Author: Devyn Lyonesse

Email address:

Fandom: Invisible Man

Disclaimers: The usual. Don't own 'em, wish I did. Yadda, yadda.

Category: Slash, romance, drama, episode coda, angst

Pairing: Darien/Bobby

Rating: NC-17

Spoilers: A few for "Ralph" and "Tiresias"

Archiving: Anyone who wants to, please ask me first.

Series note: This is story #2 in my slash series, "Thief of Hearts".

Summary: Having rescued Darien from a watery death, a tired Bobby Hobbes has to decide how best to take care of his wet, confused, yet very sexy partner.

Author's notes: This is set after the events in "Tieresias", in a slightly alternate universe. If you like slash with angst and romance, try this. And please bear in mind, the author deeply appreciates feedback. Oh yeah! Kinda the way Darien craves counteragent. Only without the red-eye problem. : )

March 16, 2002

Distinctions

© Devyn Lyonesse

Fawkes and I don't talk much on the way back to my van. We're both tired and freaked. It's been a helluva night. We probably learned more about each other tonight than we did in the past six months. Not all of it was good. Some of it -- like Fawkes trying to off himself -- was fucking scary. But some of it was amazing.

Darien naked…. His mouth on mine, his heart beating against my chest….

Amazing.

I look over at Fawkes while we trudge through the sand. He seems a little better now. He looks tired, but not totally down. Not like he's carrying the world on his shoulders anymore. Maybe the crying helped. Or maybe -- maybe it was the kiss.

The thought makes me hot all over again. But I know I could be wrong. Wouldn't be the first time. And I don't want to get my hopes up, so I don't touch him. Darien doesn't touch me either. We walk side by side, like always, except this time, we're both careful not to get too close. No accidental touching or bumping. Like the fate of the free world hangs in the balance, or something. That's so silly, it makes me smile.

Then again, maybe we're just afraid we might lose control if we touch again. That's not so dumb. I look at the way his wet hair curls around the back of his neck as we walk, and my mouth goes dry. Just from looking. Yeah, that's probably it -- the touching thing.

Finally, as we head for the stairs, Darien asks, "How'd you find me?"

Wondered how long it was gonna take him to think of that. I grin. "You can run, but you can't hide, Invisible Boy."

"No, really. How'd you know where I was? I went see-through, so you couldn't've followed me…." Fawkes stops at the foot of the stairs. Turns and looks at me, all wide-eyed and intent, like he's not going a step further until I tell him.

At least his curiosity's coming back. Maybe that's a good sign. Or it could be that he's just tired, and trying to distract me so he can put off climbing the stairs. Either way, I'm not about to give in. Can't give away all my secrets. So I just wave him on. "Tell ya what, Fawkes. If you get your ass in gear and start climbing, maybe I'll tell ya when we get back to the van."

Darien rolls his eyes. "Geez. Why don'tcha just offer me a lolly pop?" he complains. Still, he starts walking up the stairs, like I told him.

I smirk at his back. "Left 'em all in the van. But if you're really good, you can have one when we get there."

Fawkes snorts and shakes his head, but he keeps on climbing. Like a good little son, I think, grinning to myself. But then I get this image in my mind: Darien's full lips wrapped around a sucker. Licking the hell out of it, and -- whoa, boy. Maybe I don't really think of myself as his dad, after all. 'Cause a dad wouldn't have thoughts like that about his son.

I look out the window while Hobbes drives. I'm tired. Drained. Hell, I'm exhausted. Inside and out. After bottoming out emotionally, going for that long swim, and towing Bobby halfway back, I feel half dead. No -- make that mostly dead. My arms and legs ache, and I've got sand sticking to parts of me that I don't even want to think about. But I can't relax, because I'm still stirred up inside. I've got all these thoughts and feelings roiling inside, that won't let me rest.

I still don't know how Bobby found me. But God, I'm glad he did. I can't believe I did that! That long swim, that cold water…. It already seems like a dream. Like it happened to somebody else. Like that was some other guy out there naked in the ocean, trying to leave his life behind. But I know it was real. That was me. It's fucking scary. The only time I ever tried anything like that before was when I first wound up in prison. Never thought I'd get that down again.

I keep thinking, I could be dead now. If it wasn't for Bobby, I would be.

It gives me the shivers.

And above all that dark stuff, high above all my worries and fears, floating feather light, is the memory of that kiss.

I chew my lip. Maybe nothing. I'm a guy, he's a guy -- guys do crazy, horny things all the time. Half of 'em don't mean anything, except that we're horny. Wonder if that kiss on the beach was like that. Maybe Bobby just got curious. Or maybe he was just humoring me. He knows I want him now, so maybe he just gave me that kiss to make me feel better. Maybe he just let it happen, without really wanting it to. For my sake.

Then a darker thought crosses my mind. He's so protective … just how far would he go, for my sake? Was that kiss just a ploy? Did he have some corny idea that his kiss would give me a reason to live?

Well … maybe. Okay, so maybe it did.

But I hate the idea that he might've done it for that reason, and not because he's hot for me. I've always hated being jerked around, and this past year, I've been manipulated so much -- by everyone from Swiss terrorists to most of the staff at the Agency -- that I might as well have a big "Kick Me" sign on my back. It kills me to think Bobby might do that to me, too. That he'd kiss me just to perk me up, with no intention of following through. That sucks! Big time.

I don't want to believe that's true. My ego sure doesn't. Besides, it's not like Hobbes, either. He's never lied to me. He's probably the most honest person I've ever known. I look over at him. Search his face for clues to the puzzle. For hints of manipulation, or some real interest in me. But I don't see either one. Bobby's quiet. Watching the traffic. His lips are pursed. He looks thoughtful, like he's got a lot on his mind. But whatever it is, he's not in the mood to share.

Dammit!

Down on the beach, I felt close to him. Now, he's shutting me out again. That makes me feel resentful, even sullen. For a second, I almost lash out at him. What the hell was that about, huh? Down on the beach? Did you really kiss me, or was that just a dream?

Then I notice that Hobbes' clothes are still damp and sticking to him, and that his hair's wet too, like mine. Stupid question. That whole thing -- the swim, the way I cried, and our kiss -- it was real, and I came close. Damn close to dying. I think we both did.

My momentary anger fades. My emotions veer again, from anger and suspicion back to gratitude. So what if that kiss didn't mean a goddamn thing? He still saved me. I owe Bobby my life. I look away, back out the window into the night. Compared to that, a kiss is nothing.

So I won't ask him what the kiss meant. Not yet. I owe him that much. Or maybe I'm just afraid to know the truth. Or too damn tired to deal with it. Either way, I guess now's not the time. So I rub my arms, trying to work out the soreness in my biceps after that long swim, and search for something else to say.

"Where're we going?" I try to make the question sound casual, but it really isn't. I'm afraid Hobbes is just gonna take me home and leave me there. With lots of unanswered questions. With no one to talk to. I don't want that. I still feel shaky. Not like myself.

I need him, I just can't say it.

"To my place," Hobbes answers. "Least that way, I can keep an eye on you."

I feel this little rush of emotion. Warmer than gratitude, softer than desire. Good! He's not leaving me. But I wonder if it has anything to do with that kiss, or if he's just being protective? Then again, what does it matter why he's taking me home? I get to be with him, which is what I want. For now, that's enough. And at least over at his place, I won't have to worry about anyone busting in on us, trying to kidnap or kill me. Bobby's got a helluva security system. Besides, he is his own security system. Bobby's dangerous. I pity the poor fool who tries to bust into his place. He'd be sorry. Then he'd be dead.

But I'm not. Thanks to Bobby, I'm neither of those things. Instead, I'm glad that he decided to take me home with him. Nice of him to do this for me. Lots of guys wouldn't. So I open my mouth to thank him, but pride makes me change my mind at the last second. After all, I'm supposed to be the big, bad Invisible Man -- not Needy, Clingy, Helpless Man. So even though that's how I feel, I swallow the thanks, stifle the impulse to reach out to him, and play it cool instead.

"Okay. If you insist," I shrug. I try to sound like I don't really care. Like I'm fine, like I'm tough, like what just happened didn't scare the hell out of me. Like I'm only going to Hobbes' place to humor him, not because I'm terrified of being alone.

Dunno why I'm putting up this front, though. Especially after what happened down on the beach. I didn't just tell him I was scared, I actually broke down and cried in his arms like a girl. Even though he didn't razz me about it, I doubt Hobbes has any illusions about my ability to cope, after that. Maybe I'm just feeling weird 'cause he's suddenly gone quiet, and put some distance between us again. What happened down on the beach felt so right, but he hasn't touched me, or even looked at me like that since.

It's scary. Wonder if he regrets our kiss?

That thought hurts. To cover it, I just stay on my side of the van, and try to look tough. Impervious. Uncaring. Like the total punk I know Hobbes thought I was, when we first met. But my little act works all too well. Because Hobbes shoots a glance at me, then his mouth tightens like he's pissed off. He shakes his head silently, but I know what he's thinking. I can read his face like a book, and right now, it's saying, Fawkes, you ungrateful bastard.

Uh oh! Maybe I went a little overboard there. Didn't mean to piss him off. "I mean … I'm okay now, Bobby. Really," I say hastily, trying to make up for it. "So if you want, you can just -- take me back to my place. I don't wanna … you know. Cause you any trouble."

Hobbes snorts, and shakes his head again. "Shoulda thought o' that before you went swimmin', my friend."

Ouch. He's right. He's SO fucking right! He probably didn't follow me half a mile out into the ocean just because he loves to swim. I must've scared the shit out of him. I hang my head. I already tried to say I was sorry for that on the beach, but I know it wasn't enough.

I know what might be enough, though. I promised myself I'd talk this out with him. Maybe this is the time. Maybe I should say it. Tell the truth. Try to explain. Tell him I did it for him, because I wanted to protect him.

Then I remember how he looked, when I said I'd take a bullet for him. I stopped short of telling him the truth, that I'd die for him, but he still looked like it scared him silly. So if I tell him I took that swim for him, he'll probably freak.

I think about his fear for a minute. Try to figure out where it might come from. Maybe it's because he feels responsible somehow. That'd make sense, 'cause that's how Bobby is. He takes the world on his shoulders. Including me, and all my problems. I don't want him to feel worse about it than he already does, but I'm too tired to lie to him. If I start talking now, the truth would come out. So maybe I'd better wait. He's already been through a lot tonight, because of me.

So I lay my head back on the seat, close my eyes, and shut my mouth too. At least that way, I won't get in any more trouble.

But I can feel Hobbes looking at me. Finally, he says quietly, "It's Friday night, Fawkes. We don't haveta work tomorrow, so it's no big deal if you stay over. We got no alarm to get up for. We can sleep in. Okay?"

I may be an ungrateful bastard, but it seems that Bobby's forgiven me anyway. And this time, I know better than to even pretend that I don't care. I open my eyes and smile at him. "Sounds good. Are you sure?"

A slow smile spreads across Hobbes' face, too. "Yeah. Just one thing, though. No goin' invisible this time. I want you where I can see you."

Now that sounds interesting, I think, my hopes flaring again. That sounds really -- did he just say he wants me? Tired as I am, something inside me perks right up at that. I sit up and smile at him. "Yeah?" I say it softly. Maybe even a little flirty.

But Bobby doesn't respond. At least, not like I want him to. He just gives me this curt, "Yeah." Then he turns away, and stares straight ahead at the freeway like he's embarrassed. Usually, I can't resist that. Teasing Bobby when he's embarrassed is like sipping really good champagne. It's pure fun. Goes to my head. And now that I know he blushes, well…. I open my mouth to indulge myself, to tease him, to start prying into it. Force him to tell me if he really was flirting with me there.

But I change my mind at the last minute, and shut it again. Tonight, for once, I decide to cut Bobby some slack. He just saved my ass, and he's taking me home to boot. So I guess the least I can do is lay off the teasing. For now, anyway. Tomorrow, of course, all bets will be off again. But just for tonight, I'll be good.

I lean back against the seat again, filled with good intentions. Shining with virtue. Darien the Good Boy, with mouth firmly zipped.

That lasts about all of ten seconds. Then I get this annoying, internal itch. This goes against the grain. Not teasing Bobby's like -- well, like not eating chocolate or something. It sucks.

I want -- no, I need -- to do something. Hmm. Well, if I can't tease him, I can at least scope him out. Feast my eyes…. So instead of going to sleep, I just pretend to close my eyes, and lie there watching him from underneath my lashes instead. It's this little trick I learned in prison. It still comes in handy once in awhile. Like when I want a little eye candy. Like now….

While I study Hobbes on the sly, the sarcastic part of me has a field day. What're you doing? What're you hoping for, anyway? You really think Hobbes will blush again? Or give you another hot stare? Hey, maybe if you get real lucky, he'll blurt out a spontaneous confession! Tell you all his secrets! Like what he meant by that kiss, and how he feels about you. Oh, yeah, Fawkes. That's right! He's gonna say he's madly in love. That it's you, only you, and that he's really taking you back to his place for a night of wild, passionate --.

Shut up, I tell it sourly. It could happen!

But I don't really believe that. I'm not even really sure Bobby wants me. Not right now. I was sure of it down on the beach, I was sure as hell when he kissed me, but now…. Now that I've had time to think…

Insecurity rears its ugly head again.

I sigh to myself. Let's face it -- right now, even the casual fuck idea seems like a dream. I'd settle for that, though. For good, old-fashioned, wanna-jump-your-bones kind of lust. For one more hot look like Bobby gave me down on the beach.

I watch him for a long time, hoping I'll get lucky. But Hobbes doesn't blush, or look at me again, or give anything else away. Instead, after a long while, he just smiles a little. Without even taking his eyes off the road, he asks, "What're you lookin' at, Fawkes?"

While I'm sitting there, too shocked to say anything, Bobby shakes his head wryly. "Go to sleep, Gland Boy."

I smile to myself, and close my eyes for real this time. It's amazing. He always knows what I'm up to. Always.

I must be pretty far gone, 'cause I kinda like that.

Seconds later, I fall asleep.

I wait for awhile. Maybe a good five minutes, until I'm sure Fawkes is really asleep. Not just faking it so he can scope me out again, the sneaky bastard. I smile in spite of myself, and take another look at him.

His head's back on the seat, his hands are in his lap, and his long legs are sprawled out in front of him. He looks -- well, relaxed is too mild a word for it. He looks like he doesn't have a care in the world. For a guy who just tried to kill himself, that's pretty amazing. I shake my head in reluctant admiration. Fawkes always looks like that. Long, slinky. Loose. Like he doesn't have one uptight bone in his whole body. Like this big fucking cat or something. I envy that.

Wonder if he's that loose in bed….

I wince. Whip my head around and look back at the road. Tighten my hands on the wheel until they almost hurt. God dammit! What the fuck's wrong with me? My own partner just tried to kill himself, and here I am, thinking about fucking him! Again. I feel totally embarrassed. I oughtta be watching the road, instead of looking at him like that. I already know what he looks like, for Crissake! I've been his partner for months now. I know Fawkes inside and out. Head to toe. From his curly little sideburns to his size thirteen feet.

At least, I thought I did. So why didn't I see this coming? The thought's pure pain. Maybe his looseness, that casual thing he's got going, fooled me. Or maybe I've been too busy secretly drooling over his outsides lately, to look past 'em, at his insides. I forget how different Fawkes and me are, sometimes. He's an overgrown kid in some ways, but that don't make him stupid. Look at all the books he's always reading. How he can quote all those writers and philosophers and stuff. Kid's smart. Got a lot goin' on, under all that hair. Maybe even more than I guessed. Whatever his problem is, he managed to hide it from me, that's for sure. Or was I just too wrapped up in my own problems to spot it?

Don't know. But either Fawkes fooled me, or I fucked up. Either way, it isn't good. That wasn't just a little mistake, it was a fucking huge one. Bobby Hobbes doesn't like making mistakes.

I keep the van in the fast lane, and tromp on the gas. I'm already over the limit, but I can't go slow, not when I'm all wound up inside like this. So much happened tonight, I feel like I can hardly take it in. I feel like it's partly my fault that he ended up half a mile out in the Pacific. Wish this heap o' junk could go faster. I just wanna get Fawkes outta here, as far away from the ocean as possible….

And then what? What am I gonna do about this? About him?

I bite my lip, thinking it over.

I know what I oughtta do. I oughtta report it. The Official said, if Fawkes does anything that could endanger the gland, I'm supposed to report it. In detail, in triplicate. It's my duty. And Fawkes trying to drown the fucking gland about a mile out in the Pacific, well -- that was more than just endangerment. That was attempted gland murder.

I smile a little. But then the smile fades. I don't wanna report it. Can't even say I blame Fawkes for trying to drown it. That thing in his head -- it's not just poisonous, it's a trap, too. It's got him stuck here, stuck like a bug on a pin, helpless and dependent on the Fat Man. And I know he hates that. It's probably part of the reason he was out there in the water tonight.

But if I report this, if the Official finds out that Darien was depressed enough, or scared enough, or both, to try to kill himself…. We both know he's on thin ice with the Fat Man anyway. If Fawkes screws up too bad, if he gets to be too much of a pain in the ass, the Official could label him a security risk. Yank that gland outta his head, and put it in somebody else.

Of course, that'd kill Darien. But the Fat Man would do it anyway. I know he would, the rat bastard.

The thought makes me shudder. So where does that leave me? Out on a limb, as usual. Ever since I got partnered up with Fawkes, I feel like I spend half my time out here. Trying to hang onto my principles around slippery-slidy Darien. Trying to protect him, but still do what the Boss says. Trying to do the right thing, when sometimes it's almost impossible to tell what that is. This isn't the first time I've had one of these arguments with myself; and if I know Fawkes, it won't be the last, either.

I can feel myself sweating. Seems like this is all too much. Again. Like it's beyond me. There's so many angles, and I can't figure 'em as easy as I usually do. Dunno why, but I -- can't -- think! Not with Fawkes sitting so close to me….

Without even meaning to, I find myself looking at him again. My eyes just drift over like they're taking a little moonlight stroll, and before I know it, they're all over him. His long legs, his spiky hair, the smooth skin I can see at the opening of his collar…. Just for a second, I imagine kissing him there. Licking him. Tracing his collar bone with my tongue. Tasting the ocean salt on his skin, tasting him --

Just like that, I'm hot. Getting hard again. Shit! Quit doin' that! I tell myself, shifting uncomfortably in my seat. Quit looking at him! I haveta figure the angles. I gotta! For his sake.

I shake my head, pissed off at myself. No matter how I try, I keep having these horny thoughts about Fawkes. I know what I'm gonna haveta do, to get myself back on track.

Wham! I hit the steering wheel. Hard enough to hurt my hand, but not quite hard enough to break any bones.

Ow! I shake my aching fingers, stifling a gasp so Fawkes won't wake up. Shit, that hurt! I'll have bruises tomorrow. But it worked. I learned that a long time ago: pain's an incredible attention-getter. It'll get you focused, real quick. Works for me, anyway. My eyes are off my pretty partner now, and back on the road again; and my mind's shifted back to the problem.

Okay. What I gotta do is simplify this. Break it down, into something I can handle. Okay. Seems to me, I got two options here. I can do what I'm supposed to, do my duty, and tell the Official what happened -- and risk losing my partner, risk getting him killed, if the Fat Man decides he's too unstable.

I feel relieved. I mull it over awhile longer, though. Have to make sure I didn't miss any of the angles. Gotta be damn sure this is the right thing to do, and that there's no way keeping quiet could back-fire on the kid. I know he's probably still unstable, but I figure I'll keep a lid on that by watching over him myself. No way will he get away from me, or try to off himself again, while I'm keeping an eye on him. I'll watch him like a fucking hawk. So he'll be okay. Better off than he'd be if the Fat Man found out what he tried to do tonight, anyway. If the Official knew about that swim -- Jesus. It wouldn't be pretty. Even if he didn't decide to pull the gland out of Fawkes's head, he'd probably throw the kid in the rubber room in a strait jacket, and have some shrink grill him for days. He might even make Claire trank him. In the state Fawkesy's in, that'd send him off the deep end again for sure.

So: no report. No fucking way.

I sigh to myself. Deep down, I think I already knew I wasn't gonna make one. Knew it before I even got Fawkes out of the water. Maybe I should feel bad about that. Disloyal or something. But I don't.

That kind of surprises me. I should. So why don't I?

It's not that I'm not loyal. It's more like somewhere along the way, my priorities shifted. My first loyalty isn't to the Fat Man anymore, or even to the Agency. It's to Darien.

I get the feeling, way down deep, that that means something. Maybe something big. My shrink would probably wanna analyze the hell out of it. But I just shrug. I'm not gonna. Right now, I've got bigger headaches. If I'm gonna keep quiet about this, I've gotta figure out what to do with Darien. Said I'd take him home with me, but is that really the right thing to do?

I hit the gas and pass a slow-moving car, thinking it over. I'd take him to the Keeper, hand the responsibility over to her for once, if I thought she could help him. But this isn't something she can fix. Besides … I like Claire, but she acts like she owns the kid sometimes. Like she owns both of us. Like he's her pet science project, and I'm this frickin' robot or something, built to muscle Darien into her chair and strap him down whenever she wants. Bet if she knew about the little stunt he just pulled, she'd be yelling, "Get him in that chair, Bobby. NOW!" She'd have him tied down in a second. She'd be taking blood samples and skin scrapings and giving him shots 'til his eyeballs popped. But he doesn't need another needle in his arm, or more tests done on his head right now. Doesn't need to be treated like a fucking lab rat, tonight of all nights. He's had more than enough of that shit already.

Besides, the thought of turning him over to Claire right now makes me feel … jealous. Just plain jealous. Things between Fawkes and me changed tonight. Shifted. We're getting closer, and I like it. I want it. I don't want Claire mixing in, and maybe getting between us right now.

The thing is -- she could. I got no doubts about that. Claire's kinda hard to miss. She's got all that blonde hair, that pouty mouth, that pretty accent -- and I'm not the only one who's noticed. Sometimes, when he forgets to resent her for helping to keep him in line with counteragent, Darien flirts with her. I've seen him do it, and I hate it. I mean, I flirt with her, too; but it's not the same thing. With me, it's just a reflex. A habit. A game. It's fun, but it doesn't mean anything. With him, I'm not sure. And the thought that Darien might really want her --

That's pain. Pain mixed with jealousy. I don't even wanna go there.

Guess I don't really wanna pawn him off on someone else, after all. What I want is to have him all to myself. Problems and all. For the hundredth time, I wonder what it is about this big ex-thief that totally gets to me.

I glance over at him, sleeping sprawled out next to me, and something inside me softens. Just like that. All I have to do is look at him, and it warms me up. It's weird. I never expected it. I mean, he's a thief! A criminal.

But that's not all he is.

Don't get me wrong, Fawkesy's got his faults. Plenty of 'em. He's lazy. Mouthy. Headstrong. Moody. He can be selfish sometimes, and he spends too much time feeling sorry for himself. Plus, he's a thief. He's robbed a few places, stolen some watches, whatever. He's got sticky fingers, all right. Thinks what's yours is his, too. But that don't make him Jeffrey frigging Dahmer. He's never stolen anything from me; and I don't think he ever would. Even Fawkes's got his limits. Sure, he tries to act hardened. Tough. Like he's this big, bad ex-con. But I see through that little act. When it comes to people, he's really a softie.

In fact, far as I can see, he wasn't very good at being a thief because of that. Oh, he's got the brains, all right -- no question. Bet Fawkesy was fantastic at figuring out how to crack a joint, how to get through security systems, or charm your way in. But he doesn't have the coldness, the ruthlessness that ya gotta have to get out, if things go wrong. He wasn't enough of a bastard to save his ass at the expense of everyone else. Christ, he never even carried a gun! And look at how he got caught, that last time. Trying to save some old man he didn't even know. Some old geezer he scared, when he was trying to rob an apartment! That's classic Fawkes.

He can be selfish about things, but from what I've seen, when it comes to people, he's the opposite.

I'm not sure if he even realizes it, but when it comes down to it, Fawkes tends to puts other people first. I've seen him do it time and time again, while we've been working together. He risked his neck for that kid Jessica recently, and she ain't the only one. I'd be tempted to say that working for the Agency's having a positive effect on him -- but he tried to save that old man while he was still a thief, before he ever got here. So I think his new job is probably just bringing out something that was already there inside him.

I think Darien's basically a good kid, who just took a wrong turn somewhere. Maybe it happened 'cause he lost his mom and dad when he was little. I dunno. All I know is, he can try all he wants to act selfish, tough and cynical -- but Fawkesy doesn't have the killer instinct. No way. I've been in this business long enough to know. In fact, he's the opposite. As long as he doesn't feel threatened, he's this total bleeding heart. I've watched him with people, and he always wants to fix their problems, always wants to help. Deep down, he's kind. Gentle. Got a good heart. Compared to me, he's a fucking innocent.

For a second, I wonder if that's it. If that's the attraction, what I love about him -- his innocence.

I catch myself. Love? Did I just think the L word?

That scares me. I shake myself. That's crazy! Nuts. Love? I mean, I want him, but … I can't love Fawkes. I can't! I mean, we're opposites. I'm hard, he's soft. I'm cold, he's warm. Fawkes just pretends to be cynical -- I am. I'm hardened, in ways he'll never be. I spent most of my life in tough worlds: the military and Intelligence. I'm all nerves, all jagged edges and suspicion. When it comes down to it, I'm a trained killer. I don't enjoy it, but I do it when I have to. Without flinching, or looking away, or worrying about it after, either. Darien could never do that. He freaks out every time he even roughs someone up, when he goes Quicksilver crazy.

I think that's part of what I like about him. His gentleness. I mean, it doesn't hurt that he's so easy on the eyes. But I've worked with good-looking guys before, and never felt anything like this for any of 'em. I think Fawkes would've gotten to me even if he was plain, though. 'Cause it ain't just the package I like. Ain't just the shiny wrapping. I like that somewhere inside him, under his snot-nosed punk act, there's this wide-eyed kid with an open heart. This kid who likes people, who loves to laugh and tease, and doesn't wanna hurt anybody. I like that kid, and I want him to let me in. I want it so bad, I can taste it.

That's part of the problem. That hunger scares me.

'Cause maybe it's pathetic. Weak. Maybe wanting someone so young and pretty is a sign that I'm cracking up. Going soft in my old age. I dunno. I've been tough all my life -- at least, I've tried to be. But it's been a struggle, and for most of it, I was all alone. I'm starting to feel like I've been alone too long. Like I've been shoved up against the world's hard, rough edges too many times, and I've got the scars to prove it. Outside and inside, too. It's done some damage. Maybe that's part of the reason why I lost Viv, and why I have to see shrinks, and take all these pills. To be strong, to survive, I had to protect myself. Had to turn my heart to stone, at least on the outside. I had to keep people at a distance. But I did it for so long, I almost forgot how to let anyone in. I'm starting to go cold on the inside, too. So cold, I'm turning into a fucking icicle. Maybe Darien could melt all that ice.

Maybe I even need him to.

Now, there's a scary thought. But I already trust him more than I've trusted anyone except my ex-wife; and it's a short step from trust to total surrender. I know that. It scares me though, 'cause this world's a tough place for innocents like Darien. He's smart and he's strong, but he's still learning. In the spy game, he's still a "babe in the woods"; and our business tends to chew babes up and spit 'em out. Sometimes, it even kills 'em.

I look over at Fawkes's messy, spiky hair, and I feel a stab of fear. Not for the first time. I think, That's not gonna happen to him. I won't let it. But that just leads me back to my original problem. How do I take care of him? How do I fix what's ailing Mr. Innocent tonight?

First, I've gotta figure Fawkes out. Try to decide why he went off the deep end tonight. He said he was scared. Scared of what? Scared of what he is now? Scared of his demon? Could be. It's tempting to think that's the answer, but I can't be sure. Fawkesy's got a good heart, but he's got his dark side, too. Maybe there's something else going on with him. Maybe he's mixed up in something bad that I don't know about, something that's got nothing to do with the Agency. It wouldn't be the first time he's strayed, and gotten in over his head for it. Maybe that's what he's afraid of.

But there's no way to know for sure unless I wake him up; and I don't wanna do that.

So I think back some more. Back to when he came to my apartment, back before he decided to go swimming. He kept saying he wanted us to spend more time together. He said that over and over. Once I realized he was making a pass at me, I wrote that off as just a line. But maybe I was wrong, and he meant it. Maybe that's why he's been calling me so much lately. I never thought about it before, but since he started working for the Agency, he's been cut off from all his old friends, all his sticky-fingered former pals. Could be what he needs is some attention. Maybe part of Fawkesy's problem is, he's really lonely.

I shrug. It's an idea, anyway. Something to work on. Maybe when he came to my place earlier, what he really wanted was just someone to talk to. I mean, he did hit on me, but maybe that was 'cause he didn't know how to tell me that he just needed someone to give a damn about Darien Fawkes for a change, and not that goddamn gland in his head. But I panicked and threw him out, instead.

The memory of that makes me wince. Okay, so I was a jerk. I was stupid, I didn't get what he was trying to tell me. I'll make up for it now. I'll take Fawkes home. Dry him off. Talk to him. Try to find out what's scaring him so bad, and what he needs to make him feel better. Try to get him back on some kind of an even keel again.

Now, that's ironic. Me, trying to play shrink for Fawkes. Me, Lithium Bob, trying to cheer him up. Christ.

Still, what other choice do I have? Right now, I'm all he's got.

I look over at him, feel that softness inside again and think, And maybe that's not so bad. Maybe that's just how I want it.

I fall asleep. But then I start to dream; and in my dream, I'm cold. So cold I'm shivering. It's dark, and I'm scared. I'm in prison again. I'm alone. Trapped in my tiny, dingy little cell. No hope, no light, no way out. I reach out for comfort, for someone to help me. And I find someone. A warm body, a broad shoulder. Oh, thank God. I'm not alone after all. I get next to that shoulder. Lean into it. Press myself up against it. Whoever he is, he feels good. He's warm, solid and strong. Best of all, he doesn't move. So I lay my tired, heavy head down on his shoulder. Wrap my cold body around his.

Better, I think. Warm. Safe. My fear fades away, and so do the walls of my cell. I go back to sleep.

Darien makes this funny sound, deep in his throat. This muffled kind of moan, that I don't like. I look over at him. He's still asleep, but he doesn't look relaxed anymore. He's frowning, and his hands twitch. Bad dreams, I think. Not surprising, considering what he just did. Still, the idea of Fawkes having nightmares bothers me. I have 'em a lot, but he shouldn't. He's got enough to deal with when he's awake. He doesn't need his troubles following him into his dreams.

"Hey, Fawkes," I say softly. "You okay?"

He stirs a little. Tosses his head, and reaches out in his sleep. When he touches my arm, he turns toward me blindly, and mutters something I can't hear. Next thing I know, his head's on my shoulder. I stiffen in surprise. Oh geez.

"Fawkes!" I hiss.

But he just gets closer. He moves his head, burrowing it into my neck, so he's kind of draped over my right side. His weight pulls my right hand off the wheel, and when I let that arm drop, he wraps his arm around it and cuddles even closer. His free hand drops onto my right leg. Then he lets out this contented little sigh, and relaxes.

Fuck! If I thought this was a joke, another one of his outrageous ways of teasing me, I'd smack him. But I know he's asleep, and that he's just getting comfortable. I'm not, though. I'm anything but. I don't usually let people get this close. And having Darien Fawkes draped all over me, feeling every loose, sleepy inch of him that's touching me -- it's like torture. I can feel his breath, warm on my neck. His hands, warm on my arm and thigh.

"Fawkes, come on!" I plead.

Fawkes sighs again. Another soft, happy sigh. But he doesn't move.

It's obvious, he likes it here. Aw, shit! I roll my eyes. I could get rid of him, of course. Push him off, or even wake him up. I think about it. But after what he's been through, he's gotta be exhausted. He needs to sleep.

I think about what his dreams must be like, and the way he swam out to sea tonight. How close I came to losing him, to never seeing him again. I think about how rotten my life was, before he came into it. I remember how I just promised myself I'd give him whatever he needs, to get him through this; and how I want some warmth in my life.

Darien's warm, all right. Inside and out.

I think about all that, and decide not to push him away. "Okay, partner," I say gently instead. "Okay." If this is what you need….

But that's just an excuse. Maybe, just maybe, I need it too. So I try to relax. Stop thinking of it like it's torture, and enjoy being so close to Darien, instead. After all, it could be worse. He could've done this at the lab. With Claire, instead of me.

That definitely makes me feel better. Come to think of it, I kinda have the best of both worlds, here. Darien's all snuggled up to me, but he's asleep. And what he doesn't know about, he can't tease me about when he wakes up. That makes me smile.

At least he isn't hanging onto my left arm. At least I can still drive. So I do that. I let him sleep on my shoulder, and I just keep driving.

When we get back to my place, Darien's still curled up beside me, hanging onto my arm, with his head on my shoulder. He looks really young and innocent, asleep. But I don't feel that way, with his body all soft and warm and pressed up against me. I feel kind of weird as I pull up and park. I'm really, really tired, but I'm excited, too. Aroused. It's hard not to be. I mean, we already kissed down on the beach, then he curled up next to me, and now we're back at my place, where we'll really be alone.

I feel a guilty little thrill, at the thought of that. Company pier, I tell myself severely. Bobby Hobbes does not fish off the company pier!

But even that doesn't help. All I get is this mental image of Darien, diving off of the company pier. Long, lean, sleek and naked, like he was on the beach. I sigh to myself. Almost wish I hadn't seen him naked. Now it's all I can think about.

Anyway, that ain't gonna happen again tonight. Nothing's gonna happen, I tell myself for the tenth time, as I shut the engine off quietly. He's worn out. Trashed. So am I. We both need to rest, so I'm just gonna put him to bed.

Problem is, the idea of laying Darien's big, sleepy body in my bed does things to me, too. Hot, exciting things. Pervert, I tell myself, but there it is. Just thinking about him in my bed makes me harden. It's not like I wanna take advantage of him. I don't. I'm gonna take care of him. But along with affection and protectiveness, I feel other things for him now, too. Sexual things, that complicate everything.

I heave a sigh, turn my head and look at Fawkes. I see tousled brown hair, the curve of his cheek, and the hint of a smile. He looks happy. It'd be nice to think that snuggling up to me drove his nightmares away. Maybe it did. He's all warm and comfortable now, anyway. Hasn't made a sound since he pressed up against me, either. I kinda hate to wake him up.

In fact, it hits me that what I want to do, what I'd really like to do while he's all soft and sleepy like this, is kiss him again.

But that'd be cowardly. Taking advantage, and I know it. I'm not gonna pounce him while he's asleep. Besides, there's the whole company pier thing…. Aww, what the hell. Fuck the company! I saved his life tonight. So the company owes me one. Maybe I can't kiss him, but I deserve just one teeny, tiny little cast off of the Agency's pier.

So I let myself reach over and touch him. I ruffle his hair gently. It feels a bit stiff with salt, and it sticks up in tufts, making me smile. "Rise and shine, Invisible Boy," I say quietly. "We're home."

Fawkes lets go of me and sits up, blinking and rubbing his eyes. "I fell asleep."

"No kiddin', Fawkesy." Wonder if he even knows he snuggled up to me in his sleep? Probably better if he doesn't. So I don't say anything.

Darien yawns hugely. Runs a hand through his hair, and messes it up even more than it already was. With his hair sticking up like that, and those sleepy eyes, he looks like a kid. All rumpled and cute. I know better than to tell him that, though. Don't want him to get pissed at me again.

But I must've smiled without knowing it, because Darien smiles back at me with this curious look. "What?"

I get that urge again. Another surge of temptation. He looks so open, so warm and sleepy and unguarded that I wanna grab him and kiss the hell out of him, before he can stop me. But I know I can't do that. He needs help, not another kiss. I swallow hard. Get a grip, Bobby, or this is gonna be a helluva long night!

I just shake my head in response. "Nothin'. Let's go." I turn to open my door, but Darien catches my arm.

"You're sure this is okay, Bobby? I mean --"

I know just what he means. No need to explain. One little touch, and I know. When I turn back to face him, I get this sudden, heated awareness of his hand on my arm. I feel how close we are, and how quiet it is out here. There's no one else around, and I think how no one would see us in the dark, if I kissed him again. Worse, I see that awareness in Darien's eyes, too. Even though he just woke up, it's there. The same hunger I feel. He wants me too. Even now, when we're both so tired we're half dead, we still want it. Not just another kiss, but all of it. The whole enchilada. Sex.

That's why he's asking me if it's okay if he stays. 'Cause he's not sure what might happen.

I hesitate, because I'm not sure either. It's not gonna be so easy, having Darien in my apartment now. I'm almost sorry I gave in and kissed him on the beach, too. It was easier when he didn't know that I want him. At least I was only fighting myself, then. Now I've gotta hold him off, too. At least, my conscience tells me I should. It's way too soon. If it's ever gonna happen at all, now's not the right time. Darien's still shook up, still depressed. He's vulnerable. Not thinking straight. So I gotta be the grown-up here. Gotta take care of him.

"Sure, it's okay," I lie. I already thought this part out, while he was sleeping. But I do my best to sound casual. "We both need some shut-eye, so you can take my bed. I'll crash on the couch." I just hope Fawkesy doesn't figure out that's a plan I devised, to keep us separated. Keep us apart. That way, if we're in separate rooms, there won't be any fishing, off the company pier or otherwise. Not in my apartment anyway. Not tonight.

Darien lets me go. Looks away, down at the floor, and nods. "Okay." At first, I think he's disappointed about the sleeping arrangements. I think maybe he's going to try to argue with me, and I tense up. But to my surprise, when he raises his head, he gives me that same crooked little smile he gave me down on the beach, instead. "Thanks, man," he says.

Like he's grateful that I didn't just take him back to his apartment and leave him. Like he's glad just to be with me, even if nothing's gonna happen. That should be a relief. Instead, it only makes me wanna have sex with him even more. Pervert, I sigh to myself again.

But all I say out loud is, "Sure. No problem." Lucky for me, I'm a pretty good liar.

Darien climbs out of the van. He's not moving very fast, though, and it reminds me that I'm tired, too. I look at my watch -- it's 2 a.m. No wonder. I reach over to open my door, and sand grates against the vinyl under my fingers. I wiggle my toes. Crap. I've got sand in my shoes, too. Probably all over me. I need a shower. But if I have one, Darien'll probably wanna take one, too. And I don't even wanna think about what it'll do to me, if he gets naked again in my shower. I've already had enough temptation for one night. More than enough.

But it's not over yet. I've still got this big problem child with me, who I gotta watch over. This sexy ex-thief who keeps making me think stuff I shouldn't be thinking.

Okay, no shower, I tell myself sourly. I'll just go straight to bed.

I'm not sure who I distrust more: Fawkes, or myself. I climb down out of the van and trail after him, feeling tense and excited, and hating myself for it. Welcome to my world. Planet Hobbes, where everything is whacked, and you can't trust anyone. Including your partner. Or even yourself. Not when it comes to sex, anyway.

I head up Bobby's stairs. I feel tired, but better. Lighter inside. A lot lighter. Still kind of stunned by what happened tonight, though. Still thinking about it. My swim, and the way Bobby came after me, and even let me cry on his shoulder. All of it.

Thinking about my swim isn't much fun, though. It takes me back to this dark place in my head, where everything seemed hopeless. Where I was lost. So I think about Bobby instead. He did more than just save me. He took care of me. Even when I totally lost it, he didn't laugh, I think, with a sense of wonder. Most guys hate it when other guys cry. They'd've either laughed their heads off at me, called me a wuss, or told me to shut up. But Bobby was wonderful. He just held me, and said it'd be all right.

I turn that over in my head for awhile. Savor it. I mean -- the toughest guy I know, the toughest one I've ever known, cares so much about me that even seeing me cry didn't freak him out. He does love me, I think, feeling warmed. He must…. When he said it'd be all right, he made it sound like a promise. And having his arms around me felt so good, so right, it was amazing. But it didn't end there. He brought me back here to his place, instead of taking me back to my apartment. Hell, I think he even let me sleep on his shoulder in the van, on the way.

I think this is Bobby's way of keeping that promise.

He kissed me, too. My mind keeps coming back to that. I can't get over it. Whatever his reasons were for it, that kiss was amazing. Then doubt cuts through me. Through my happy, tired little haze. But he said he's gonna sleep on the couch. So maybe he's already regretting it.

This sarcastic voice in my head cuts in. Well, I can think of a few reasons why he would. One in particular. With a capital P, and that rhymes with T, and that stands for "Prison!"

I sigh to myself. That's not a subject I like to think a lot about anymore -- my prison terms. But that's part of me, much as I'd like to deny it. It marked me, as surely as the snake tattoo on my wrist. I'm the only one at the Agency who did time, and it sets me apart from Bobby and everyone else there.

Still…. Buddha once said, "People cherish the distinction of purity and impurity. But in the nature of things, there is no such distinction."

I think he was trying to say that life's a messy business. It's got a lotta dark stuff, mixed in with the light. But if ya wanna really love life, or other people, you have to embrace all of that. Light and dark, neat and messy, pure and impure. And once you see the whole picture, you see it's all really just one thing: it's life. Ever see a view of the earth from space? From up there, you can't see any national borders on the continents. No England, Germany, France or even the good ole U.S. of A. You can't see any of the artificial boundaries we draw on maps, and fight wars over. Because those boundaries, those borders, are just something we make up. They're artificial distinctions, that don't really exist.

That's the gift of perspective. It makes some things really clear. What's important -- what's real -- and what isn't.

But most people don't see it that way. They don't have that kind of take on life. Buddha was a lot more enlightened than your average Joe, and I think he really hit the nail on the head there: most people like making artificial distinctions. Especially the moral kind. They like it a lot. Look at the way English is constructed: almost every positive adjective has a matching negative. Pure, impure. Mature, immature. Moral, immoral. You get the picture. People like to label. They like to judge. But most of all, if you step out of line or violate the rules, they like to punish. They'll put you in that negative category so fast, your head'll spin.

I should know. I started coloring outside of the lines and breaking the rules when I was pretty young. Now I'm not just a thief, but I also served time in prison. Everyone knows what happens in there, and it's got nothing to do with purity. So in the eyes of most people, I'm not just in that negative, "impure" category now -- I'm in slime up to my eyeballs.

What I wanna know is, what does that mean to Bobby Hobbes? What does that make me in his eyes? A slimeball? A slut? Did he put me in the "impure" category a long time ago? And was that kiss just a kind of bribe, to make me feel better? Or is he gonna think outside the box? Take the enlightened view, and accept me in spite of my past? See me as a man, and not a slut?

Is he ever gonna kiss me again?

Tired as I am, I'm full of questions. As we trudge up his stairs and Hobbes digs out his apartment key, I think, Maybe tonight, I'll get some answers.

I try to hide a yawn while I open my apartment door. Don't want Fawkes to see how tired I am, in case he wants to stay up and talk for awhile. If he does, I'll do it. Because more than anything else, I want him to tell me what made him do it. Why he went half a mile out into the frickin' ocean tonight.

But to my surprise, once we get inside, Darien throws himself down on my couch right away. He yawns like he's so tired, all he wants to do is sleep. But I'm not sure if he's just using that as an excuse to avoid talking to me. Get the feeling he's not ready yet. Not ready to tell me. It worries me. How long is it gonna take, before he opens up?

"Look, Hobbes," he says, "you're doing me a favor, letting me stay here. I can't let you give away your bed, too. You take the bed. I'll crash here, on the couch. Then I won't have to move." He yawns elaborately again, to show how tired he is.

Typical Fawkes. Thinking of me first, but trying to cover up the fact that he's doing it. But I see through that little ploy. Can't let him think I'm that easy to manipulate. "What, are you tryin' to make me look bad here, Fawkes? You're my guest, and guests don't sleep on the couch. Not in Chez Hobbes."

Fawkes widens his eyes in mock surprise. "Oh, I'm sorry. I thought I was in your apartment. Didn't realize this was some sort of French hotel."

I try not to smile. "Well, now you know."

But Fawkes isn't through arguing yet. He shrugs casually. "I'm just saying, you should take the bed. After all, like you pointed out earlier, you're older than me. And older people get tired easier --"

He's trying to look serious, but he can't quite keep this little smirk off his face. That's classic Fawkes, too. He's trying to help me, but he can't resist teasing me about my age, at the same time. And it's just like him, to try to use my own words against me. No way can I let him get away with that, so I fire one back at him. "Hey, hey! You're the one who fell asleep in the van on the way back here, my friend. Not me! So who's the decrepit one, huh?"

Fawkes pretends to consider that. "You know, you're right. Not only did I drag you out into the ocean in the middle of the night, but I even took a snooze while you drove us back here." He looks down and puts on this totally fake look of guilt. "That was really, you know, selfish and inconsiderate of me."

He's putting on such a performance, I can't resist cutting in. "You? Selfish and inconsiderate? Never!"

I can see Fawkes is trying not to smile, too. "No, I was. I really was! I was this total, selfish bastard," he confesses, trying hard to look guilty. Head down, he sneaks a sideways glance at me, to see if I'm buying it yet. "So you should probably punish me, and make me sleep on the couch."

I shake my head. "Oh, no." But inside, I'm smiling. Watching Fawkes pretend to look guilty like that is hysterical.

This kind of teasing, this little war of words that he loves so much -- it just shows what a kid he is. Give Fawkes a chance, any chance to play, and he can't resist. Thing is, though, he's not the only one who loves it. I'd never tell him, but I do, too. So I play along, like I always do. "Listen, if I wanted to punish you, I'd make you sleep on the floor. Wouldja' just do like I said, and take the bed, please? You're too tall to fit on the couch, anyways!"

"Oh yeah? Watch this." Fawkes lies back on my couch, stretching his long legs out. To my surprise, he does fit, after all. Just. He gives me this smug smile, like he knew it all along. "You've got a big couch here, buddy. I'm fine. See?"

Smart ass. He probably knew he'd fit there all along, before he ever started this argument. He was just saving that bit, so he'd win. I hate it when he wins. "Yeah, but --"

He pulls a pillow behind his head, lays back on it and closes his eyes. "No buts. This is fine, Hobbesy," he says with a little smile. "It's good."

I eyeball him for a minute. Gotta admit, though, he does look comfortable. And my bed sounds awful good right now, too. So if he doesn't wanna talk it out yet, I'd just as soon crash. "Okay," I tell him.

I'll let him win this one, 'cause if he doesn't tell me what the hell made him want to kill himself, we're gonna have a much bigger fight on our hands, later. If he doesn't open up soon, I'll have to force him to talk. Don't wanna, but I will if I have to.

But I'm hoping it won't happen. That he won't make me pry it out of him. Anyway, we should both get some sleep first, before we start World War III. So I just say quietly, "Okay. If you wanna stay there, I'll get ya a blanket."

I grab one out of my bedroom closet, come back in and look down at him. For a second, I have this silly urge to spread the blanket over him myself. Kind of tuck him in. But I'm not sure, at this point, if that's real concern or lust. Do I just wanna tuck him in here, or am I looking for an excuse to touch him again? Am I trying to be Mr. Mom, or Mr. Molester?

I'm not sure. But I know it's safer -- smarter -- not to touch him again. Besides, Fawkes usually hates it if I hover. So I restrain myself, and toss him the blanket instead.

But then I hear myself say, "You should get outta those clothes, Fawkes. They're all salty and damp." Okay, so much for not hovering. I'm starting to sound like his mother! No -- I sound stupid. 'Cause what's he gonna change into? It's not like I've got an extra set of pajamas he can borrow. He's way too tall. None of my stuff would fit him.

I halfway expect Darien to point that out. But to my surprise, he agrees with me. "Yeah, you're probably right. I'll just get rid o' this…." Before I can stop him, he sits up and pulls his damp T-shirt over his head. In seconds, he's half naked again. I swallow hard. Aw, crap! Seeing that gorgeous chest twice in one night is almost too much. I'm really tired, and my resistance is going. I remember how good it felt, having him in my arms on the beach, and it's all I can do not to reach out and touch him.

Then a worse thought hits me. Oh geez. What if he doesn't stop there? What if he decides to take it all off? I couldn't stand that. He loses his jeans, and I'll lose control. So I grab his shirt, and turn away quickly. "I'll hang this up for ya," I mutter, not looking at him. "Sure you're gonna be okay here, Fawkes?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. Go on, Hobbes. Go to sleep."

Any other time, I'd've done that without a second thought. Taken his word for it that he's okay, and hit the sheets. But there's something in his voice now, a hint of something like disappointment that makes me pause. I almost lost him once tonight -- I don't wanna make another mistake. So I stop at my bedroom door, and throw one last little glance at him over my shoulder. He's lying down, his head on a pillow, the blanket over his legs, his eyes half closed. He looks tousled and tired. Like he's gonna go to sleep the second I leave the room. But I don't trust him. Appearances can be deceiving, and so can Fawkes.

For my own peace of mind, I decide to make him promise to stay put this time. "Okay. You can sleep in as late as ya want tomorrow. Then I'll make us breakfast. But no taking off again, all right?" We'll talk, Fawkes. Talk it all out in the morning. But you better be here.

He sits up a little, turns to look at me, and like he read my mind, he says, "Okay. I'll be here. Thanks, Bobby."

I search his eyes. He looks tired, but he's smiling a little, and I can tell he means it. He's not lying to me. He's not gonna leave again. Okay.

"Sure." I turn away again, more than a little tired myself. But relieved. Very relieved.

But Fawkes calls after me. "Hey, Hobbesy. You know how to make cinnamon toast?"

I smile at the note of hope in his voice. If that don't beat all. After everything that happened tonight, all the six-foot-three problem child can think about is his stomach! And he wants cinnamon toast for breakfast! Like a little kid. Geez. Surprised he didn't ask for Captain Crunch. But he promised not to leave, so I cut him some slack. Turn around again and nod. "Yeah. It's cinnamon on bread, right?" I shrug. "How hard can it be?"

I see this little glint in Darien's eyes, and think, Uh oh! That was the wrong thing to say. I've been set up! But it's too late. I walked right into it.

"Well, ya see now, there's where you're wrong," Fawkes answers softly. "Ya gotta use a bit of sugar, too." He runs his tongue over his bottom lip. "Mmm, yeah. Sugar," he purrs. "Ya gotta use lots of that."

I stiffen. Seems like Darien's not too tired to talk, after all. Long as it's about sex, anyway. Jesus fucking Christ! It's not enough that he's lying there all sexy and half naked, he's gotta show some tongue, too!

Darien smiles, and his tongue does another lazy, sensual swipe, back and forth over his lower lip. It looks casual, like he's just wetting dry lips, but I know better. He's playing me, and it's working. It sends a thrill right straight to my dick.Suddenly, all I can think about is how full his lower lip is. I wanna lick it, kiss it, sink my teeth into it…. Like he knew I would, the bastard!

Our eyes lock. Darien's are sparkling with mischief, and something else I don't wanna think about. I know I should turn around and leave. Just get myself the hell out of here. Away from his big brown eyes, his tempting tongue, and his goddamn flirting. But somehow, I can't turn away. I find myself answering him instead. Flirting right back. "Oh, so that's the secret ingredient, huh? Sugar?"

"Oh yeah," Darien says huskily. "You know -- the white stuff."

Darien gives me this slow grin, and all of a sudden, he doesn't look just mischievous anymore. He looks wicked. Wanton. And he's not talking about sugar anymore either, the suggestive bastard. Dirty little Darien… My head spins.

Darien's smile deepens into something like an erotic promise. That smile says he's naked under that blanket, naked and ready for me, and that he's just waiting for me to come and tear it off him, so we can get the party started. I find myself hoping that it'll accidentally slip down past his waist, so I can find out if it's true at a safe distance. Then again, when he looks at me like that, no amount of distance is safe. When he does that, all I wanna do is close the distance. Get next to him.

I feel hypnotized. Like I'm drugged or something. All I can see is his tongue, his lips, his bare chest. The erotic glitter in his eyes. The open invitation in his suggestive smile. I actually feel myself take a step towards him. I have to shake myself and blink my eyes, to break the spell.

Whoo. Just in time. I feel a flash of resentment, at the way he's playing with me. I mutter, "Knock it off, you little snake charmer!"

"What?"

"Nothing! Never mind." I do my best to get pissed off at him, to try to snap myself out of it. It's not that hard. After all, he's been teasing me mercilessly. Fawkes, you bastard! Lying there with your perfect chest and your come-fuck-me eyes. Smiling at me. Flirting. Licking your lips, and talking about sugar. I know just the kind of sugar I'd like to give you, too.

For a second, I almost do it. I'm so damn tired I can hardly see straight, but the surge of annoyance I feel at his shameless teasing almost overcomes that. I almost walk over to that couch and throw myself on him. I want to. Wanna find out how it feels, doing it with a guy. No -- doing it with Darien. Wanna find out if the rest of it would feel as good as his kiss did. Besides … it'd serve him right, for making those sexy yummy sounds. For all that talk about sugar and white stuff. And for the tongue thing, too.

But just in the nick of time, I remember that I'm not exactly an expert at throwing myself on guys. And I'm way too tired to risk getting laughed at by Invisible Boy. If he did that, I might have to kill him. And that'd be a shame, since I just finished saving his ass.

So in the end, all I say is, "Night, Fawkes." I grab his damp shirt, and turn and head for my bedroom, fast. Before he can say anything else. Before he can try anything else. Before he gets another chance to use that tongue….

"Night, Hobbesy!"

This time, Fawkes doesn't sound disappointed. He sounds almost smug. Like he's smirking. Like he knows how much I want him, and that it's only a matter of time before I give in. That burns me. "I'll get ya for that, Fawkes!" I mutter to myself."You better go to sleep fast, my friend."

I head for bed, thinking I'd better not hear one more peep outta him, or I'll go back out there and put him to sleep the hard way, with my fist.

Luckily for him, it doesn't come to that. Darien shuts up, and I go back in my room and change. And by the time I go to hang his damp shirt up in my shower, I've cooled off a bit. Guess it's not really fair for me to be so pissed off at him, when Fawkes isn't the only one who got a bit outta line tonight. I watched him strip on the beach, after all. I didn't mean to. Didn't know he was gonna do that…. But I could've looked away, and I didn't. I watched him for a long time.

I get this uneasy feeling. There's a lot of things I didn't do tonight, that maybe I should've. I didn't pick up on how upset Darien was, when he came over before. Didn't go after him soon enough, when he waded out into the ocean. Didn't tell the Fat Man that he tried to kill himself tonight, and I didn't take Darien back to his place after, either. I brought him home, instead.

It's a long list of mistakes. But I'm starting to think that not taking Darien back to his apartment was probably the biggest one on it. I can't find it in me to regret it, though, because I promised myself I'd give him whatever he needs. And I think he needs to be with someone now.

But what about me? What about what I need? It jolts me a bit, when I realize how little I even think about that anymore. I've gotten so used to putting Fawkes first -- thinking about his needs before mine… I wonder if it's gone too far. I wonder if this thing, this thing between me and him that I can't put a name to, is already throwing me off. Affecting my judgment. Am I losing my edge? I can't afford that. We can't afford that. I'm supposed to be a professional. Supposed to stay detached, objective, so I can protect him. Fawkesy's smart, but he's still just a kid. A beginner. He's not experienced enough yet to protect himself anywhere near as well as I can.

But if this goes where I think it's going -- if I get all starry-eyed about him…. If I let him in, start needing him…. Where's it gonna lead? What's it gonna do to both of us?

I close my eyes. I don't know. Right now, I don't even wanna know. I gotta take this one step at a time. If I start worrying about myself, on top of what Fawkes did tonight, I'll get so wound up, I won't even be able to close my eyes. And I'm so tired, all I wanna do is sleep. For about a hundred years.

So I hang up Darien's shirt, turn off all the questions, and head for bed.

After I crash on his couch, Hobbes goes to get me a blanket. When he comes back with it, he stands over me with this oddly gentle look on his face. Like he's considering laying it over me himself. Wrapping it all around me. Wonder what he's feeling? Is it that kid brother thing again? Does he wanna tuck me in or something? Or is it --

I hold my breath, but nothing happens. Either I just imagined that look, or it was just protectiveness, because Hobbes doesn't even touch me. He just tosses me the blanket, and tells me gruffly that I should get out of my wet clothes.

Oh, well. Still, I don't give up. 'Cause that whole getting out of my clothes thing, hmm. Now, there's an idea that has possibilities.

Hobbes has already seen me naked, but I can't resist teasing him again. Especially since it seems to turn him on when nothing else will. So I sit up, acting casual, and whip off my shirt in record time. Bare my chest, such as it is. I've always wished I looked more like Hobbes. Solid and muscular, rather than skinny. I work out, but I never could bulk up much. But hey, some guys like skinny. I just haveta hope he does.

I smile, and wait for his reaction.

I know I shouldn't do this, 'cause Hobbes is tired. Worn out. His defenses are down, and here I am, flirting. Stripping for him. Teasing him again, after I promised myself I wouldn't do that any more tonight. But the thing is -- that kiss. Mmm. I'm only human, and I can't get that kiss outta my head. I want more, but he's resisting, and maybe the only way I'm gonna get him to do it again is if I push.

Much to my disappointment, though, Hobbes doesn't respond to my little strip tease.

In fact, he turns away fast, like I'm grotesque. Like I have hideous, weeping sores all over my body or something. He asks me if I'm comfortable on his couch and makes me promise I won't run away again, but then he heads for his bedroom. Alone. Without asking me to come, too.

Damn it! So much for stripping. Imagine my disappointment. Here I thought one more sight of my gorgeous, naked body would render Bobby helpless with lust! Make him putty in my hot little hands. Et cetera, et cetera. Instead, he's heading for the hills. I feel like the fucking Elephant Man! "Am I repulsive? Do I disgust you?"

I flop back down on the couch with a sigh.

I shrug. I must be slipping. But damn, I hate to lose.

So before Hobbes disappears down the hall, I make one last stab at seducing him. I call out to him. Force him to stop. When he turns around, I blurt out the first thing that comes into my head. I ask him if he'll make me cinnamon toast for breakfast. Not that I'm dying for it or anything. It's just something to say, to keep him from leaving. Something to get him to turn and look at me again. I run my tongue over my lip and tease him about putting sugar on the toast, while I give him a sexy smile. I know he'll get what I mean, 'cause Bobby's a born flirt. Hell, he's better at it than I am.

He gets it, all right. For a second, Bobby stands stock still. His light brown eyes widen with this look of surprised hunger. It's the same look I saw on the beach, and it makes my heart beat faster. Tired as I am, other parts of me stir, too.

Then, wonder of wonders -- he starts flirting back. Bobby asks me about sugar, and his voice is a bit husky around the edges. And he's staring at me, like he can't look away. Okay! Yes! It's working! I feel this little thrill. Another second, and I'll get up off the couch. Go to him and --

And nothing. Because Hobbes blinks it away. Literally. One blink, and that little flame in his eyes disappears like it was never there. Before I can get up and do anything about it, he turns on his heel and disappears into his bedroom. "Night, Fawkes."

I just sit there, speechless with surprise and disappointment. Dammit! How does he do that? Turn it on and off like a light, like that? Must be all that discipline he learned in the military or something.

I settle back down on the couch with a grimace. "G'night, Hobbesy!" I try to sound cheerful, but I don't feel that way. Unlike Hobbes, I can't turn my feelings off that fast.

I stare down the hall, frustrated. That's the second time he's turned me down -- or is it the third? Anyway, the point is, why's he being so goddamn stubborn? Was I right, does he think he's protecting me? Or does he think I'm not good enough for him? There's no way to tell.

So I settle back down on the couch, and flick off the light. I'm tired, but I feel tense. Stiff. In more ways than one. I look down and see a boner poking up under my zipper. I roll my eyes, knowing what caused it. All that blabbering about sugar. I was just trying to turn Bobby on, but it got me all hot and bothered, too. Just thinking about him with sugar on his lips…. Oh, God.

I shouldn't think about that. It makes me squirm on the couch, makes my already stiff dick start to throb. Forget it! I tell it sourly. You're not getting any! I thump my pillow, totally frustrated by the way my little seduction plan just blew up in my face. It's too late for sugar now. Too late for any hope of sugar of any kind, because Bobby's gone back into his room.

He left me all alone out here. Great! Now it's just me and my horny thoughts and my disappointed dick.

It crosses my mind that I could maybe do something about that. Make at least one of my problems go away, so I can settle down and sleep. But I decide against taking care of that one right now. There's no way, I mean no way I'm gonna do anything about that, with Bobby and his bat ears lying just a few feet away in his bedroom! It's bad enough that he saw me crying. That's all I need, for Bobby to hear me moaning and breathing hard, and come out and catch me jerking off on his couch, too, like some horny little teenager. Huh unh.

But I wish I could. I want him so bad, I wish to hell I could do something about it. I twist around again, trying in vain to get comfortable. But my groin's still aching. I close my eyes and mutter under my breath, "I can't get no-oh, sa-tis-fac-shun…"

For a second, I laugh. But the laugh turns into a groan. It ain't funny.

Damn Hobbes. Damn sugar. Damn sex!

It isn't the first time I've cursed sex, lately. It probably won't be the last, either. I've been frustrated so often in the past year, it's getting monotonous. Like a really, really bad habit. So I try to force my mind away from it. But when I do, dark memories of what I did earlier tonight rush back in to fill it up instead. I remember how cold the water was. How it seemed like my only way out was death….

I thought Kevin was calling me to join him, I think, and I shiver.

I turn over on Bobby's couch again, troubled. Restless. Now I really wish I'd found some way to get myself into his bed. I don't wanna sleep, 'cause I had some kind of bad dream in the van before, and I'm afraid it'll happen again; and this time, I won't have Bobby's warm shoulder to lean on, either. Lying out here alone in the dark like this sucks. It's kinda creepy.

Now that Bobby's turned me down again, all the bad feelings that drove me out into the ocean start to come back.I feel worthless. Dangerous. Lonely.I know Bobby's in the next room, but emotionally, it feels like he's miles away. It washes over me again, the need to tell him why I did it. That I did it for him….

But then I remember the fear on his face, in his eyes, when I even hinted at that. It scares me. Because I'm back now, trapped in this life with my demon and all my fears, because of Bobby. I did it for him. But if he can't even stand to hear about it, then how is he ever gonna be able to help me with it?

And if he doesn't help me, what the hell am I gonna do?

My heart starts to pound. I have to close my eyes tight for a minute, and take deep breaths, to make the panic fade. I feel like I'm the only person in the whole frigging world. I stare up at the ceiling. I feel invisible. Again.

Finally, I sigh to myself. Because I know -- I know -- there's only one way to make these feelings go away. And Bobby isn't gonna like it….

Bobby Hobbes needs some sleep. But I'm not sleeping. I toss and turn. Pound my pillow. Count sheep. Run through all the swear words I know, one by one. In English, French, Russian -- even the Arab ones I learned in the Marines.

No dice. I do everything I can think of, to try to get to sleep. But none of it works. I can't sleep. Not that I ever do sleep well, but right now, it's worse than usual. I can't even close my eyes.

Finally, I give in and take a few tranquilizers. Shit! I hate doing that. Know I'll pay for it tomorrow. Always have a helluva time waking up, after they kick in. But tonight, I got no choice. 'Cause he's there. Fawkes is there. In the next room. Lying there on my couch, all loose and slinky and half naked. Hell, for all I know, maybe he's totally naked by now. I wouldn't be surprised. I groan, trying not to imagine that. Can't think about that, or I won't ever sleep.

But of course, I think about it anyway. My head fills with images of Darien on the beach. Shedding his clothes in the moonlight. Walking out of the waves, all wet and sleek and sexy.

With sugar on his full lips, instead of salt.

I almost groan out loud. If I didn't know Darien was in the next room, I would; 'cause I've got a hard-on that won't quit. Thanks to him. I pound my pillow again, almost like it's Fawkes's sexy, tempting head. It's his fault! It's all his fault! He's making me crazy! How the hell can I sleep, knowing he's out there? He's probably asleep already, of course. Probably went to sleep within seconds, damn him. But how can he sleep, when we're -- okay, when I'm -- wide awake and horny?

Okay, I admit it! I can't think about anything else, when he's in the next room. Nothing but him. Nothing but Sex, with a capital s. Sex with Darien. Isn't that a kicker, when I don't even know what to do to him? Well, I mean, I got some ideas. I've heard some things, seen some stuff in movies. But knowing that part A goes into slot B don't cut it, where sex is concerned. Experience is what counts. Without it, you end up fumbling around like a virgin who doesn't know a thing.

But I wanna know. Boy, do I wanna know! What he likes, what it would take to make

him --

A familiar wave of insecurity sweeps over me. What makes you think you *could* make him --? Stop it, I tell myself. Don't do this! You're just setting yourself up for a big disappointment, and you know it. Don't assume that kiss meant anything.

Finally, self doubt does what nothing else could, and my arousal subsides a bit. Darien's just lost right now. Lonely. He'll find a woman soon enough. Or maybe another guy. Whatever. And he'll forget all about this -- this -- this thing we've got between us. Whatever it is. Geez, I don't even know what it is! What to call it. If I should even let it happen. Or if I can stop it, at this point.

That's what I know, all right. Fuck-all. About everything!

It makes me furious. I'm so mad I feel like I'm steaming, like I'm throwing off heat. Like I'm sweating, 'cause my desire for Darien's so hopeless. I'm probably just so tired, I'm starting to feel funky. But I throw off my blankets anyway, lie back down, and stare up at the ceiling. I find myself listening for the sound of Fawkes's breathing.I can't hear it, and it worries me. Don't get crazy, I tell myself. He's okay. He's just too far away. That's all.

I realize, I'm being selfish here. Fawkes did something really scary tonight. If I'd done that, I'd want someone to be there with me now. But he's all alone out there. He can't even talk to me, 'cause I'm too far away.

That's my fault. I did that deliberately, put that distance between us to protect myself. Well, maybe both of us. But I never thought about how it'd make him feel. Was that another mistake? Maybe. Guess if it was, it'd be easy enough to fix. But I'm afraid of what'll happen if I try. So I lie there for awhile longer in the dark. Listening for Darien's breathing, and not hearing it. Getting more and more worried about him.

Maybe he isn't asleep yet, after all. Maybe he's just like me. Maybe he can't sleep.

But he needs to, after taking that long swim, and then towing me most of the way back. Not to mention the way he broke down and cried, after. He's gotta be mentally and physically exhausted. I know he is, that's why he fell asleep in the van. He needs to get some more shut-eye. But somehow, I don't think he's sleeping. Why can't I hear him breathing?

I feel myself winding up tighter and tighter inside. I can feel my whole body getting tense, and I know I'll never get to sleep if this keeps up. Trying to relax, I reach over and turn on this little lamp beside my bed. It's just bright enough to dispel the darkness a little, to give things near me shape and form. It helps on nights like this, when I'm too keyed up to sleep. It lets me see that I'm safe. That there are no intruders in my place. No one hiding in the shadows. Usually, that calms me down enough so I can get some rest. But not tonight. Tonight, for once, I'm more worried about the thief who's already in my apartment, than about any potential burglars.

Trying to distract myself from thoughts of Darien, I look around at my stuff, my furniture. But that's not much help. All I can think is, how I bought most of it with Viv. And she's not here now. Hell, she won't even talk to me. That's a familiar pain, an old one, but it never goes away. It kept me from having any kind of serious relationship with anyone else. That faint hope I've been carrying around that maybe someday, she'd take me back.

But I know she won't. That's just another lie I keep telling myself, to get me through nights that get lonelier and lonelier. Viv's gone. Gone, and she's never coming back.

That wound's so dark, so deep, that years haven't dulled the pain much.

I turn that question over in my head for a minute. Naw. It ain't that. What I feel for Darien's real. It's deep. It's way more than rebound desperation. He means a lot to me. More than anyone has since Viv left.

But that just makes me feel more alone than ever, because Fawkes isn't in here with me.

Then I have an even worse thought. What if I can't hear him 'cause he's not there? What if I really am alone? What if he left again? Got pissed because I left him alone and took off, for God knows where?

No. He wouldn't. He promised me….

But so did Vivian. She promised me she'd stay forever, and look how that turned out.

My heart speeds up even more. My anxiety's soaring, getting out of control. I'm not gonna be able to lie here much longer, without checking on Fawkes. Then I hear the sound of someone moving in the next room. I've been listening so hard, for so long, that the soft padding of footsteps out there seems loud. I sit up in bed, my heart racing. For a second, I wonder if someone was watching my place, when we got here. What if someone saw us come in together, and came here to kill Fawkes? To kill the Invisible Man --

I almost reach for my gun. Then I see him. My bedside lamp gives off just enough light that I can make out this long, lean figure in my doorway, and my heart turns over. It's Darien. This little voice deep inside me says, Thank you, God, he's still wearing his pants. But another, evil little voice says, Yeah, but you could get lucky. That could change. I scream at both of them to shut up, and try to slow my racing heart down. Calm, be calm, I chant to myself.

Fawkes leans casually against my doorframe. "Hey," he says quietly. "I saw your light."

Least he isn't talking about sugar anymore. Thank God. The fact that he's not flirting anymore's a relief. Still, seeing him half naked in my bedroom doorway takes my breath away. It takes me a second to get myself together, to think of something safe to say back to him. "Whatsa matter, Fawkes? You can't sleep?" Dumb question, but what am I supposed to say? "Come on in, and we can screw like rabbits?" 'Cause one look at him, and it's all I wanna do.

"Naw." He shrugs, straightens up and comes toward me. "You?"

Once he gets closer, I notice that Darien looks different. Hesitant. Not as cocky as usual. A little lost, maybe. Dunno if it's because he's still freaked after that swim, or if it's because he thinks he's trespassing, and that I don't want him in here. He's partly right about that. Half of me doesn't. But the other half's turning fucking cartwheels, 'cause he's standing by my bed, shirtless and looking vulnerable.

I try to forget about that. About Fawkes's bare chest, that is. Try to forget how handsome he is, and focus on the vulnerable part instead, on the fact that he's my friend. My friend who almost died tonight. My friend who needs help.

I was gonna kick him outta here. Tell him some lie that I was sleeping, sleeping like a baby, thank you very much, until he walked in. But I can't. He's not flirting now, he's hurting. He's looking down at me with those big dark eyes, and they look sad right now, so sad. Like they did down on the beach. That sadness gets to me. Somehow, I can't lie to him when he looks like that. It'd be like kicking a puppy. So I shake my head. "Naw. Me neither."

I see it in Darien's eyes. He can't say it, but I know why he's here, why he wasn't sleeping either. 'Cause he was too far away. Too alone, out there on my couch.

"Okay," I sigh, giving in. It looks like there's only one way we're gonna be able to relax tonight; and that's if he's with me. Hardly able to believe I'm doing it, I feel myself moving over to the right side of the bed, to make room for him. "Come on. Climb in."

"Really?" Fawkes scratches the back of his neck like he's not sure about it, but his eyes tell me the truth. They light up like a couple of candles, at the thought of climbing into my bed.

Oh God, I think. But I pretend not to notice. "Sure. What the hell." I shrug, trying to look more casual than I feel.

"Okay." Fawkes quits pretending that he's reluctant, and in about a half a second, he jumps into my bed. Slides in beside me with one of his typically graceful, slinky moves. Christ! Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. Then it gets worse. He turns to me and smiles. This warm smile that gets to me. "Thanks, Bob--"

I cut him off. "Shh! Lie down! No talking," I order tersely. No touching either, I think, but I don't say it. I figure if I stay way over on my side of the bed, that won't happen anyway, so there's no need to say it. Fawkes lies down without another word. He looks disappointed, but I don't care. "This ain't no slumber party, Penelope!" I growl. "Just keep quiet, so I can get to sleep."

"Okay!"

"Shhh!"

Fawkes rolls his eyes, but he shuts up.

Good. I lie back and close my eyes. Still, I'm painfully aware of his bare chest and long, lean body, just about a foot away from me. I can feel him there, even though I can't see him anymore. It's the same kinda torture I just felt in the van, when he fell asleep on my shoulder. So I don't bother pulling up the covers again. I leave the sheets and blankets folded back at the bottom of the bed, because with Fawkes lying right next to me, the one thing I'm not gonna be is cold. Too hot, is more like it.

After a minute or so, I realize it's not nearly as dark as it should be, even with my eyes closed. The lamp. I forgot to turn off the lamp. I wait a bit, hoping maybe Fawkes will turn it off, but he doesn't move. I open my eyes a little to check him out. He's settled down on his pillow, eyes closed, face peaceful. But it's like he's got radar or something, 'cause as soon as I look at him, he opens his eyes and smiles at me again.

Dammit! That crooked little smile just gets to me. Everything in me wants to respond. Every cell in my body says, Yeah, go for it! Grab him! Get some sugar! But my conscience says, No. Remember, he almost died tonight. So I set my jaw, reach over and shut off the lamp. That way, at least I can't see him. "Go to sleep," I tell him sternly.

"Okay --"

"Shhhh!"

Finally, Darien shuts up. For about a minute. Then, almost like he's talking to himself, he says quietly, "It was cold out there, Hobbes."

I swallow hard again. At least he didn't mention any erotic white substances this time. At least that's something. But I'm guessing he's not talking about the temperature in my living room, either. Once again, I have to force myself not to reach out for him. But I know that wouldn't be a good idea, so I just say, "If you're cold, pull up the blankets."

"No. I mean, out in the ocean." Now his voice is so low it's almost a whisper.

"Yeah. I know, ki--Fawkesy." For a minute, I hold my breath. It's the first time he's brought up his swim since he did it, and I feel a flash of hope. Maybe, just maybe, he's finally gonna tell me what he was doing out there. What made him try to off himself. I lie there waiting for it. Hoping for it.

But it seems he isn't thinking about himself. Because when Darien finally talks again, all he says is, "Thanks for coming for me, Bobby."

That gets to me even more than his little smile did. I'll always come for you. No matter what. I'd come for you in Hell, if I had to. "I'm your partner," I say, trying hard to keep my voice even this time. "That's what partners do."

That's true, but it's only a half truth. Loyalty and protectiveness aren't the only reasons why I'd do anything, go anywhere to save him. They're only part of what I feel. But he doesn't need to know that. I still haven't decided if it'd be good for him to figure out the rest of it.

Then again, maybe he already has. Because I hear this funny kind of rustling sound, and for a second, I wonder what the hell he's doing. Then Fawkes' hand brushes my arm. I'm so surprised, and so on edge, that I jump. But Fawkes doesn't let go. He curls his long fingers lightly around my bicep.

"I know," he says softly. "And I just wanna say … I wanna tell you -- not to worry anymore." His fingers move, sliding down my arm until his hand finds mine. He finds it, folds his larger hand around it, and holds it. "I said I wasn't gonna leave, and I won't. I'm staying here with you tonight, Bobby. I swear."

That's the second time he's said that. He's really trying hard to reassure me that he's okay now. Not sure I believe it. I'd feel better about it if he'd tell me why he did it, that's for damn sure. But at least I know he's gonna stay put tonight. That's something.

But what really gets to me is his touch. It wasn't enough that he said the words, he had to hold onto me while he did it. I'm only just starting to see how important touch is to him. I never realized that before. Maybe because he's never let his guard down enough around me before, to say or do stuff like this. Suddenly, it doesn't matter so much why he took that swim. Guess he can tell me that when he's ready. Right now, the way he's holding onto my hand is enough.

His gesture puts a lump in my throat. I can't say a word. I know I should move, pull my hand away. Let him go. But I can't do that, either, because his touch means a lot to me, too. I've been alone too long myself. I know how it is, how down you can get. How it makes your nights seem so dark. How they feel like they'll never end. If it weren't for my pills, I'd've probably done something as stupid as his swim myself, long before this. So instead of letting go, I squeeze his hand a little. Just so he knows that I got the message. That I understand.

Finally, when a few minutes have gone by and I know I won't embarrass myself by sounding choked up anymore, I tease him a little. "You better stay. 'Cause if you tried to leave, I'd just have to go after you again. And it's a pain in the ass, hunting you down."

For a second, Darien doesn't say anything. Then: "You would, wouldn't you? You'd hunt me down again."

"Oh yeah! Like a dog," I grin. "Just like an invisible dog, my friend."

I feel the bed shaking beside me, then Darien bursts out laughing.

I start laughing too. It's been a long time since I've heard him laugh out loud. Too long…. After all we've been through tonight, it feels good, lying here in the dark laughing with him. Really good. As our laughter slowly fades, I realize he's still holding onto my hand. And that I'm letting him. I shrug. Aw, what the hell.

When we're quiet again, I repeat, "Go to sleep, Fawkes."

"Okay. G'night, Hobbesy."

"Night."

This time, Fawkes does what he's told. Within about five minutes, his breathing gets deep and even, and I know he's asleep. Funny thing, though. Even then, he doesn't let go of my hand. His grip loosens a bit, but not enough for me to pull away without waking him up.

I shrug and decide that's okay. Now that Fawkes is safe at last, that doesn't seem so important. It's one of those little things. The things my shrinks are always telling me you're not supposed to sweat. So I don't. Now that he's here beside me where I can keep an eye on him, and he's promised not to leave, I stop sweating, period. The hard knot of anxiety that formed in my belly hours ago, when he went invisible and took off, finally loosens, then disappears.

I finally stop worrying about Darien for awhile, and think about myself. I feel like crap. I'm sticky. Sandy. And so fucking tired, I ache with it. I know Darien's tired and dirty, too. Shower in the morning, I promise myself. We'll both do that. First thing.

At last, I give in. Let go. Relax. I close my eyes, and listen to Fawkes breathing. Even though it's kind of weird having him in my bed, and even stranger to have him holding onto my hand, it feels sort of good, too. Nice to have someone else in my bed for a change. Even better that it's him. I like the steady sound of his breathing. It sounds regular. Peaceful. Reassuring.

Fuck the Pacific, I think, with a sense of satisfaction this time. He's gonna be okay. I'll make sure of that. Bobby Hobbes is on the case.

Darien's hand is warm in mine as I drift off.

Later that night, my bad dreams come back.

It's a different one this time, but it's familiar. I've had it a lot. I'm back in prison. The first time. In Quentin, for B & E.

It's bad.

I'm in the showers, and I've never been so scared in my whole life. Not even when I was arrested. Cops aren't nearly as scary as the guys who are standing near me. And I'm all alone. Outnumbered. Everyone else disappeared, like they knew this was gonna happen. Wish I could disappear, too. Or curl up into this little ball on the floor and pretend this isn't happening. I know I'm gonna end up there anyway.

'Cause there's seven of 'em. They're big, ugly mothers, with bulging muscles from years of prison workouts. A couple of them have shaved heads. All of 'em have ugly, menacing tattoos. I haven't been here long enough yet to know what gang they're from. That doesn't really matter anyway. What matters is, there's seven of them, and only one of me. It doesn't take a genius to figure out who's gonna win this confrontation.

Or what they're gonna do to me.

They explained all that real clearly, actually. Spelled it out in graphic detail, with big smiles on their ugly faces.

Then they did it, while I screamed.

What the fuck--? I wake with a start. Bobby Hobbes doesn't scare easy, but there's this sound, this awful, scary moaning beside me in the dark that sends my heart into overdrive. I just wanna get away from it, and I scramble up to a sitting position instinctively. Before I'm even half awake, I've got my back against the wall for self defense. Then my brain kicks in. What the hell's going on? Is that me? Was I in a fight? I wonder, still foggy with sleep. Am I making that noise because I'm hurt? I pat myself down. Touch my chest, and realize that I'm not in pain. I'm tired, but not hurting.

It isn't me. That awful sound's coming from the other side of the bed.

At that, awareness comes back with a rush. Darien. It's Darien! Oh, shit. He must be having a nightmare. A whopper, by the sound of it. It's almost hard to believe. I have nightmares a lot, but Fawkes? He's the stable one, the solid one. Least I always thought so, before tonight…. But I'm starting to see how wrong I was about Fawkes being Mr. Casual, or some kinda Rock of Gibraltar, either. He had a bad dream in the van, too. This is his second time tonight. The kid must have more demons inside than I ever knew.

And right now, they're after him.

He moans again, louder this time. This horrible moan, pain and terror mixed up together. I wonder if he's dreaming about the ocean, about what he tried to do tonight. But before I can say anything, his hands flail out. One of them hits me, and then things get worse. He cries out in fear, and I feel the bed dip. I hear this frantic scrabbling sound, and I know he's rolling away from me. Away from my touch. But I don't think he's awake yet. I reach out and turn on the lamp, and see that he's just about to roll right off the far edge of the bed.

Don't want him to hurt himself, so I reach out and grab his arm. Pull him back into the middle of the bed. "Whoa there, Fawkes! Easy. Wake up --"

"Nnnoooo! Don't!" He's almost screaming. His eyes are still closed, but his chest's heaving. He pulls away from me frantically, and curls up into a ball. Knees up to his chest, arms over his face. He's shaking. Saying, "No, no!"

Geez. What do shrinks call that, the fetal position? Christ! I jerk my hand back, my heart pounding, scared for him. Thank God I didn't take him back to his apartment and leave him alone! Whatever the fuck this is, it's bad. Don't think he's dreaming about that swim, either. I've never seen him like this. The only time I've seen anything like this is in combat. What the hell happened to him, that scared him that bad?

Whatever it was, I know better than to try touching him again. Instead, I lower my voice and talk softly. "It's okay, Darien. You're just having a bad dream, partner. But it's over now. Darien, it's over. You're okay. Come on, buddy, wake up!"

Finally, after what seems like forever but is probably only a few seconds, Darien stops crying out. He's still breathing hard, chest heaving like he's been running, but I think he heard me. I think he's awake, but he's still got his arms up over his face, so I can't be sure.

I try again. "Hey, Darien. It's okay. You awake now?"

I see his throat working, see him swallow hard, see his chest rising and falling in rapid, panicked breaths. He still doesn't move, but finally, he croaks, "Bobby?" He's so hoarse, he doesn't even sound like himself. I can still feel his terror.

"Yeah. Yeah, it's me. You okay?"

I wanna touch him, but I'm not sure I should yet, because he doesn't answer. He just takes this deep, shuddering breath, and blows it out again. I give him a minute. I don't say anything, I just watch while the awful tension drains out of his muscles, and his breathing gradually slows. He drops his arms and starts to uncurl, and I can almost feel his relief.

Finally, I reach over and touch his shoulder. "You okay?"

He nods dully, but I know he's lying. He's shaking, and he's cold. He's like ice. When he finally looks up at me, his face is pale. His hair's stuck to his forehead, matted with cold sweat. And his eyes --

Jesus. His eyes are wide and black with pain. That look tears into me. Makes me feel just like I did when Viv left. Helpless. Left out. 'Cause I don't have a clue what's going on with him. What brought this on. And for once, Fawkes isn't talking.

From the look of him, he probably can't. Not yet.

"Stay here," I tell him. I've had more than a little experience with nightmares myself. Oh, yeah. Been there, done that, got the fucking T-shirt. And I know what always makes me feel better. I get up and go into the bathroom. Wet a facecloth, and bring it back to him. Fawkes is sitting up now, in the middle of the bed. He's breathing better, but he's still pale. His head's hanging, and he's staring at nothing.

"Here." I hold the cloth out to him.

He gives me this blank, confused look, like he doesn't have a clue what to do with it. Then he looks away again, without taking it. Wherever that nightmare took him to, I guess part of him is still there. He's not thinking straight yet. So I climb back onto the bed beside him. I hesitate for a second, wondering if he'll let me do this. What the hell. Never know until you try. "Hey, Fawkesy."

When he turns his head to look at me again, I reach out and use the cloth to gently wipe the sweat off his forehead. I keep my voice as soft as that touch. "Ya look like crap," I tell him gently. "Scared the crap outta me, too."

Fawkes doesn't smile. But to my surprise, he doesn't pull away, either. He closes his eyes and swallows hard, while I wipe the sweat off his face. "That feels good," he whispers. "Thanks."

I shrug. "No problem."

I do some more blotting, then Darien silently takes the cloth away and finishes wiping the sweat off his face himself. To my surprise, he's still not talking. Hell, he won't even look at me. Embarrassed, I guess. If he only knew how many times I've woke up screaming, he wouldn't be. For a second, I consider just letting him be, and not prying into this. I wish I could. But after what he just did … it probably wouldn't be safe to just let it go. If I'm gonna protect him, I gotta know what's going on here. "You gonna tell me what that was all about?"

Instead of answering the question, Darien bends his head and wipes the sweat off the back of his neck. The gesture helps to hide his eyes, and I figure he meant it to. "Sorry I woke you," he says tersely.

Those words are as much a warning as they are an apology. He's telling me to back off, that he doesn't want to talk about this. But I can't let it go. "That doesn't matter. Fawkes, what --"

He turns to look at me again, and suddenly, his face is tight. Blazing with anger. "Don't! Just shut up, dammit! Stop mothering me!" he snarls.

That hurts. After all we've been through, especially after tonight, that cuts deep. That he'd shut me out like that, get pissed off when I'm only trying to help. I know he didn't mean to do it, that he's really freaked out because of that dream, not angry at me. Still, it stings. I shrug and look away, not wanting him to see that. "Okay. You're right. Let's just forget it."

He hangs his head again. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him squeeze the face cloth until his hand turns white. "Bobby --"

"No, it's fine," I shrug. "You don't wanna talk about it, that's okay. I was just kinda concerned, ya know, 'cause you were screamin' and all. But if you think that makes me sound like your mother, then --"

Darien's sets his jaw so hard that a muscle quivers in his cheek. "Okay. It was about prison!" he grates, from between clenched teeth. "I have bad dreams sometimes. About prison. Okay?"

Oh geez. Dunno what I was expecting, but it wasn't that. And it's not okay. I feel a jolt of pain, of empathy, iced with cold horror. This time, I'm the one who doesn't answer.

"It's nothing, all right?" Fawkes insists, but we both know he's lying.

Still, at least he opened up a bit. Enough to tell me what that nightmare was about. But knowing makes me feel worse for him. Because now I can guess what scared him so bad in prison, and it makes me sick. Sick to even think about it. Darien's so gentle -- and he didn't have any training in self defense, either. He wouldn't've had a chance. I always used to wonder why he never talks much about doing time. Guess now I know.

Darien draws in a shaky breath, and I can sense what it cost him to even tell me that much. So I don't push it any further. "Okay. Yeah, sure, kid. It's okay."

Darien nods. I know he must feel relieved, but he doesn't show it. He doesn't show any emotion at all. He hands the cloth back to me without a word, without even looking at me. But he doesn't realize what his face is revealing. He's got this stony, blank expression that's so completely closed off, and so totally not like him, that it speaks volumes.

For the first time since I've known him, he looks tough. Hard. Like the ruthless ex-con he likes to pretend he is. Think I'm seeing his prison face -- and I don't like it. Maybe it's part of him, but it's a learned part, it's not natural. Not who Darien really is. That's how guys look when they get pushed past their limits. When the only way to stay sane is to retreat mentally, to go deep inside yourself. I hate whoever did that to him. Whoever taught him to look like that.

I take the sweat-soaked cloth back to the bathroom, rinse it out and then go back to bed. But this time, when I climb back in beside Fawkes, I feel a little awkward. I know I shouldn't. I just found out, he's like me in a way I never realized. He has nightmares, too. But they're not like mine. Even though he didn't give me any details, I'm pretty sure about that. So I'm not sure what to say to him. What he wants me to say or do, if anything. I've never known anyone with this kind of problem before. With this kind of past. I wanna help him, but I don't know how, or if he'll even let me.

All that worry must show on my face, because Fawkes takes one look at me and says, "Let's just go back to sleep, okay?" He almost sounds like he's pleading, and a hint of embarrassment, of shame, colors his expression. Wish I could tell him not to feel like that. What, does he think he's the only guy in the world who has bad dreams? Then again, maybe it's what he went through in the joint that's embarrassing him, more than the fact that he woke up yelling.

In any case, it's obvious he'd rather have teeth pulled than talk about it anymore. So I let it go. For now. "Sure, partner." I climb back into bed and turn out the light again. "Night, Fawkes."

He doesn't say anything, but I hear him lie down beside me again. Still, for a long time after that, he doesn't go back to sleep. I know, because I don't either. I can hear Darien breathing, and the rhythm's way too fast for a sleeper.

He's still upset, I think. He can't let go of it. I lie there thinking about it, about the unexpected things that -- and his nightmare -- says about Darien Fawkes. I always thought he was cheerful by nature. Carefree, before he got forced into working for the Agency. 'Cause he's got that sexy, cocky walk. That whole loose, slouchy thing going on. His body language always says, I'm on top of the world. I've never had a worry in my life.

Guess that's not true. Seems like he's carrying a load of pain around in that seemingly loose, agile body. There's a lot of bad memories lurking behind his handsome face. Prison, for starters. Then losing his brother, and last but not least, ending up at the Agency. Guess it's not surprising he has nightmares. What's amazing is that he's still sane. Still funny and brave and caring, after all that.

At least, he was when he first came to the Agency. But somehow, lately, he's slipped. He's on the edge now. Tonight, he almost went over it. And I don't think it was because of whatever's behind that nightmare, either. That was about prison, so he must've been having it -- and living with whatever caused it -- for a long time. Years, maybe. But he was doing okay anyway, until lately. So something else must've gotten to him recently, to make him take that swim. Maybe that fear, whatever it is, brought those prison nightmares back, too.

I feel a twinge of guilt, because I have some idea what it is he's scared of. That fucking gland. He must've got hurt in prison, but at least I didn't have anything to do with that.… But I think that thing in his head's hurt him even worse. And I am a part of that. Part of what keeps him trapped here.

That hurts, way down deep inside. The thought that I'm no better, in a way, than those goons who must've hurt Fawkes in prison; because I'm doing almost the same thing. Keeping him down, keeping him trapped in a place he hates.

Suddenly, like he can hear what I'm thinking, Darien sits up beside me. I can't see him, but I can hear his jeans rustle against the sheets. He must know I'm not sleeping either, because he asks, "Okay if I take a shower?" His voice is quiet now. Not angry anymore. Not so shook up.

"Yeah. Yeah, sure," I say automatically. "There's fresh towels in there." I sit up again, and turn on the light for him. But I wonder what he's going in there to try to wash off: his nightmare, or that long swim. Maybe both. Wonder if it'll work, either way.

"Thanks, Hobbes."

Then I get one of my paranoid flashes. Oh no. Maybe I shouldn't let him do that! I know he promised he wouldn't leave, but he didn't say he wouldn't try anything stupid again. That dream really freaked him out, and there might be a lot worse things in my bathroom than fresh towels.

But it's too late to say no now. Fawkes is already up, and padding towards the bathroom. Then he stops, and looks back over his shoulder. "Go back to sleep, Bobby," he says gently. Like he knows I'm still worried about him. Like he's trying to make up for jumping down my throat before.

"Yeah, sure," I lie. Like I can sleep when my partner, who just tried to whack himself, is heading for my bathroom! Too late, I realize that he could lock himself in there. I'd have to break down the door…. Aw, crap! Heart racing, I start frantically doing this mental inventory of the room's contents. No scissors, no sharp objects…. My razor's on my dresser, and my pills are all in there, too. So he's safe. Unless he can figure out a way to brain himself with my toothbrush, there's nothing in there he could hurt himself with. All right. It's all right, he'll be okay.

The tension drains out of me, and I lie back down, realizing that I'm still tired. I look at my clock. Geez, it's only 3:30. No wonder! We hardly got any sleep at all, before he had that nightmare, and woke us up again. I wait for the sound of the water turning on in my shower. When it comes, I feel better. But I don't think I'll be able to go back to sleep until he comes outta there.

Still, I close my eyes. Fuck, I'm tired.

I think maybe the tranks I took earlier are finally starting to kick in, because my eyes feel heavy. But I know I can't just go to sleep. I'm more worried about Fawkes than ever, now. First he wouldn't tell me why he went swimming. Now I find out he has nightmares about prison too, but he won't talk about them, either.

All that darkness, all that silence. From the wild child. The party boy who loves to play, who loves to talk and tease. It doesn't make sense. Doesn't jibe with the Fawkes I know.

"Bobby, I'm scared. I'm so scared…"

He's not the only one. I listen to the sound of the water, and wonder if the Darien I know is the real thing, or just the tip of the Fawkesian iceberg. Just the little bit of him he's felt safe letting me see up 'till now.

I take my time with my shower. I wash my hair, then let the hot water run over me for awhile. Let it warm me up, steam the chill of my nightmare out of my bones. I haven't had that damn dream for a long time. Why the fuck did I have to have it tonight? In Hobbes' bed? FUCK! Now he knows…. At least, he suspects. I saw it in his eyes. And that's bad enough.

It sucks. Shame rushes through me. I can feel my face burning, turning red. I hang my head under the spray, let it wash over my head and neck, as if that will sluice away all the bad feelings. My past, my humiliation, my fears. But I know it won't.

I try to tell myself it doesn't matter that Bobby found out. That what happened to me in prison wasn't exactly a secret anyway. I've never told anyone at the Agency about it, but I'm sure they've all probably figured it out on their own. At least some of it. Everyone knows what happens to pretty boys in prison, right?

Yeah, everyone. Including Bobby. That's what really hurts. I don't care much about the others, about what they think -- but I never wanted Bobby to know. Never. Not for sure -- and now he does. Worse, he wanted me to talk about it!

"Shit," I mutter under my breath, remembering the sickening, almost nauseating humiliation I felt, when he tried to ask me what woke me up screaming. I got so embarrassed, I acted like an idiot. He was being kind, trying to help me, and I lost it, and lit into him. I feel a sharp stab of regret. I'm such a prick, sometimes!

I set my jaw hard, so hard that my teeth grind together. I'm so wound up, my whole body feels like one huge knot. I lean forward a bit more, and let the water pound on my shoulders, trying to ease the tension there. I should apologize. I wanna talk to him, I really do. I need to. But not about that. I've never talked to anyone on the outside about that. Not even Kevin, or Casey. She heard me wake up screaming once, and she asked me about it, too. But I couldn't tell her either.

I've never told anyone, except the prison doc that time. I don't know how to. I don't think I can talk to Bobby about it, either. He's so macho, so tough … Don't think he could ever understand what it was like.

That's why I'm in here. It's not about taking a shower -- I'm really hiding. Hiding from Bobby, from the questions in his eyes. The questions about prison. I could practically hear them bouncing around in his head, after I woke him up screaming like that.

The hot water's pouring down on me, but I still feel cold inside. How's that old saying go? Life sucks, then you die? Well, in my case, it'd be more like: Life sucks, then they put a gland in your head, and it gets worse. Then the government won't let you die, 'cause you're worth too much!

I shake my head. Bad joke, Fawkes. If that's the best you can do, you oughtta get out more. Speaking of getting out, maybe I'd better. I've been in here so long, I'm gonna turn into a six-foot-something prune if I don't. Besides, if I know Bobby, he's probably lying out there worrying about me, instead of going back to sleep.

I force myself to turn off the water, and get out of the shower. Can't hide forever, I tell myself. Much as I'd like to.

As I dry off and towel dry my hair, I try to put what just happened out of my mind by concentrating on what I'm doing. Focus on the moment, on the task at hand. Nothing else. That's another little trick I learned in prison. Fuck the future, screw the past. Live in the now. It helps a bit. My fear and shame recede a little, but they don't go away. That dream was too intense, too vivid for me to banish the feelings it brought back very easily.

Once again, I wonder at its timing. I don't understand why I had it now, when I'm with Hobbes. He makes me feel safe. Once we made it back to shore, I did feel safe. So why the fuck did that happen? I don't have that nightmare very often anymore. Usually only when I drink too much, or when I get really stressed out.

Bingo! The light goes on in my head. Stress! Of course! That's it! That's why I had it! I've been feeling bad for a long time, and tonight, it got to be too much. Once Bobby found me, I felt safe, but before that -- I just about killed myself. That must be why that frigging dream came back! Because of the stress of that swim. 'Cause I was so upset over everything, and feeling so bad about myself after Bobby's rejection. My mind just went back to the last time I felt that bad, after I was attacked in prison.

That realization makes me feel a little better. At least I know it has nothing to do with Bobby, or being in his bed, or my feelings about him.

Or does it?

I get another disturbing little flash of insight. What happened to me in prison is one of the few important things Hobbes doesn't know about me. This dirty little secret I've been too afraid to tell him. Maybe I didn't have the dream because I went swimming. Maybe I had it because Bobby was lying right next to me, and even though he means so much to me, I'm still too ashamed to tell him the truth about my past. Maybe that was my subconscious, telling me that I need to.

Shit!

Just when you think maybe you've got yourself all figured out, you realize you don't.

I towel my face dry, and take a look at myself in Bobby's mirror. I look crappy. My face is pale, my hair's still damp and messy, and I look tired. No, I look freaked. Surprise, surprise. I try to smile, but the resulting grimace looks so bad, it even scares me. I frown at my reflection. I can't go back to bed looking like this. Bobby'll worry himself sick, or try to ask me more questions.

I bow my head. I can't take that. Not now. I'm having a hard enough time, just trying to figure out a way to explain my swim to him. But prison, too -- that's too much. Too much pain, too much ugly shit to confess, all at once. I can't do it.

But I know I should. Fuck! What do I do? I know I've gotta go back out there, but I'm afraid. I'm all mixed up. I feel humiliated. Confused. I picture telling Bobby, and how he might react -- how he might freak -- and it's too much. The strain starts to build inside me. I hear this roaring in my ears, and I can feel my heart beating way too hard. I grip the edges of Bobby's bathroom sink so hard that my fingers turn white. I feel this little tremor in my hands. I want to! But I can't --

Finally, just when I think I'm about to snap, this voice inside me says, Chill out! Calm down. If you can't tell him about the rape, then forget it! Don't. Let that part of it go for tonight. Stop thinking about prison, about that goddamn dream and what Bobby may think of you because of it. It's not getting you anywhere, and if you don't stop, you'll never have the guts to leave his bathroom. You'll stay in here all night, making yourself crazy all over again. And making Bobby crazy, too.

Let it go for now. Just let it go.

Okay. I feel pressure releasing inside, like steam hissing out of a suddenly opened valve.

I let out a breath of relief. I'll tell Bobby about my swim right now. The rest can wait.

Okay. That sounds like a plan. I can do that. The awful tension drains back out of me, and when I look down, I see my hands loosen their death grip on Hobbes' sink. I close my eyes and mentally shove all of the rest of it, the whole ugly, dark kit and caboodle of my prison past, down into this deep, dark hole in my mind. Then I imagine slamming a lid down on those memories. This big trap door that's heavy enough to hold them all in, so they won't bother me for awhile.

That helps. Suddenly, I can think of other things. Like how tired I still am, despite that shower. And how much I really, really want to go back to Bobby's soft, warm bed, lie down beside him, and sleep. Really sleep, with no nightmares this time.

Maybe I'll be able to, after I tell him about my swim.

I let go of the sink, look into the mirror again and try another smile. It looks better this time. Almost human. Nearly normal. Okay. I'm good to go. Then I realize, I'm not quite ready to go back to bed yet, because I'm still naked.

Wish I had my p.j.'s with me. The old striped ones, that I like to sleep in. Or even a pair of underwear. Anything but my jeans. But I don't even have any underwear with me. I wasn't wearing any when I came over here. Slut, I think ruefully, remembering how I thought I could seduce Bobby. That seems like a hundred years ago now. So much has happened since then.

I feel a twinge of fear. After what Bobby just found out about me, I doubt he'd appreciate it if I climbed into his bed buck naked. Then again …after the way he looked at me when I teased him about the sugar, maybe he would.

I think about it for a second, about Bobby wanting me, and the thought's flavored brightly with hope. But then my darker feelings come back. I remember the stunned look in his eyes when I told him my nightmare was about prison, and I reluctantly decide I'd better not leave my jeans off. Bobby's probably already regretting that he even brought me here. He knew I was a freak, but not that kinda freak. Better not push it.

So I pick up my jeans with a sigh. They're dry now, but they're still kinda sandy. Hate to put 'em back on after I just showered, but I guess I don't have much choice. I shake them a little, experimentally, and sand rains onto Bobby's bathroom tiles.I shake them again, harder, and more sand rains down. Oops! Oh well. Better here than in Hobbes' bed, I guess. I'll clean that up in the morning.

I pull my now relatively sand-free jeans back on, turn out the light, and head back to bed.

But to my surprise, Bobby's not waiting for me anymore. All that agonizing I just did was a waste of time. I don't have to explain anything now, because Bobby's asleep. I blink at him. What a relief! Saved by the bell. Now I don't have to talk about my swim, or prison, or any of it. I can just go to sleep.

I feel a wave of relief.

I know I'm just putting off the inevitable. I know I've gotta tell him, and soon. But not just now…. And that's okay by me. I'm really, really tired. Ready to crash. I settle down beside him as quietly as I can, grateful that I won't have to answer any more questions about prison. At least, not tonight. I have this feeling Bobby won't let it go, though. He's like that. We don't call him the little tiger for nothing. He's tenacious as a tiger, when he gets his teeth into something. Especially when it has to do with me.

I reach over and turn out his little bedside lamp again. Bobby must be really exhausted, I think. Not only did he conk out again while I was in the shower, but he even fell asleep with the light on. Knowing that makes me feel oddly tender, because I know he wore himself out for me.

I remember how he came after me. Half a mile or more out in the ocean, in the dark. I still don't even have a clue how he found me! He'll probably never tell me; but it was amazing. Bobby's just -- amazing. All that protectiveness, all that drive, intensity and loyalty, focused on me. Maybe I should call him Mom, instead of little tiger. I feel myself smiling.

When my eyes adjust to the darkness again, I look over at Hobbes. He's lying on his side facing me, like he fell asleep waiting for me to come out of the shower. He's wearing pajamas, but the top's not buttoned, so I can see his chest. It looks strong. Muscular. Really sexy. I wanna touch it. Aroused, I almost reach out and do it. But then I look at his face. He looks as tired as I do. Even though he's asleep, I can see hints of strain around his eyes. I know they're because of me.

So I don't caress him. But God, I want to. This familiar ache settles in, way down deep in my chest. I feel so much. Whenever I look at him, whenever I think about him. It's crazy, I never expected it, but it's there. Still … it's dangerous, to feel that much for someone. I know that. For years, I didn't let myself care about anyone that much. But Bobby… he just got past me somehow. He got inside me, and now I can't get him out.

I don't even want to. Even though that's why I wound up out in the Pacific, in the middle of the night. Remembering that swim still scares me. But I'd do it again if I had to, to save Bobby.

But only if I had to. I don't wanna kill myself anymore. I don't wanna have to leave him. I wanna find a way that I can be with him, but still make sure he's safe. That's what it all comes down to, for me. That's what I want: to be with Bobby, but keep him safe. There's gotta be a way….

It hits me that I've come a long way from the selfish, thoughtless guy I used to be. A long way, down a really strange road. Some of it's been pure hell. But it hasn't been all bad, 'cause look where I wound up. Next to Bobby Hobbes. In love with him. I watch him sleeping, and emotion fills me up. I feel it beating inside me, like this giant heart. "Bobby," I whisper.

He stirs a little. But he doesn't wake up, and I know he needs his sleep, so I don't say it again. For awhile, I just lie there in the dark, watching him sleep. But it gets to be like torture. It's just not enough. I wanna be closer to him. I want…. I know I shouldn't do this, but what the hell. That's never stopped me before.

I swallow hard, and take a risk. I edge over to him, quiet as I can, and touch his shoulder lightly, to see how deep he's sleeping. He lets out this little sigh and turns over onto his back, but he still doesn't wake up.

He must be tired, if even that didn't wake him. He usually wakes up instantly, if I touch him when he's asleep. But not this time. So he's really out. Good.

I move over a little more. Just enough so that I can lay my head on his chest, and put my arm around his waist. I do it lightly, slowly, so he won't wake up. I know I'm stealing this embrace, that Bobby's unaware of it, but I don't care. I'm a thief, after all. It's what I do. Besides, it's just for now, I tell myself. Just for a little while, while he's asleep. I'll let go when he wakes up. Move away. But for now, I need this…. And what Bobby doesn't know, won't hurt him, I think, with a lump in my throat.

I lay my head in the hollow of his shoulder and hold him gently. Bobby draws a deep breath, then relaxes again. His breathing goes back to that slow, sleepy rhythm, and he doesn't move. I did it! Got next to him without waking him, like a good little thief. I close my eyes. Mm, this feels good. I can feel the warmth of his skin, feel his strong, solid body under me. A wave of contentment flows through me. It's amazing, how such a little thing can go so deep. Maybe it's because I came so close to the brink tonight, I don't know.

Whatever the reason, holding him feels incredibly good. Eyes closed, I listen to the soft thumping in Bobby's chest. The sound of his fierce, loyal heart, beating steadily under my cheek while he sleeps. It's wonderful. It makes me feel safe. Peaceful. I haven't felt that in a long time. Not in so many years that safety seems like a luxury to me now. So does closeness. And it isn't his high-tech security system that makes me feel protected, either. It's Hobbes who makes me feel safe. Bobby who gives me that, and I'm grateful.

I breathe in Bobby's scent. Drink in his warmth. Feel my heart settle into a rhythm with his, as peace settles over me like a blanket. I wonder how I ever lived without this. Without him. I don't wanna let go of him, ever again.

Even though I know I have to. That when he wakes up, I'll have to….

No, the stubborn, greedy, thief part of me says. Nevernevernever!

I hold onto Bobby, wishing it could be like that as I drift off.

I wake up while it's still dark. Well, I almost wake up. My eyes open, but I'm not there yet. I usually snap awake in seconds -- the legacy of half a life spent in dangerous jobs, where that ability can mean the difference between life and death. But I feel foggy now. Can't focus. The pills, I think dizzily. I took pills earlier….

Something's wrong! There's this warm, heavy weight almost covering me. I'm not alone. Someone's lying on top of me! Fuck! How'd that happen? Who is it? Viv? No, she's gone… But my mind's still so foggy with sleep and my meds that I can't remember getting in bed with anyone else, either. I don't remember it, period.

I feel a surge of panic. Before I can wake up, get my mind working, old reflexes kick in. My whole body tenses, and I start measuring the threat. The person on top of me's big. Bigger 'n me. Heavy. Muscular. So it's probably a guy. I almost roll whoever it is over, so I can get him into a choke-hold. But those same old reflexes stop me. That could be dangerous. Whoever he is, he could be armed. So I reach up carefully. Slowly, silently, without taking my eyes off the dark shape on top of me, and I fumble for a minute until I find my little bedside lamp. I turn it on, poised to pounce if the intruder so much as twitches when the light comes on.

But he doesn't. He just lies there. Good thing too, 'cause he's probably half a foot taller 'n me. But I can't see his face from this angle, just the top of his head. For a chilling second, I think, He's dead. Did I kill him? Why don't I remember doing it?

Then I realize, the guy on top of me hasn't croaked. He's just sleeping with his head on my chest. He must be, because he's still warm. He's not cold like a corpse, and now that the light's on, I can see his back rising and falling as he breathes. As I watch him, I realize there's something familiar about his back, about his big, muscular body. Something familiar in a good way.

Whoever this is, I know him. I like him. He's not a threat….

The lethal edge to my tension ebbs away. I'm relieved, but even more confused and surprised. Why is a guy in bed with me? I study his dark head. His muscular arm, that's stretched out across my waist. His thick, damp, curly hair. Who is --

It's the hair that does it. The sight of all that wild, unruly hair cuts right through the haze of weariness in my head. The fog of sleep and medication finally lifts, and I snap fully awake as memory comes rushing back. Fawkes. Of course, it's Darien! Darien Fawkes. My partner, Mr. Hair. It's okay.

I close my eyes, let out a breath as the fear subsides, and my heart rate slows. I look down at Fawkes again, wondering if I'm dreaming this. I even blink, but he still doesn't disappear. He's got his head on my chest, and his arm around me. What's even stranger, my right arm's wrapped around him, too. How the hell did that happen? I should be weirded out. I mean, I've got a guy in my bed! My own partner. We've got our arms around each other. But it doesn't feel weird. In fact, just for a second, I feel this little thrill. How'd he get here? Did we --?

What the hell happened tonight?

I search my memory, and slowly, things start to come back. Fawkes freaked out, and went swimming. I brought him back. We couldn't sleep, so I brought him in here. Then he had a nightmare, and he took a shower…. That's all I remember. I don't remember Darien getting back into bed, so he must've done that after I went back to sleep. Guess I must've dozed off while he was in the bathroom.

Anyhow, there's no sex involved. No sex anywhere in those memories. Not even a hint of it. And I'd sure as hell remember that.

So, we didn't fuck. I'm not sure if I'm relieved or disappointed. Maybe both. Wonder how we ended up together like this, though? Was it by accident, or did he do this on purpose? Hug me while I was asleep? There's no way to tell. Fawkes is asleep now, sound asleep. Guess I could wake him up and ask him, but … after the night he had, and that frigging nightmare on top of it, I probably shouldn't. Besides, maybe he just rolled up against me accidentally, in his sleep. Probably doesn't even know he did it.

Then again, he did the same thing in the car. Draped himself all over me while he was asleep. But he wasn't snoozing after, when he climbed into bed and held my hand…. I smile to myself. Who'd've thunk it? Never would've pegged Fawkes for the touchy/feely type, awake or asleep. Until tonight, that is. Learned a lotta stuff about him tonight that I never knew before -- including that.

I think back on what I know about Fawkes' early life. Dad left when he was five. Then his mom died, too. So he and Kevin were abandoned, big time, when they were really little. Raised by his aunt and uncle. Wonder if the way he likes to touch and hug has something to do with that? Wonder if he didn't get enough of that, enough physical affection, when he was a kid?

Could be. Then again, could be that he's just a sensual bastard.

Either way, now that I know he's like that, I'm not sure I mind.

I think back through all of it. All the times we touched tonight -- that little kiss on the beach, holding Fawkes while he cried, the way he slept on my shoulder in the car, and having him in my arms now -- and I didn't really mind any of it.

Hell, I liked it. Every minute of it. I'm loving this, too.

It surprises me, just how good it feels. So for a few minutes, I just lie there, getting used to holding Fawkes in my arms while he sleeps. It feels almost -- I dunno. Like I should be paying for the privilege, or something. It's a luxury, having the wild child safe and sound here with me. It's almost too good to be true. And the way he's sleeping all curled around me….

It just gets to me. The trust in it. The pure, bone-deep trust he has for me. It's like he trusts me to look after him, not to hurt him, even when he's at his most vulnerable. Even when he's asleep. It's pretty amazing that he can trust another guy like that, after what he must've gone through in prison.

That thought makes me wince, so I shove it away. Don't wanna think about that now…. I've got enough on my mind right now, without worrying about what being in prison did to Darien. We'll have to talk about that later.

I can't stop thinking about Darien, though.

I realize, there's some advantages to this. Since I woke up first, I get to stroke him, kiss him, whatever I want… Get to check Darien out, without his smart mouth getting in the way. Without him teasing me. I can take my time. Hold him and look at him, without getting razzed about it.

So I do. I watch him sleep for a minute, smiling down at the thick tangle of his hair. He must've washed it, 'cause it's not stiff and salty anymore. It's clean. Shiny. Beautiful. Thick and dark and wild, just like him. I get this urge to touch it again. Run my fingers through it.

Don't. He's asleep. That wouldn't be right.

But I can't help myself. Kid's hair would tempt a frickin' saint -- and I ain't no saint. So I indulge myself. I raise my left arm, the one that's not holding him, and gently, lightly touch his hair. It's silky. Soft. Still a bit damp from the shower. I play with it for a minute, then pull my hand back, afraid I'll wake him up. He doesn't move, though. So I do it again. Who knows? I may never get another chance.

First I just touched it. This time, I stroke it. Let my hand linger on it. I pet him, pet all that soft, wild hair. It feels good. Silky. Sexy. It makes me smile, 'cause I've been wanting to do this for a long time. I start stroking it, like you'd pet a cat.

Fawkes makes a soft, contented sound, deep in his throat. Then his eyes flutter open. "Bobby?"

Aw, crap. That did it! I woke him up. Darien's dark head lifts, and my heart skips a beat. I jerk my hand back fast. Heat rushes to my face, and I don't know what the hell to say to him. I feel like a kid who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. In his partner's cookie jar. While his partner was asleep.

Fawkes isn't embarrassed at all. Of course. Doesn't seem like he's freaked out by his nightmare anymore, either. In fact, he seems totally at ease. He sets his chin on my chest, and gives me this sleepy grin. "Morning, beautiful."

"Aw geez." I roll my eyes, completely embarrassed. He's nuts! He's the one who's beautiful, not me. He's got those big, dark eyes like warm chocolate. High cheekbones. Full, curvy, sensual lips. His hair's tousled from my petting, so it's not spiky now, it's curling around his face. But even mussed up, he's still gorgeous. He looks young. So young. Like a surfer, like one of those surfer boys you see in those ads for Sex Wax. Aw crap, why'd I have to think of that? Why is it that I can't even think about Fawkes, without thinking about sex?

Stupid question. And it's not something I want him to know, either. He's way too cocky as it is. So I try to distract him. "It's not quite morning yet, pal. It's barely even started to get light out."

He ignores that. "Whatcha doin'?" he asks, his brown eyes wide. The picture of sweet innocence.

If you didn't know him better, that is. But I do, and I can see it in his eyes. The wickedness. That evil little twinkle Darien always gets, when he's teasing someone. He knows exactly what I was doing, and why. He knows I was caressing him, getting off on touching his hair. And judging by his expression, he was liking it, too. But he's gotta torture me anyway. Try to make me admit it. Darien, the Sex Wax kid.

I know this game. Boy, do I know it! It's Fawkes's favorite thing. But I don't feel like playing right now, so I shake my head. "Don't start with me, Fawkes."

But he doesn't listen. He pulls himself up next to me, so that his head's on a level with mine. Raises himself up on an elbow, looks down at me and smiles with that same wide-eyed, innocent look again. "Don't start what, Hobbesy?"

Hobbesy. I should sock him, right on that pretty jaw. But I don't, because he's so good looking, and because he smells good, too. Like soap, shampoo, water and bare skin. He's warm. Muscular. Handsome…. I can think of a lot more interesting things to do to him than hit him. Those things fill my head, until my heart's beating fast and it's hard to think.

Fawkes is so good-looking, so inviting that this little voice in the back of my mind starts to doubt what's happening. I look at how he's smiling, how he's teasing me, and it whispers, Guy with hair like that, eyes like that -- why would he want you? He's playing with you. Just playing, that's all. Like he always does. Because you're here, and because you're safe. This doesn't really mean anything to him….

That hurts. Jerks a response out of me, before I can stop it. "Don't tease me, Fawkes," I grate, my voice suddenly harsh. "Don't!"

Darien freezes. His smile disappears. He reaches over and gently, really gently, touches my face. "I'm not. This isn't --" For once, he's the one who's at a loss for words. "I'm not playing with you, Bobby," he says, and his voice is raw now, too.

I don't know what to say. I wanna believe him, but I don't know if I can. Not about this….

Fawkes bites his lip and draws his hand back. Pulls it away from my face like he thinks I didn't want him touching me. Pain bleeds into his eyes. Pain that's stark and real.

In that second, I know I was wrong. Oh shit. Me and my big mouth! He really meant it. He does want me! He wasn't kidding, wasn't playing around. I was wrong, and I freaked him out. Again. My heart turns over.

Darien's face tightens, and he lowers his head, averting his eyes. "I know I don't -- I'm not …" He breaks off, runs a hand through his hair, his face tightening. He sits up, agitated. "Aw, crap. Shit, I shouldn't even be here!" he says thickly, and he's got this guilty, you-deserve-better look on his face.

This is what I get for being paranoid, for listening to that goddamn voice inside that always thinks the worst about everything -- and everyone.

I just wanted Fawkes to be honest, but instead, I opened a wound. I can see it. He looks desperate. Almost sick all of a sudden. Like he did down on the beach. Dunno why, but it's obvious my question made him feel like shit. What the hell shredded his self confidence so bad that he thinks it's a mistake even to be with someone who's short and bald, like me? Did the damn gland do this?

"Hey, hey!" I gentle my voice, reach out and touch him just as gently. Trying to calm him down, trying to make up for somehow hurting him. "What're you talkin' about? I didn't mean --"

Darien doesn't react to my caress. He just shakes his head, staring down at the blanket. His throat works, like he's almost choking. "I just -- I'm like that sign by the stairs. By the beach, you know?" He sounds scared, like he's almost panicking.

I shake my head, even more confused. What the hell's he talking about? I remember there was a sign by the stairs at Black's, but I ran by it so fast chasing after him that I never even noticed what it said. "No. Darien, what --"

"Unsafe. Unstable! That's what it said!" he bursts out. "And that's what I am! I'm the last person who should try to get close to anyone. I know that, but I can't -- I can't…."

"Leave?" I finish for him, my own voice unsteady now. "Is that what you're trying to say? You think you should leave? For my sake?"

"Yeah." He sounds miserable. Even humiliated. When he nods, he avoids my eyes.

I was right -- it's the Quicksilver madness! His demon. That's what's getting to him! Wondered if that had something to do with his midnight swim. Now I know. Sorry I made him feel insecure, but at least I finally got a hint what his problem is. I was starting to wonder if he was ever gonna tell me.

Then I remember my terrible suspicion, down on the beach. That it wasn't just doing violence in general when he goes mad that was bugging Darien. It was the fact that he hurt me in particular that really got to him, that sent him into the ocean. For a second, I almost ask him if that's it. If I was right. But he's so upset, I'm afraid if I push, it'll drive him away before he even really gets started talking about his suicide attempt.

"Well, I don't. I don't want you to go," I say quickly. "That's not what I meant --"

Darien just shakes his head. He turns like he's gonna climb out of bed. I feel a stab of pain. I grab his arm, and hold on tight enough to stop him. "Darien, hey. Don't talk like that, all right? You don't have to leave."

He tries to shake me off, but I won't let him. I hold on stubbornly. He finally raises his head to look at me, and his eyes are still dark with pain. "It's true!" he hisses, his voice shaking. "You know it! I get crazy, I go nuts. You know that! I'm evil, Hobbes! Evil!"

Christ. I've never seen him like this before. The note of rising hysteria in his voice shakes me, but I don't let it show. "Wait a minute! Hold on, there! You're not evil, okay? That's a bunch o' crap!"

"It's true!"

"No, it ain't!"

"Yes it is!" he hisses, his eyes wide and wild. "I can't be trusted, Hobbes! I tried to kill you! Remember? You shouldn't even let me near you! Don't you know that?"

He's really starting to scare me. "Shut up! Just shut up! Don't gimme that bullshit, Fawkes! That's the gland in your head! It ain't YOU!" I yell, shaking him hard.

I've never done that to him before. It finally gets to him. Breaks through his fog of hurt and self pity, and shocks him into momentary silence. He blinks at me, his chest heaving, his eyes full of hurt and despair, and I try like hell to figure out what to say next. How to calm him down, get him off this self pity kick.

All I know is, this has gotta stop. It doesn't even matter if it's me, or hurting people in general that's making him crazy. Either way, it's gone too far. This is worse than self pity, it's turned into self hatred; and he's wallowing in it. Focusing on it to the point where he can't see straight. Time for some shock treatment.

I narrow my eyes, make my voice hard and cold. "You think we're so different, Gland Boy? You think you can't be trusted, but I can?"

That shocks him so much that he stops trying to pull away, and gives me this confused look. "What do you -- of course! I trust you with my life, Bobby! You know that!"

"You know what I mean, kid!" I growl, unrelenting. "You think I take Zoloft for fun? Think I ended up at the Agency by accident?"

Darien lowers his head. A dull flush stains his cheeks, and he doesn't answer.

He doesn't wanna talk about this. Tough shit -- he's gonna have to. I gotta keep at him. I'll find out how much his self hatred has to do with me later. For now, I just wanna make him stop this. Stop running off every time I hurt him, and most of all, stop hating himself so much that he wants to die. I tighten my grip on his arm, and shake him again. Not so hard this time, just enough to let him know I'm serious. "You think you got a corner on crazy, Fawkes? Huh?"

He stays silent, and I can still feel the darkness in him. Don't think I'm getting through to him. He's wavering, hovering on the edge of another breakdown. I'm afraid he still might give in completely to fear and self pity, and take off on me. Do something stupid again. Maybe even something fatal, this time. Goddamn stubborn kid! What's it gonna take?

Finally, Fawkes answers. "No," he mutters.

But I can tell he's lying. So, I was right! He hasn't really been thinking about my problems at all. Or maybe he just hasn't got a clue how bad they are. Or else he's slipped into some kinda fantasy, some kinda hero worship thing where he doesn't see 'em at all. Jesus! He's gotta be far gone, if he's started kiddin' himself about me. Idolizing me or something. That's gotta stop, too. He's gotta face up to the truth about both of us, if he's gonna make it. If we are….

He doesn't answer me, so I keep going. "Think you're the only one in this bed who's got problems? Is that what you think, Fawkes?"

Finally, Darien swallows hard, and shakes his head. He sneaks a peek at me from under his long lashes, and I see real remorse in his eyes. His face loses its half-crazed look. His eyes soften, and it's like I can see his inner focus changing. See it center around me now, instead of him. And that does just what I hoped it would. I feel the tension drain out of the arm I'm holding, see the craziness, the desperation leave his face. "No," he says quietly at last. "I know things aren't easy for you either, Bobby. I know that."

Ha. He doesn't know the half of it! Still, that's not entirely his fault. I've never told him how bad it is. If anything, I've hidden most of it from him, because I didn't want him to feel sorry for me. So I let that slide. "Okay then. That's the good news -- you're not alone in that. In case you haven't noticed, you're not the only headcase here."

Fawkes just nods. "So you're saying, if I'm Frankenstein, you're Igor?"

I smile. "Somethin' like that."

But I can't let it go at that. I take a deep breath, 'cause that was the easy part. Getting him to see past himself. This is the tough part. "But here's the bad news, Fawkesy. Sometimes, you just gotta do the best you can with the cards you get dealt, my friend. Even if they suck, even if you think there's no way you can win, you gotta keep playing."

He shakes his head. "Don't you think I've tried?"

He sounds bitter, but I don't back down. "Not hard enough, Fawkesy. Look -- we're partners. We're friends, right? You're supposed to trust me. Come to me when you need help. You don't have to get through stuff all alone. But you tried to off yourself, without even tellin' me how bad things were. Didn't you?" I hold his gaze until he flushes again, and looks away.

He shrugs, a little sullen. "I tried to tell you, but you didn't wanna hear it."

I wince a little. "Okay, I admit, maybe I missed some signals. I thought you were makin' a pass --"

"I was," he admits, with a small, reluctant smile.

It's my turn to shake my head. "Way to go, Fawkes. That's thinkin' with your dick."

He shoots me this glance that's sullen and smoldering, all at once. "Well, in case you haven't noticed," he shoots back, "you're hot, Hobbesy. I got distracted. So sue me!"

That gets to me. Even in the middle of this, I feel this surge of heat down below my belt, at the look in his eyes, at hearing him say he thinks I'm hot. But unlike the kid, I don't let that get in the way of what I'm trying to do here. "You couldn't've just told me? If you'd said, "'Hey, Hobbes, I'm depressed. I feel so bad I wanna drown myself,' you think I'd've thrown you out?"

Fawkes heaves a sigh, and shakes his head. "No."

"Okay then. Next time, spell it out for me, wouldja? I mean, I know we're partners and we're on the same wavelength, but I can't always read your devious little criminal mind there, Fawkesy," I tease him, trying to lighten things up a bit.

He smiles a little. "Okay. I hear ya."

Good. I have this deep sense of relief, that we finally got that out in the open. And maybe even settled. But we're not quite done yet. I still have something important to tell him, and he probably won't wanna hear it. "The thing is, Fawkes -- if I can live with bein' less than perfect, then you're gonna have to, too."

The smile fades from his face. "I guess."

"Damn right, my friend. But it doesn't have to be this bad. I'll help you, okay? I'll find a way to make things better. I promise."

He swallows hard, but then he nods. Reaches out and touches my arm for a second. "Okay. Thanks, man."

I finally relax again, for the first time since he started spouting off about being evil. That's better, I think. I loosen my tight, bruising grip on his arm. I stroke him lightly instead, like you'd soothe a frightened animal. Easy, big guy. Easy…. I search his eyes. He looks better. Not so sick, not so scared now. But he's still avoiding my eyes, so I know he's not completely out of the woods yet. And I think I know what's still bothering him.

So I switch tactics. Time for an apology. I say softly, "I'm sorry I said you were playing, before. I know you're not." I swallow hard, wondering why this is so hard to say. "I'm not either, Darien."

Darien just nods, but the tightness in his face eases a little more.

So far, so good, I think. "Maybe neither of us are gonna win any Sanity awards. Maybe we're both freaks. But we're doin' the best we can, right?" I stroke his arm gently, waiting with bated breath, knowing he still hasn't made up his mind about this yet. About us. He could still flip out. Change his mind, and decide to leave me. "Right?"

Finally, Darien lifts his head again. And this time, there's the hint of a smile in his eyes. "Yeah. You're right. We may be freaks, but we're out there swinging."

I nod, relieved. Finally, I let him go, knowing he finally turned the corner. Somewhere inside, my little Fawkes sensors, that've gotten so sharp lately, tell me that we just left the danger zone. He decided to stay. Better yet, he decided not to give up on himself. "Damn right! And we got each other. You know that too, right?"

This time, Darien doesn't hesitate. The pain starts to fade from his eyes. They warm up, and he smiles, really smiles at me. "Yeah. Oh yeah."

I let out the breath I was holding. Finally, all my hesitation, all my worries, go out the window.

It's time. I know it. I feel it. He decided to stay, decided not to give up on himself; and he needs me. I need him, too. Man, do we need each other. Suddenly, nothing else matters. I just want him, more than anything. I grab his arm again, and pull him towards me. "Okay then. Get down here, ya big freak."

I pull Darien down on top of me. Down, so I can feel his heart beating fast, too fast, like mine is. Down, while I smile up into his surprised eyes. Down, so I can kiss him again, like I did on the beach.

But I feel awkward. Excited, but scared. Still a little tense from our confrontation just now. Plus, this is the first time I've ever had a big, hot guy in my bed. And I want him, but it's just -- different. I'm about to cross a very big line, and I get a little nervous. Forget my own strength, and pull him down a bit too hard. Darien kind of crashes into me, and our noses bump.

"Ouch…" Darien pulls back reflexively. He rubs his nose, smiling, and my heart hits the floor. Oh, shit. He's laughing at me! It's my worst nightmare, come true. I don't know how to do this. I'm screwing it up! This was a mistake --

I'm so embarrassed, I wish the floor would open up and swallow me. Aw, crap. I can't take this!

"Sorry," I mutter. With a muffled curse, I let him go. Try to move, to pull away, get out from under him. But Darien catches me this time. Grabs my shoulders and shifts his weight instinctively, to keep me pinned down. "No, wait! Hey there, little tiger," he says softly. "Take it easy."

Now the tables are turned. This time, it's Darien who's keeping me from leaving. Despite his slender build, he's strong, and between his grip and his weight on top of me, I'd have to really fight him to get free. After so many years of hand-to-hand, I can judge that kind of equation to a tee. Though I know I could do it, and it pisses me off that he won't let go, I'm not mad enough about it to want to hurt him to get loose, either. So I give in. Stop struggling and look up at him instead, readying myself for disappointment. Dreading the derision I expect to see in his eyes. I just blew it, and being Darien, now he's gonna tease me about it. Well, at least it'll give me an excuse to pull away when he's done, I think bleakly.

To my surprise, though, Darien's not laughing. "You just caught me by surprise there. No big deal." He smiles down at me, but it's not a mocking smile. It's warm and real. "Bobby," he says, so soft that it's like a caress. Then he lowers his head again, until our lips are just touching. "We can take it slower," he whispers against my mouth. "Slow can be good.…" He closes his eyes and kisses me. Lightly, gently, slowly.

Funny, but it's not so much his gentleness that puts me at ease, it's the hunger behind it. What he's holding back. I can feel his heart beating, thudding against his ribs. I can feel how much he wants me, and that tells me he's not just playing around. I was worrying for nothing. I feel a surge of relief. This is gonna be okay. All I haveta do is relax. Relax and go with it…. So I try. I reach up and touch him. Put my hands on his shoulders and stroke him while we kiss.

Darien draws in a deep, shaky breath, and his heart goes even faster. His kisses get more urgent. His warm, wet tongue traces over my lips. Let me in, that tongue says. Give me more….

And I do. Without even thinking about it, I open up for him. Darien's tongue slides into my mouth just as my hands slide into his hair. I gasp at the twin sensations: cool, damp silk under my hands, and hot, probing silk in my mouth. Oh Christ, it's so good. I move my hands through his hair, that wild mass of hair that I was just petting. It's thick and soft, just like it was in my dreams. It feels fucking wonderful. I dive deep into it, wind it around my fingers, caress it while we kiss.

Darien must like that, because he moans. This low, deep sound that's almost a purr. I move my fingers in little circles, massaging his head, and the moans get louder. I smile. Guess playing with his hair turns him on. Good, 'cause I love touching it….

Before I know it, my heart is racing, and I'm moaning too. I'm riding a wave of pleasure so sudden and sharp, I almost come right there. Just from hearing him moan with pleasure, just from kissing him and touching his hair. I can't believe it. It's the first time in my life I've ever made a guy moan like that -- and it gets me where I live. Sends a thrill through me that's stronger than anything I ever felt before. This massive surge of desire, that makes me feel like I'm on fire.

I wanna be on him. In him.

The need's so sudden, so fierce, so new and overwhelming that it scares me. So does Fawkes, because at that same instant, I feel his hands moving over my chest. I feel cold air there, then on my shoulders, and I realize he's pulling the top of my p.j's off. And even though I already decided it was time to do this, it feels weird. I feel like I should be stripping him. Then again, does it matter?

Yeah. It does. Everything about this matters. He matters, so much that I can't screw this up.

Feeling confused, like I'm about to explode, I break the kiss. Tear my mouth away and drag in deep breaths. Darien doesn't protest, doesn't ask what's wrong, but he lets go of my pajamas. "Too fast?" he asks, in a low voice. His breathing is as unsteady as mine.

He always knows. What I'm thinking, what I'm feeling… . And that scares me, and thrills me, as much as the rest of it. "Yeah. I just --" I can't find the words. Hell, I can't even get my breath. It's too much, too fucking fast. Too much that should be freakin' weird, but that feels way too good. I can't think. Feel like I'm falling. Feel like --

I haven't felt this way in years. Not since Viv--

I feel threatened suddenly; and not just by Fawkes's big, undeniably hard male body. I feel battered by blows I didn't expect. Blows to the heart that Darien doesn't even know he's dealing.

Fuck! I gotta stop for a second. I pull away from him. Out of his embrace. This time, he doesn't try to stop me. Feeling weird, feeling oddly naked, I button my pajama top back up again.

"Bobby --"

I shake my head. Get up out of bed, still trying to calm my breathing. My pounding heart.

Darien's face falls. "Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean --"

"Don't say that," I tell him. "Don't! I'm not sorry." I'm not sure what I am. Confused. Excited. Turned on, oh yeah. Way more than I expected. Scared, too. But I'm not sorry. Don't want him to be, either.

Darien looks confused. "Then why --?"

I shake my head. No way can I explain this to him, this cascade of conflicting feelings. This battle going on inside me, between memory and desire. Between fear, and the need to get close to someone. I'm sure Darien's got no idea how I feel. 'Cause he's been here before. He's been with guys, he knows the territory. Besides, he never met an impulse he didn't like. I'm not like that. I can't be that loose. I gotta go a little slower. Think it through. "I just need some time," I say desperately. "A few minutes."

Time to fight the battle. Win the war, or lose it. Time to decide.

"Okay," Darien says, but I know him. I know when he's lying. This isn't okay. Not with him. He thinks it's his fault. He doesn't understand how it is for me. That I can't just jump into this with him. That it's not just another fuck. There's nothing casual about it, and I gotta figure out if I can really do that. If I can take what might happen after…. If he can, too.

I turn and look at him, and his head's hanging. How can I ask for a time-out in a way that won't hurt him? I wrack my brain for an excuse. "I just need to take a shower. Five minutes, okay? I just … feel dirty. Funky. I got sand all over me."

Darien gives me this look: a raised eyebrow, a skeptical gaze I know all too well.

I groan silently. He's so smart, I should've known better than to feed him a half truth anyway. I should've known he'd know. So I quit stalling. Take a step closer, and tell him the truth. "Come on, Darien. I just want a few minutes to think. That's all."

I hold my breath. He's so impulsive, I half expect him to blow up. Tell me to go to hell. Say something like, "If you've gotta think about it, you obviously don't want me. So I'm outta here!" But to my surprise, he doesn't get angry. He just nods. But he's looking down again, not meeting my eyes. And he's quiet. Way too quiet. That makes me nervous.

I go back to the bed. Bend over and kiss him. At first, he doesn't respond. But then, almost like it's against his will, his mouth warms and moves against mine. His arms come up, and wind around my neck. "Five minutes," I breathe against his lips. "And if you're not right here when I get back, I'll hunt ya down, like I said. Got it?"

That does it. Finally, Darien looks at me again and smiles. "Got it."

But when I try to straighten up again, he holds onto my neck. He lays his forehead against mine, like he did on the beach. "Okay. Five minutes, partner," he says softly. "And if you're not out by then … I'll hunt you down."

Then he lets go, and I head for the bathroom. "Sounds like a threat," I say over my shoulder.

Darien grins. "Oh, believe me -- it is."

Five minutes. Bobby said, five minutes. I tried to smile at him when he went into the bathroom, tried to act confident, but that was just an act. Inside, I'm scared . First I was freaking, but he got me through that -- and now he's the one who's freaking! Shit. I don't understand. Why now, just when things were getting good? I'm afraid of what that means. I thought he liked me kissing him, but maybe not.

That five minutes is gonna feel like forever. Already does, and it hasn't even been -- I look over at his clock. It hasn't even been one minute yet! Great.

I hear the sound of water, of the shower turning on, and I think about Bobby standing under it. Bobby naked. That makes me hot, all over again. I swallow hard. I didn't need him to take a shower. I wouldn't've cared if he hadn't gotten clean first, before we made love. He felt good to me. He smelled good, too. Like sweat and sand and something else that's just him. His skin's so incredible -- so warm and brown, and wow, then there's his muscles.

God, I want him. It cuts through me, this wave of desire that's so hot, so deep it hurts. I want him so much, whenever he touches me, I feel like I'm gonna come out of my skin. Like I can hardly breathe. I need him.

I can feel my heart beating too fast, feel an aching in my chest. Please, don't let him pull away. Don't let him back out on me. Not now. If he does that -- if he says no again…. It might not kill me, but I know I'll wish I was dead.

I think about that dream again, my damn nightmare, and my fear rises. He said he had to take a shower because he felt dirty. I thought he meant because of the sand we got all over us at the beach. But what if it was something else? What if it was me? Is that why he's in there? Because of what they did to me in prison? Is he revolted because I didn't wake up in time to let go of him, and he found an ex-con holding him when he woke up? Is he disgusted? Or afraid that I might have AIDS? Is that what he's scared of? Please, no. Don't let it be that!

But it could be. I know it could, and anxiety starts to tie my stomach into knots.

The more I think about it, the more fears flood my mind. One leads to another. They crowd in on me, shadowy, gray, multiplying by the minute. Bobby could be afraid of my demon, too. Or he could be dealing with some problem of his own, that I don't even know about. The point is, he's got lots of reasons to say no. He could come out of there in five minutes and tell me this is all wrong. That I misunderstood him, and that he doesn't wanna have sex with me, or even kiss me again. Ever. He could say this was all a mistake.

That thought makes me feel sick. Helpless. Maybe I should tell him the truth about what happened in San Quentin. Give him some details. Maybe it'd help him understand, if I explain to him about the dream. Tell him that I couldn't help it. There were seven of them, a whole gang -- I couldn't defend myself. Nobody could have, not against all of them. That's why they did it like that, the bastards. So no one could stand up to them, or stop them.

But the thought of telling him that almost chokes me. I've held that nightmare inside for years. Maybe too long. I'm not sure I could let it out now, not even to Bobby.

I wanna tell him that it wasn't my fault. That I hated it. That it was the worst thing that ever happened to me. I was in the infirmary for almost two weeks, after. It almost killed me…. But I can't say it. It wouldn't do me any good now anyway. Since Bobby's in the shower, he wouldn't even hear me. I had my chance to tell him before, and I blew it.

I bite my lip. Five minutes, he said. I look over at the clock. It's only been two now. Shit! I can't stand this!

I get up and pace. I can't sit still. This waiting is making me come unglued. I tell myself, This is crazy. You're just being paranoid. He's not gonna reject you, he's just taking a break. He's never done this before, and he got nervous. That's all. It's understandable. But Bobby wouldn't turn me away now, wouldn't back out on me like that now, not when we're so close….. He wouldn't judge me, either. Won't reject me for something I couldn't help.

But part of me knows that's not entirely true. Not about Bobby, or me, either. The first time I went to prison, I couldn't help it. But the last time, when I was with Garrett … that was different. Or was it? It was all about survival. That's what prison's about: surviving. But how could I ever make Bobby understand that? He's never been there. He can't know what it's like.

I'm up against a wall, and I know it. The cold, hard truth is, Bobby could judge me. He could reject me, too. He wouldn't be the first. I've seen that look a hundred times. A thousand. In the eyes of almost everyone I met after my first stretch in prison -- including my own brother. Even Kevin never looked at me the same after that. He didn't just see it as one more failure on my part, one more screw-up. I think he felt it was proof positive that I was a loser. That I'd never amount to anything. Can't say he stopped caring about me, but he sure as hell lost all respect for me. With strangers, it was even worse than that. In their eyes, being an ex-con branded me. Made me impure. Evil. Corrupt. Not to be trusted. Not to be touched….

Sometimes, I think I still see that look in the Keeper's eyes, and I hate it.

I try to hang onto hope that Bobby's different. After all, he must've known about this, or at least suspected, long before now. But he isn't like all the others. He didn't judge me. He never looked at me like that. Not once.

Or did he? A memory slips through my mind, and turns me cold. I felt how he stiffened up, while I was kissing him just now. He was freaked. That's why he stopped me and went into the shower.

I feel bleak.

Maybe he has judged me. Just like all the rest of 'em. He may not've said it, but that doesn't mean he hasn't been thinking it. I hang my head, and take a deep breath. I don't want to think that about Bobby, but it's hard to believe that he could be that different, different from almost anyone I've ever met. Better even than my own brother. It's difficult to believe that he could look past my record, past my past, and see me.

I'm so desperate I'm praying, without even knowing who I'm praying to. Not sure I believe in God. I mean, if He exists, where was he when the Nazis were in charge? Where was He when I was in Quentin getting gang raped? Still -- if there is someone listening, please don't let Bobby get freaked out by my past! I want him. I need him! Please --

I look at the clock again.

I look at the clock again. Two more minutes to go. I pace some more, my heart racing. Come on, Bobby. Hurry up, dammit!

I don't know what to do. I stand under the spray of hot water, letting it wash all the dirt and sand off me, and I'm seized by doubt. Everything that seemed so right out there, while I was kissing Darien, seems nuts in here.

I must be crazy, for even thinking about going to bed with my own partner. With a guy. A guy who just tried to off himself! I'm supposed to protect him, but I already screwed up at that, or he wouldn't have taken that goddamn swim. And now I wanna fuck him? What're the odds that I'll do any better at that? Even if I do -- if it works out okay, if I do all right in the sack and don't mess him up even more by fumbling around -- then I'll just wanna be with him again. I'll wanna be his lover. I know that. But I'm not sure Darien will want that. I'm not even sure he could handle it. And if he can't, it might screw things up between us.

Even if he can, even if he does want more than a fling, how in the hell will we ever keep it from the Fat Man? He's spooky, that guy. Got eyes in the back of his head. He sees everything. And Fawkes is so impulsive, so "let it all hang out" that if we get involved, he'll never be able to hide it. I know Darien. He'll think it's just a game; he won't take it seriously enough. Sooner or later, he'll slip up somehow. He'll tease me, or try to kiss me at the Agency or some dumb thing, and the Official will find out, and I'll be out on my ass. And they'll never find anyone to partner up with Fawkes who'll care as much about him as I do. So if they let me go, he'll probably wind up dead.

Then again, he almost wound up dead tonight anyway. Not because I was fucking him, but maybe because I wasn't. Because no one has been. So he got so damn down, so lonely and depressed and scared that he thought he couldn't take it anymore. I still have to find out what that was all about, if he was just worried about what the gland does to him, or if there was more to it than that. But I know that was part of it.

Still….

What'll he do if I turn him down again? What if it shoves him off the deep end again, like before? I close my eyes, frustrated. Why is it, when I try to be logical and rational about this, that I can't see the right answer? It's like no matter what I do, whether I have sex with him or not, Darien'll wind up dead!

Despite the warm water, I feel a chill. That's gotta be wrong. I can't let that happen. There's gotta be a way through all this. I gotta find one. I turn around. Turn my back to the shower spray, and let it beat on my shoulders for awhile. I take deep breaths. Try to clear my head and let my anxieties drain away, like my shrink taught me. What is it he's always saying? Think of it from a different perspective?

I shut off all my questions for a minute. Try to turn off logic and rationality, and look way down inside myself. Into that deep, dark, scary place we call the heart. I see two lonely guys in there. Darien and me. He's lonely and scared. I'm lonely and empty inside. I know he needs me. And I need him, too. He wants me, and I sure as hell want him.

"I'd t-take a bullet for you, Bobby."

Who else on this planet would say that to me? Or do that for me? No one.

Fawkes wants me. He's beautiful, and he's out there waiting for me; and I want him. So I can either go with that, follow my heart, and see what happens -- or I can listen to my head. Do the smart thing, and play it safe.

I reach up and turn off the shower, and listen to the sudden silence. The sound of safety. Of solitude. The sound of emptiness, of loneliness.

I know that sound so well. I hate that sound. I've been hearing it for years. Playing it safe for years. And where did it get me?

Think it's time to change that.

Think I already left safety behind, on Black's beach.

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