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, con