that he had started he couldn't stop, but Sasha didn't seem to mind. He just held Zeke and waited until the torrent had dried to a trickle.

When Zeke felt his self-consciousness returning he moved back stiffly, trying to cover by getting a cigarette started...but his hands shook too badly. Sasha took the pack from him and lit the cigarette for him — then one for himself.

That was enough to jar Zeke out of his general wretchedness. "You're fucking kidding," he said.

"I used to smoke for a while when I was about twenty. I still crave it sometimes."

Zeke felt the return of the ability to smile. "Maybe you shouldn't then."

"It seems like the right time." Sasha shrugged, smiled back, and inhaled deeply. He immediately started coughing as though his lungs were trying to escape out his mouth.

Zeke grinned...but just for a moment. The wretchedness had abated slightly, but he was still feeling disconsolate as he said, "This alien thing fucked us over pretty good, Sasha."

"You're telling me."

"I've been walking about trying to act like it wasn't the main deal — and I guess I turned it into the main deal."

Sasha just listened, taking a more conservative drag on his cigarette.

"Casey's always been a lot braver than I am when it comes to talking about it," Zeke admitted. "He's a lot braver than me, period."

"You really think that?"

"Yeah, don't you think so?"

"I know he's brave," Sasha said gently. "But so are you."

Zeke shook his head. "You should have seen him back then. Everyone — and I mean everyone just wanted to shut up and pretend it never happened and there he was going around mouthing off to everyone in sight. I had no choice but to back him up, and Stokely did too. Stan and Delilah couldn't exactly deny it but they tried. None of us would ever have started it — and I was supposed to be the rebel. Stokely and I, we were the rebels, not Casey. But when it comes down to it I guess I still wanted to be popular and for my parents to like me."

"I think that's pretty normal," Sasha said. "And of course Casey wants that too."

"But he didn't want it so much that he clammed up." Zeke stamped out his cigarette unfinished, finding that it wasn't tasting very good. His head had filled up with snot again too. "I'm in awe of him, really — but I'm still terrified of what's going to happen."

"I think Dr. Yves can be trusted."

"I hope so — but you know telling her about aliens isn't going to fix everything."

Sasha drew a breath — and said nothing.

Zeke lowered his head. "I think I know what you were going to tell me today...in the kitchen there when I walked in on you and Casey."

"What was I going to tell you?"

"That Casey and I...we shouldn't have any sex."

"I was afraid I was going to have to convince you," Sasha said.

"Yesterday, you would have had to. Today..." Incredibly, Zeke's throat was aching with yet more tears. He forced himself to continue. "Last night we were...oh, shit, I can't even explain what it is, it's so confused and...." and I felt so good and I thought he felt good but then I looked at him today and he looks ill and he flinched from me, he actually was afraid of me like I had hurt him. No, I did hurt him... "and I'm afraid that Roy did something terrible to him the last time they were together. Or maybe a whole bunch of times, I don't know. All I know is he absolutely refuses to talk about it and I'm helping him be in denial about it...when he's around me my brain just..." Zeke hesitated. This was tough to admit. "My brain switches off. I don't know if I can do this."

"He'll sleep with me in my bed for a while."

Zeke laughed, unamused. "Sasha, there are hours and hours of the day when you're not around."

"So what are you saying? That you, Zeke Tyler, don't have the will to resist? That you're led around by your cock?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying." Sasha began to speak but Zeke held up his hand. "I'm going to try my best. That's all I can do."

"Wasn't there some philosopher who said ‘There is no try...just do or not'?"

"Um...I think that was Yoda."

"Okay, then Yoda had a point."

"I guess," Zeke sighed, and shivered, feeling the dampness in the air keenly now in the aftermath of his sobbing fit. "Guess I'd better go in and break the news to him...how the fuck am I going to do this? I'm going to be stuck in this apartment studying for the next two weeks."

Sasha tilted his head, thinking. "Allison would be thrilled to pieces if Casey came home early for Christmas."

"I don't know..."

"He doesn't have to go right now but he could go a little earlier than you. I think...I think some time apart will be good for you two. I'm talking about a week, tops. Think about it, Zeke."

Zeke thought about it.

As he trudged down the stairs with Sasha at his shoulder, Zeke felt certain that his mind had finally suffered a critical systems failure; it was resisting all attempts to reboot. He tiptoed to the door of Sasha's room and peered in. Casey was lying back against several pillows, his body limp, his eyes closed — but he dragged them open and looked at Zeke. He slurred, "You...leaving?"

Zeke came into the room and once again sat down on the bed beside Casey. He sensed that Sasha was somewhere behind him, just out of sight, possibly listening to make sure that Zeke didn't backpedal. He would just have to do his best to ignore Sasha's presence. Taking Casey's hand, he peered directly into the face of fear and said, "No, Case. I'm not leaving you. I promised and I meant that."

"You're...pissed off."

Zeke shook his head. "I was, yes...but I was wrong. You did what you had to do. And you could have lied about what you did but you were honest, and I'm...grateful for that."

Casey blinked heavily, opening and closing his eyes several times. "Really tired," he whispered. "Drugs."

"I know."

"Want to say stuff." Casey lifted his hand with Zeke's wrapped around it and held it against his chest. "So sorry...'bout Winona."

"Don't worry about that."

"But...what's going to happen now?"

"As far as Dr. Yves goes, we can only wait and see. I'll study for exams, you'll go see her a few more times and we'll see — but Case, I'm begging you now...please don't tell her that you...you hit Winona. I know you're not dangerous, but Dr. Yves doesn't."

Casey squeezed Zeke's hand, hard. It hardly need be said that if Dr. Yves was thinking he needed to be hospitalized, she might have good reason. "Kay," he said.

"There's something else, Case. It isn't easy, just...listen until I'm finished, okay?"

"Okay."

"I think...I think — fuck, this is hard — I think that we should temporarily stop having sex."

Zeke waited for the spate of ugly words. Nothing happened. He dared a glance down at Casey's face. He thought he saw resignation, or maybe just shock, and he thought Thank fucking god for Xanax.

"We'll still live together," he went on, "but I'd like you to sleep with Sasha — not because I don't want you around, but because I want you around too much. If we're sharing a bed, it won't work — and again, it will be temporary, we can put a deadline on it. What do you think?"

Casey whispered, "Think you want to...punish me."

"I knew you would think that, Case, but it isn't true. I don't know how else to say it. I want to be with you and be happy — that's why I'm suggesting this. I'm not punishing you...I want you to just take some time to build up your strength again. Okay?"

Drugged or not, Casey was still capable of some temper. "Sounds like I don't have a choice...you've already made up your mind."

"Or we can continue just as we are," Zeke retorted, "and Sasha will have surveillance teams watching us around the clock. Please, I'm begging you, can we try this my way?"

Casey closed his eyes. Zeke held his breath, feeling himself poised for another round of chaos. Then, to his utter astonishment and gratitude, Casey nodded.

"I...thank you," Zeke forced himself to say. "And...there's one more thing..."

"What?" Casey replied tiredly, eyes still closed.

"I think we should take Dr. Yves' advice."

"What d'you mean?"

"I need to be here almost until Christmas but you don't, Case. I think...I think it would be good for us to be...to be apart for a few days. We need to be able to show Dr. Yves and Dr. Chakri how you've been making progress, you know?"

Casey went still. Very still, so much that Zeke feared he had granted the Xanax far too much power a moment ago. It was the way that Casey had actually agreed to going without sex that made Zeke lose his head and demand more — so now was the time for some severe honesty.

Zeke admitted, "It isn't easy — for me — to be around you without touching you, Case."

It was possible for a person's eyes to be both sleepy and terrified, Zeke now discovered as Casey looked at him. But a Zeke's words, the terror seemed to fade slightly, mutating into a kind of surprise. "R-really?"

"Really...I'm not that strong, every time I look at you...I lose control so...so, please do this...for me."

Casey didn't seem to be breathing at all. "Do what...what you...want me to do...?"

"Your parents would love to have you home early for Christmas. I'll just show up a bit later, after my exams are done."

"You'll s-still come?"

"Yes, of course. I promise."

Casey closed his eyes and was silent, maybe thinking about it, maybe drifting near sleep, Zeke didn't know which. Suddenly, Casey said, "How long?"

"How long what?"

"How long no sex?"

"I — wasn't thinking of a specific time span." A tear escaped from under Casey's lids, and Zeke quickly added, "One month."

"Can we kiss?"

Zeke hesitated. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"What about hugging?"

"Hugging...okay. Basically, anything non-sexual we can do."

Casey said, his voice devoid of emotion, "Basically...non-sexual..."

Zeke saw the lids lower and raise slowly, loosing moisture in the process. Perhaps he wasn't actually crying — or if he was, his benumbed state prevented him from really participating in it.

"I...didn't think..." Casey mumbled. The rest was inaudible.

"What?" Zeke asked.

"...never thought I'd...be this..."

"How's that?"

"I never wanted to be a person who hits other people...makes people bleed...makes you s-scared..." The volume of tears increased slightly. "I wasn't going to be this."

"It's okay, Case..."

"...but I am." Casey peered up at Zeke, blinking away saline. "I thought she was going to do something to me." His gaze shifted to behind Zeke, and Zeke apprehended that Sasha was there, standing at his back. "Same as Dr. Chakri."

"What would she do?" Zeke whispered, afraid to move or even breathe lest he break the spell of Casey talking, saying things that he probably would never have said if he weren't almost comatose.

"Go inside me...make me one of them...take you, make you one of th- them..." Casey blinked again, except this time he didn't finish. His eyes were closed and he couldn't seem to get them open again. "Everyone...have to...stop her...not safe..."

Zeke sat back in disappointment. He looked over his shoulder at Sasha, who opened his mouth to speak — just as Casey's faint voice resumed and said that which was completely unprecedented. "...do it to me...like Janice..."

Zeke flung up a hand to stop Sasha from speaking. "Like Janice?" he whispered, almost inaudibly.

"...Roy said...we need to be family...just what we need and sh-she was there...in the...the room...said no but — but Roy wanted — she was there f-for me...get me this time...he said no limits but never thought he'd...want that. I was-s on the...the bed and they were both there...an' then Roy was gone and it was-s just her all her all around me and she made me nothing...and it felt s-so good...why'd she...she didn't want me, I just wanted to stop and rest and she didn't want me..."

"Oh, god," Sasha declared under his breath. "I'll fucking rip that fucking motherfucker's — "

"Shush!" Zeke hissed. He saw that Casey's eyes were half-open again, struggling against the tide of medicated calm. "It's okay, Case," he said softly. "You can sleep."

"Not okay," breathed Casey. "She might come...gotta watch..."

"She won't come. Winona won't come, she's never coming back here, Case, okay? It's perfectly safe...go to sleep...go ahead and sleep..."

Moments later, when he was sure that Casey was out, Zeke rested the back of his hand against Casey's cheek and stroked it, glorying in the sensation of Casey's skin — because he might not be feeling it again for a while. "Thank you," he said, so very softly that he almost couldn't hear his own voice.

He was content to be there, content not to move or really exercise his brain. But there was movement behind and around him; at length, something dropped in his lap. He looked down, saw a flat, rectangular package wrapped in brown paper.

"What's this?"

"Your birthday present."

Zeke frowned up at Sasha. "This can wait, I'm sure."

"No...I don't think it can." Sasha folded his arms.

The package had a rustic sort of elegance. Zeke took it and ripped off the paper.

It was a framed black and white photo...of him. It had to have been taken during the past week when he was up to his neck in books and paper-writing; he was asleep, half-reclined in bed with his back against a pillow. His face was tense, exhaustion written all over him despite unconsciousness. There were a number of library books lying in the foreground and one open on his lap. He was wearing pajama bottoms and a t-shirt, and his hair was tousled and wet from a recent shower. Zeke remembered exactly which night this had been. It was Tuesday, and they had just finished a lengthy session of lovemaking shortly before the picture was taken.

Casey was in the picture too, with his back more or less to the camera. He was naked but with only his upper half visible; in frame, there was just the faintest suggestion of the curve of his buttocks as he laid on his side, his head against Zeke's shoulder and his hand splayed open on Zeke's chest. It was far too intimate, not to mention bizarre and slightly creepy to know that Casey had set this up after Zeke fell asleep, but it was also unbelievably arousing.

"Fuck," Zeke said, feeling heat in his face. "How did he do this?"

"With a timer and a tripod, I should imagine."

"But where did the — I didn't think he owned a camera."

"He didn't. Charly gave it to him."

Zeke felt like he'd been sandbagged all over again. "When?"

"On Tuesday...Stan gave it to Stokely and Stokely gave it to him."

"But how and when?"

Sasha looked exasperated. "When I called Charly to apologize about Thanksgiving, she wanted to talk to Casey. I think she wanted to give the camera to him at her house that day...but she didn't get the chance."

"And I suppose you think she doesn't have an ulterior motive for that?"

"I don't think anything," Sasha replied lightly.

"And you're hiding the camera in your closet too."

"Yup."

"Anything else you're hiding for him?"

Sasha blinked several times.

"Nothing that it's my place to tell," he answered, and gestured for Zeke to follow him out of the room. Just outside, he added, "I'm amazed he took it so well."

"You were listening in the whole time?"

"Of course. Saved you having to give me a recap later, didn't it?"

"Whatever...anyway, I'm not sure he took it well. He just took it quietly."

"You have a point." Sasha rubbed his face. "I'm going to see if I can get some time off so I can go to Herrington with him."

Zeke sighed in relief. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. I may just get another ‘you can go to Herrington or you can keep your job' ultimatum and if I do, I'm going to have to keep my job." Sasha met Zeke's eyes. "There are limits to what we can give."

"I know," Zeke said. What he wasn't so sure of, however, was where his own limits would turn out to be.

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