This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and
incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or
are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events,
locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely
coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the
publisher.

How We Operate
Torquere Press Publishers
PO Box 2545
Round Rock, TX 78680
Copyright 2012 by AR Moler
Cover illustration by Alessia Brio
Published with permission
ISBN: 978-1-61040-682-6

www.torquerepress.com
All rights reserved, which includes the right to reproduce this
book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever except as
provided by the U.S. Copyright Law. For information address
Torquere Press. Inc., PO Box 2545, Round Rock, TX 78680.
First Torquere Press Printing: April 2012
Printed in the USA

How We Operate

By AR Moler

Chapter 1

April

"Time of death is... 21:32," said Dr. Chris Kearney,

stripping off his gloves and pulling down his surgical
mask. The young Hispanic man on the table was a repeat
customer, and this time luck hadn't been with him. A
year ago Chris had repaired four stab wounds to the
patient's chest, and by a slender margin of excellent
surgical skill and dumb luck, the man had survived.
Today he'd been shot three times, once in the head and
twice in the chest. With all the scar tissue from the

previous wounds, finding the damaged blood vessels
and fixing them had been a nightmare, an impossible
nightmare, at that.

Chris looked down as he took off the surgical gown.

He was splattered with blood, standing in pools of blood
and walking on top of stained gauze, plastic, and
dressings. What a fucking mess. Tired and frustrated, he
walked out of the OR.

"Is there family waiting?" he asked one of the

surgical nurses.

"Not yet. I think they're on the way. There is,

however, a policeman who would like to speak with
you," said the nurse.

Chris trudged out toward the waiting room. Could his

week get any worse? He'd lost two patients, Accounting
had screwed up the overtime on his last paycheck, one
of the insurance companies was giving him grief over
billing both a CAT scan and an MRI on a patient, and
the AC in his car had died, too.

In the waiting room, a brown-haired man in a jacket

and tie stood up from the vinyl sofa.

"Are you here about Emanuel Ramirez?" Chris asked.

"Yes, I'm Drew Hayden. I'm a detective with the

SDPD. Judging by the look on your face, I'm guessing
the news isn't good."

"I'm afraid Mr. Ramirez died on the table."
"Oh... I can't say I'm surprised, even though I'd hoped

for a better outcome," said Hayden. Chris gazed at the
detective. He was roughly the same height as Chris, and
the man's light brown hair was significantly longer than
Chris expected for a cop. It was pulled back in a loose
pony tail at the nape of the detective's neck. Long hair,
broad shoulders, a delectable mouth...

Why in the hell was he noticing this? Chris mentally

kicked himself. With his schedule and the stress of the
job, Chris barely had time to eat or sleep, much less look
at another human being with something approaching
lust.

"Yeah, I'm sorry. I did everything possible. It just

wasn't enough," lamented Chris.

"You look beat. Can I buy you a cup of coffee and

ask you a few questions?"

"Thank you. I'd appreciate that."

***

Over truly mediocre coffee in the hospital cafeteria,

Drew Hayden sat across from the trauma surgeon. With
short-cut blond hair and a face that hadn't seen a razor in
probably forty-eight hours or more, the doctor looked
thoroughly exhausted, but damn, he was cute.

"No offense, but what can I tell you that you don't

already know?" asked Dr. Kearney. "Except for the fact

that I put Ramirez back together once before. I didn't see
him today until the paramedics brought him in."

"I know. I'm just trying to make sure I have all the

blanks filled in for my report. Even though Ramirez had
a rap sheet, he'd been keeping his nose clean since the
stabbing thing last year. I knew the kid a little. He'd
gotten a legit job busing tables in a restaurant and
seemed to be staying away from the gang stuff."

"I'm glad he was making a change. Fuck, even when

people like him are trying to climb out of the ditch, life
never seems to cut them a break." Kearney ran a hand
back through sweaty hair.

"He was twenty, and now he'll never be twenty-one.

It's such a waste. Anyway, could you just sort of walk
me through what went on here? If you can remember
anything about the previous injuries, just off the top of
your head, that might help, too," suggested Drew.

Kearney rattled off some sparse details about the stab

wounds, along with information about the kind of
scarring that was left behind, then he moved to a brief
description of the bullet wounds. "Even if he had made
it through surgery, the gunshot wound to the head would
have left him with some brain injury. It was the chest
wounds that were the lethal ones, though; we never even

got him to the CAT scan. God, there are days when
working the 'knife and gun club' gets really old."

Drew was sympathetic. He was way too familiar with

the violence of the streets.

"Do you have any idea who shot him?" asked

Kearney.

"We have some suspicions. My colleagues are

looking into it as we speak. Fresh trail and all that."

"I know this is probably stupid and useless, but if you

find out who did it, could you give me a call? Naïve ass
that I am, I'd like to feel there's the possibility of some
justice in this world."

Drew smiled. "No problem. Give me a number where

I can reach you. I'll let you know if we make an arrest."

***

Three days later in the middle of a blissful lull in the

ER, Chris got that phone call.

"Dr. Kearney, this is Detective Hayden. I thought

maybe you'd like to know, an arrest was made in the
murder of Emanuel Ramirez."

"Oh, wow. Thanks for calling. Is the guy likely to go

to prison? I know things like that aren't always open and
shut."

"The case is strong, and the evidence is pretty

damning. I think he'll probably get fifteen to twenty
years."

"Good; I hope they throw away the key," Chris

commented. He would have liked to have some excuse
to suggest the two of them get together for a beer or
something, but his brain deserted him. It probably
wouldn't have worked anyway; a cop and a surgeon
trying to find even a couple of hours of mutual free time
would likely be a disaster.

When Chris hung up, he noticed that Delilah Frankel,

one of the ER nurses, was looking at him. She was a
short, brown-haired woman of Jewish heritage with a

somewhat beaky nose.

"You know Chris, I think that's the first time I've seen

you smile all week," she said. Chris and Del were tight.
She was one of the few people he was "out" to.
Although it was probable that the rest of the ER staff
might not care which team he batted for, he hadn't had
the balls to test that theory. It didn't really make much of
a difference anyway; there hadn't been anyone in his life
in close to a year. Chris Kearney went home alone, lived
alone, and slept alone.

***

Even cops needed to buy groceries. Drew dropped a

box of cereal into the basket dangling from his hand.
The contents of that box were just as likely to be dinner
at ten p.m. as breakfast in the morning. Tonight, though,
he wanted meat, and for that he needed to get out of the
cereal aisle.

Heading toward the far side of the supermarket, the

one person he didn't expect to see was that hot doctor
from the ER where the Ramirez kid had died. Mr.
Blond-and-Ripped appeared to be reading the label on

one of the pre-packaged meals in the deli section. No
sweaty scrubs this time; the doctor was wearing a pair of
beat-to-hell jeans and a t-shirt.

Drew had thought about asking the doctor out for a

drink a couple of days ago under the pretense of
discussing the case, but the idea had seemed so lame. He
also wasn't sure if the "look" he'd caught from the man
translated to interest.

Kearney had a six-pack tucked under his arm as he

stood reading. Drew sucked up his courage and walked
toward him.

"If you're buying beer, I'll buy the steaks," said Drew.
Kearney looked startled as he glanced at Drew. "Um,

hi... this isn't exactly the place I expected to run into
you."

"Cops have to eat, too."

Kearney gave him a sheepish grin. "True."
"It looks like you're shopping for one."
"Yeah."
"I wasn't exactly kidding about buying the steaks.

Most of my conversations these days are with other cops
or suspects and witnesses. It'd be nice to have some
company for dinner," suggested Drew. "I live about five
minutes from here."

"Okay, give me your address."

***

Chris felt blind-sided by the dinner offer, yet here he

was, standing in the narrow galley kitchen of Drew
Hayden's apartment, a beer in his hand, watching the
other man cook.

"How long have you been a cop?" Chris asked.
"Eight years. I did the street patrol thing for the first

five years, before I made detective. These days I'm part
of the gang task force, which ends up being a blend of
homicide, vice, and narcotics all rolled into one."

"It sounds dangerous."

"It can be. I do some intermittent undercover work.

How 'bout you? How many years have you been a
doctor?"

"Seven. Two years' residency followed by two more

for surgery, then a year of trauma fellowship, all before I
came to San Diego. I've been with this hospital for
almost three years now."

"Do you like it? Being a doctor, I mean," asked

Drew.

There was a time when Chris would have sworn he

loved every minute. These days... "It has its moments,"
Chris answered. He found himself watching Drew's ass
as the man stood in front of the stove. Mmm. Then there
was all that long dark hair that he just wanted to tangle
his fingers in.

***

Maybe it was all the practice at people watching,

trying to figure who was lying and who was apt to pull a
gun on you, but Drew saw the raw hungry look that
Chris Kearney had on his face.

Dinner had taken maybe half an hour, and the two of

them now sat at opposite ends of the couch, talking and
drinking beer.

Drew set down his bottle in case what he was about

to say next invoked a violent response. "No offense if
I'm wrong, but I'd really like to play doctor with you,"
he teased.

Chris Kearney should never ever play poker. Shock

mixed openly with undisguised lust in Chris' expression.
Drew crooked a finger at Chris, and Chris all but lunged
at him.

Thirty seconds later Drew was pinned under the

warm weight of Chris' body as the man pushed his
tongue into Drew's mouth. Damn, he wouldn't have
pegged the doctor for this kind of aggression. Drew dug
his hands into the firm curve of Chris' butt and pulled
their bodies tighter together. He could feel the hard

length of Chris' prick grinding against his own. Teeth
banged on his as Chris nipped at Drew's lower lip, then
moved on to close on the skin of his throat.

There was something to be said for a surgeon's

trained fingers. Drew noted that his shirt had landed on
the floor and his slacks were unzipped in a handful of
seconds without a single button ripping off. Chris' hand
was stroking Drew's cock in a way that was short
circuiting his brain. The tongue against his nipple was
contributing to the lack of coherent thought. Teeth
nipped down the side of Drew's ribcage.

"Got condoms and lube?" asked Chris. There was a

low husky tone in his voice.

"In my bedroom."
"Do you top or bottom?"
"Mostly top, but I'm flexible for the right guy."

"Fuck me," Chris said.

***

It took about ten seconds for Chris to strip. He

wanted this with an irrational level of desire. Why?
Other than that Drew was the hottest thing he'd seen
lately? No clue.

The faint pressure burn of Drew's fingers inside him

made Chris hard enough to ache. He ground himself
down against those fingers, his body begging for more.
Legs slung over Drew's shoulders, he let out a moan as
Drew pushed into him.

The pleasure was building as their bodies hit

together. Chris squirmed, adjusting the angle of his hips.

"F-faster," he begged, mouth stumbling on the single

word. Drew obliged, and Chris' hand strayed to his own
cock that bounced rigidly against his lower belly. It
didn't take much more. He groaned as his body bucked
and pulsed with his release, shooting thick warmth up
across his stomach. Drew held off another few seconds
before Chris felt the erratic throbbing thrust of his
partner's climax.

Drew sagged down onto the bed beside Chris, giving

him a sloppy kiss and silly grin.

***

Chris' body was draped across Drew's arm in sleep. It

was sleep, wasn't it? Chris' body didn't have the slack
muscle feel that Drew associated with slumber. There
was some sort of underlying tension that made Drew
think of a vibrating string. The bedside table light cast a
warm glow over all that pale, exposed skin. Lord, he
was beautiful. Short-cut honey gold hair, light beard
stubble framing a delicious mouth, that little hollow at
the base of Chris' throat just begged for a lick. Drew
restrained himself, letting his eyes take in the rest of
what lay before him. Darker gold curls arrowed down

from Chris' belly button toward a generously endowed
cock that currently lay relaxed against the inside of
Chris' thigh.

Damn, it had been good. Drew kind of hoped maybe

this wouldn't be just a one time thing. Chris' body was
beginning to cut off the circulation in Drew's arm and he
tried to be gentle about pulling it out from under Chris.

With an astonishing speed, Chris was near instantly

on his feet and scrambling for his clothes. It took Drew a
moment to realize that it was a reflexive action.

"Chris, dude, slow down, you're not on duty," Drew

said, taking hold of Chris' shoulders. Chris gave him a
blank frozen look, jeans on, fingers in the middle of
zipping them. Drew pulled him back down to sit on the
bed. "Just sit still and take a moment."

Chris scrubbed his hands down over his face. "I'm so

used to..." He didn't even complete the sentence.

"Obviously. I didn't mean to wake you; just my arm

was going numb."

"Sorry. I didn't mean to crash out on you. I don't get

much down time. Christ, speaking of time, what time is
it?"

"Quarter to eleven," said Drew.

"Shit... I have to be at work at midnight. I'm covering

a half shift for someone." Chris continued dressing, but
at a slower pace, then he leaned down and placed a kiss
on Drew's mouth. "I wouldn't mind doing this again."
His tone was tentative.

"I'd really like that."
Chris picked up his sneakers and departed.

***

In the ER two hours later, Delilah leaned across the

counter at the nurse's station and whispered to Chris.
"You look happy, the I-got-laid kind of happy. Was he
good?"

Chris felt his face flush with embarrassment, but he

couldn't help the smile that went with it. "Yes, he was

good."

"Are you going to see him again?"
"That's the intention."
"Good. You need a life outside of this place."

***

Four days elapsed before Chris worked up the nerve

to call Drew. He caught the detective in the middle of
preparations for a raid on a crack house. Maybe it just
wasn't meant to be. Chris resigned himself to the idea
that his evening with Drew had been a one shot only
kind of thing.

It took Chris by complete surprise when, at three

a.m., the detective showed up at the ER with donuts.

"It's not exactly healthy, but I figured you'd

appreciate the sentiment," said Drew.

Chris knew that the reaction he was supposed to give

was to suggest they find a quiet spot for food and
conversation. They made it as far as the doorway to the
doctors' lounge before Chris' lust won out over sanity.
He grabbed Drew's wrist and dragged him across the
hallway in the other direction, pushed Drew into a

supply closet and jammed a cart against the inside of the
door. Chris took the donut box and sat it on the floor.

"Want you," he mumbled, wrapping both arms

around Drew's neck and tangling his fingers in all that
gorgeous, silky hair as he devoured Drew's mouth. Drew
tasted of coffee and smelled of... cordite. That made
Chris pause.

"Were you in a shootout?" he asked.
"Yeah, sort of. There were some shots exchanged in

the raid."

"But you're okay?" Chris said. A little part of his

brain suggested ripping all of Drew's clothes off to
double check for injuries, and a lower organ suggested
ripping all the clothes off for an entirely different
purpose.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Drew responded.

Chris returned to his attack, their tongues dueling as

he groped Drew's ass. Drew's hand slid down the front
of Chris' scrubs and palmed his hard cock, rubbing then
stroking. A moan escaped from Chris' lips as he ground
against the motion of his lover's hand.

Changing tactics, Chris swiftly unbuttoned and

unzipped Drew's slacks, shoving them and the briefs
down around Drew's thighs. It didn't take too much
more for the two of them to get each other off.

Chris sagged against Drew, nipping softly at his jaw.
"And here I wasn't sure if you'd be happy to see me,

as I was kind of snotty on the phone earlier," Drew said
with a grin.

***

Finding time to hook up was rough. Sometimes Drew

and Chris managed it twice in one week, other times
more than a week elapsed before they saw each other.
Drew was fascinated by the number of places Chris
conned him into doing it. The back seat of a car was

probably the most mundane, the roof of the hospital in
the middle of the afternoon possibly classified as the

most risky. He also noticed that when there was a long
time between their dates, if you could actually call them
that, sex with Chris practically bordered on a kamikaze
experience.

Chapter 2

May

The entire extended shift was a parade of broken and

damaged bodies flowing under Chris' hands. He
scrubbed for surgery seven times in the twenty-four
hours of his shift.

The first thing on his mind when he finally walked

out the door of the hospital was Drew. Chris was
absolutely desperate for the touch of his lover. It was
pushing toward midnight when Chris phoned Drew as
he headed toward his car.

"Hey, dude, what's up?" Drew answered.
"I just got off work. Do you mind if I drop by? I

could use some unwinding."

"Sure, come on by. I've got beer."
It took Chris about twenty minutes to drive over to

Drew's apartment. In retrospect, he wished he'd grabbed
a cup of coffee before he left. He was really running on
empty.

He trudged up the single flight of steps to Drew's

apartment and knocked on the door. It opened.

"Damn, Chris, you look like shit," Drew commented,

beckoning Chris in.

"I just got off a really brutal double shift."
"Here." Drew handed him an opened bottle of beer.

***

The beer only got half drunk before Chris was pulling

and pushing at Drew's clothes, trying to undress him,
rolling them both off the sofa onto the floor. The
motions were rough and, Drew noted, lacked Chris'
usual exquisite precision. Drew caught hold of Chris'
wrists and pinned him to the floor.

"Chris! Chill! I want this and you want this, but

you're out of control!" Drew snapped. Beneath him

Chris stilled, breathing hard. Drew could see tears
brimming in Chris' eyes. "Talk to me," Drew said softly.

"I need you," Chris choked out.
"Okay, I'm glad. I care a lot about you, too, and

you're scaring me just a little."

"Need you so bad... too many broken, bleeding

bodies... never ends... not making a difference." The
words tumbled out as the sobs began.

Drew rolled sideways, pulling Chris against his body,

and wrapped both arms and a leg around his lover,
holding him tightly, cradling Chris' head to his shoulder.

The soft sobs turned into a hard, body-shaking torrent

that finally dwindled into little hitches in Chris' breath as
he fell asleep. Drew noted Chris was doing that barely
unconscious combat sleep sort of thing again, and Drew
began to put all the pieces together in his head. The

aggressive anywhere anytime sex, the lack of decent
sleep, the job itself -- Chris was practically coming
unglued from sheer stress. The surgeon was using Drew
as some sort of thread-thin lifeline to hold himself
together.

Drew let his mind dwell for a few minutes on how he

felt about that. Did he want to be the person pulling
Chris back from the edge? Yeah, he thought he probably
did.

He roused Chris as gently as possible, but it provoked

the same sort of attempt to stumble to his feet that it had
a number of times before. Drew held him down.

"You're okay. You're at my place." Drew reassured

him as Chris stared up at him with bleary incoherence.
"I'm going to put you to bed, try to get you to relax some
and make sure you get some real sleep. Understand?"

"Gotta be at work in the morning," Chris mumbled.
"No, you're going to call in sick. So help me, I will

handcuff you to the bed if I have to, but you're going to
take some down time. When's the last time you took a
day off?"

Chris started to object again as Drew finally hauled

him to his feet. "I'm sor--"

Drew cut him off, "Shut up and walk." He spun Chris

around and marched him in the direction of the
bedroom. "Stop. Stand still." He stripped Chris out of
his clothes. "Lie down." Chris sat on the bed and gave
Drew an odd, searching look, eyes still red and
bloodshot from his meltdown.

"Lie down means horizontal," ordered Drew. He

hooked an arm under Chris' legs and tipped him
backward. "Roll over on your stomach." The movement
was a little hesitant, but Chris complied.

Drew straddled Chris' hips and began to work his

knuckles into the tight muscles along Chris' back.

***

Nobody gave Dr. Chris Kearney orders, except

maybe the Chief of Surgery, did they? Chris' face was
pillowed on an arm, eyes half closed. The sensation of
Drew's hands grinding in the knots in his back was
something close to heaven. Okay, maybe he'd let Drew
bully him into some sleep, but there was no way he'd
bail on work tomorrow. Drew's weight was grinding
Chris' cock down against the sheets as his lover worked
some of the tension from his shoulders and arms.

It was a slightly uncomfortable pressure, mostly

because his prick was being pushed sideways against his
hipbone. Chris squirmed a little to try for a more
comfortable position.

"Lie still, I'll get to your front soon enough," Drew

said. There was a hint of a growl to his tone. "How the
fucking hell do you even work wound up this tight?"

Chris smiled a little but didn't have a good answer. In

another couple of minutes Drew told him to flip over.

"Mmm, guess that needs a little attention, too," Drew

commented as he eyed Chris' stiff cock. "But it can
wait."

"Oh come on, just--" Chris began. Drew silenced him

with a couple of fingers pressed to Chris' lips.

"No talking. Close your eyes," Drew said.

Chris thought about protesting some more, but didn't.

There was something weirdly alluring about being told
what to do.

Drew's hands kneaded Chris' chest muscles, then his

arms and down his legs, narrowly avoiding contact with
Chris' aching prick. Chris groaned.

"You're damn well gonna wait 'til I'm ready," said

Drew.

Chris hovered on the edge of total frustration as

Drew's hands flexed and massaged his feet. Fuck, he'd
never thought of a foot rub as a turn on before.

The sudden long, warm, wet swipe of a tongue up the

underside of his cock just about made Chris blow his
load right then. He moaned and thrust up into the
sensation. A firm hand replaced the tongue and held him
still. The impending release backed off a little.

Chris slowly opened his eyes. Drew was gazing at

him with an intent, sultry expression.

"Close your eyes," Drew said again. Chris obeyed.

Drew's hand jacked him slowly, maddeningly slowly.
Chris groaned and bucked into the grip. The motion of
Drew's hand ceased.

"Jesus fuck, do something!" Chris begged.
A good ten seconds probably elapsed before Drew

started up again. The build was a rush this time that
made Chris writhe and whimper. Chris' body gave up on
the concept of holding back and wave after wave of
ecstasy shook him as he sprayed semen all up his
stomach.

Utterly limp, Chris lay sprawled on the bed, feeling

too wrung out to move. He forced his eyes open. Drew
gave him a quirky little smile and kissed him.

Drew said, "Now go to sleep."

***

Drew stood in the bathroom toweling off. It was

heading toward noon and he was enjoying his day off,
especially the part that involved the hot doctor sleeping

in his bed. He heard sounds of movement from the
bedroom and he walked out to check on Chris.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! I'm three hours late!" Chris

yelled, frantically groping for his clothes on the floor.

"No, you're not. I looked up your work number on

your phone and told them you were taking a sick day,"
said Drew.

Chris' face showed a flash of anger, then a sort of

relieved confusion. "I don't take sick days. They're
gonna think I'm the next best thing to dead."

"So? Everybody needs a mental health day now and

then, and you are in definite need. When's the last time
you took a vacation?"

"Uh, maybe two or three years ago?"
"Chris, you need an off switch. I get the whole deal

of needing to be on the ball and good at your job. I'm as

guilty as the next guy at doing the workaholic thing, but
I do understand the value of downtime. You're on the
edge of blowing a fuse."

Chris stood silently, just looking at Drew. Shit, hadn't

anybody ever put a limit on the amount of stress Chris
inflicted on himself? Was he oblivious to the fact he was
on the edge of flaming out? Drew had a disconcerting
moment. When you loved someone, you were willing to
dish out tough truths. Did he love Chris? Drew wasn't
certain, but he thought it might be heading in that
direction.

"Today, you relax. I reserve the option to handcuff

you to the bed if you don't cooperate," Drew said. That
elicited a crooked little smile from Chris.

***

"We have a stabbing victim arriving in about four

minutes," shouted the triage nurse.

Chris immediately picked up a fresh set of gloves and

a mask. A stabbing victim could mean almost anything,

from a need for a dozen stitches to hemorrhaging from
vital organs.

The ambulance pulled up outside the ER and

immediately began unloading the patient. Chris caught a
glimpse of tattered jeans and a bandanna. Great, one
more gang banger.

"Thirty-one year old male with a deep stab wound to

the abdomen and lacerations to the right forearm. B.P.'s
ninety over fifty-two, we've got two large bore IVs
going wide open. Respiration is thirty and shallow,"
spouted off the paramedic as they prepared to transfer
the patient to the table.

The low blood pressure didn't bode well; there was

probably internal bleeding, Chris thought. The man on
the stretcher made a noise of pain as he was lifted to the
exam table and Chris moved toward the patient's head to
try and judge his mental status.

"I'm Dr. Kearney. Can you--" Chris began and then

his heart just about stopped. The face he saw under the
oxygen mask was Drew's.

"Aw, hell," he whispered.
Drew squinted up at him. "C-Chris?"
"Yeah, it's me," Chris said and swallowed hard. "Tell

me what hurts."

"My stomach and my arm. I was doing a little

undercover op and got into it with a guy who had a
knife." Drew's face was pale, and he grimaced.

"Hang in there, give me two minutes to check you

out." Chris replied as he squeezed Drew's hand. He
locked down every emotion that raged within him and
focused on the job.

Chris did a quick assessment, checking the

abdominal wound. His gentle touches produced a faint
whimper and panting from Drew.

"Sorry. Rate your belly pain for me, one to ten," said

Chris.

"Eight."
"Del, give him another five of morphine." Chris

ordered to the nurse across from him, and then he
twisted and grabbed the ultrasound wand. An electronic
peek into Drew's abdomen revealed a fair amount of free

fluid. In all probability that translated to blood. "What's
his B.P.?"

"Eighty-eight over fifty-two."
Chris clenched his teeth. Despite the fact Drew had

two IV lines in, he was just barely stable. Chris debated
the merits of taking the time for a CAT scan to better
pinpoint the damage and hesitated for just a moment. He
was second guessing himself because the patient was his
lover. He took a deep breath and stepped back toward
Drew's head.

"You've got internal bleeding from the stab wound in

your belly. I need to take you to surgery to fix it. Are
you okay with that?"

"Yeah, I trust you. Patch me up," Drew said. His

words were beginning to slur from the mix of pain meds
and blood loss.

***

Scrubbing in, Chris had a vicious mental debate with

himself. Was he sure he could do this? Could he stick
his hands inside the guts of the man he was falling hard
for and pray he could fix Drew? If he let some other
surgeon do this, and Drew died, he'd never forgive
himself. Chris decided he'd deal with the consequences
of protocol later.

***

Three bowel perforations, a lacerated liver and a nick

to the iliac artery -- Chris spent an hour and a half with
his hands inside of Drew's abdomen, trying not to think
about the identity of his patient. Finally, Chris finished
the very last staple. "Tell ICU he's on the way up. I'll be
there to check on him shortly."

Chris walked out of the OR and leaned back against

the wall, eyes closed. His own guts felt tied in knots.
He's stable and everything got repaired, Chris told
himself. He will

be okay.

A soft hand touched his arm and he opened his eyes

to see Delilah.

"Chris, are you okay? The stab wound guy, he's

somebody you know, isn't he?" she asked.

"Yes." Chris clenched his teeth to keep from blurting

out more, but he suspected his face gave away a whole
lot anyway.

"He's the guy you've been seeing?" Delilah

speculated.

This time Chris just nodded. Delilah's arms went

around him, and she hugged him tightly.

"You probably shouldn't have been the one in the OR

with him then, but I know why you did it," she
whispered.

"I... I had to," he murmured.
"Go up to ICU and stay with him. I'll round up

somebody to cover the last couple hours of your shift."

"Thank you." Chris hugged her back and gave her a

brotherly kiss on the cheek.

***

In ICU, Chris settled on a metal stool beside Drew's

bed. He felt absolutely wrung out. He took Drew's hand
in his and rubbed the hand against his face, kissing each
finger. There was probably staff watching and he
decided once and for all, he didn't give a rat's ass what
they thought.

Drew made a low, incoherent sound.

"You're going to be okay," Chris whispered. "I'm

right here with you." He squeezed Drew's hand and
leaned forward to place a gentle kiss on his lover's lips.
It took another minute for Drew's eyes to flutter open.

"D'ja fix me?" Drew slurred.
"If you mean sew up all the holes and staple you back

together, yeah. Damn it, Drew, if you ever make me put
my hands inside your body like that again..." Chris held
his breath and choked back emotions that threatened to
overwhelm him.

***

After a three day stint in the hospital, Chris arranged

for Drew's discharge and drove him home.

Every movement made Drew feel like somebody had

taken a weed whacker to his guts. As he shuffled to the
door of his apartment, Chris was at his side, one hand
against Drew's back.

Inside the apartment, Drew sank gingerly onto the

sofa, grateful for the opportunity to sit still again.

"I know it hurts like fuck-all but a little walking

actually helps keep down the complications." said Chris,
sitting down beside him.

"Next time you rearrange my insides, could you

maybe not run them through a blender before you put

them back together?" Drew grumbled, then promptly
regretted his words. The look on Chris' face was one of
pure anguish. Drew grabbed Chris' hand. "I'm sorry. It
hurts and that puts me in a pissy mood. Can you hang
around for a while or do you need to head off for work?"

Chris gave him a hint of a smile. "I took two weeks

off to keep an eye on you and make sure you heal."

Drew was floored. "I think I'm in shock." Despite the

discomfort, he wrapped an arm around Chris' shoulders
and pulled him close.

"You keep me sane," Chris blurted out. "Every time I

think about how I could have lost you, I'm the one who
feels gutted. I love you, Drew." Chris' fingers traced
along Drew's lips.

"Anything that convinces you to ditch work for a

couple weeks has to be serious," Drew gently teased,
then he sobered. "A cop and an ER doctor, we must be
out of our minds to want this."

"But is it a good kind of crazy?"
"Yeah, it is."

Chapter 3

June

"I keep meaning to ask you, why don't you have a

sofa like some normal guy? What's with the evil
overlord chair?" Drew asked, eyeing the oversized chair
and a half with the matching ottoman. In the four
months that they'd been seeing each other, Drew and
Chris spent more time at Drew's apartment than Chris'.
Chris had a really scant amount of furniture. The den
contained the aforementioned chair and ottoman combo,
an end table, an entertainment center, and a bookcase
full of medical books. Oh, and a treadmill.

Chris unceremoniously flopped into the huge chair

and spread his arms and legs, beckoning Drew to come

join him. Drew gazed at his lover for a long moment
before crawling up across the ottoman to lie on top of
Chris, his hips snugging down in the vee of Chris'
thighs.

"Because… when you're not around to occupy my off

hours I usually watch TV for at least a couple hours after
work, trying to slow down enough to even think about
sleeping," Chris answered.

Drew felt Chris' hands thread through his shoulder

length brown hair, pulling him into a kiss. "So? Most
people think a sofa works just fine for that," Drew
murmured in between soft nips at Chris' mouth.

"Had one… made my back hurt when I fell asleep on

it," Chris responded, words broken by Drew's actions.

"You need a better sofa then."

Chris' hands were snaking between their bodies,

unbuckling Drew's belt and unzipping his fly. Damn, the
man had talented fingers, and they were busily sliding
down the front of Drew's boxers. Chris' palm pressed
against Drew's rapidly filling cock, providing a delicious
friction.

"Oughta arrest you for molesting a police officer,"

mumbled Drew. His own hands were having less
success at trying to get Chris' t-shirt pushed up and off.

"Uh-huh, you keep threatening me with that,

Detective Hayden, usually right about the time I start
sucking you off," teased Chris.

Drew finally managed to get Chris' t-shirt removed

and tossed it to the floor. He rose up on his knees and
stripped off his own shirt, flinging it in the same general
direction.

As Drew leaned forward with the intention of trying

to divest Chris of his jeans, the ottoman suddenly
skidded backward several feet on the wooden floor.
Drew lost his balance, pitching face first into one of
Chris' thighs, and his left hand shot through the open
gap in the furniture to slam his knuckles against the hard

floor. A flailing attempt to right himself only resulted in
Drew ending up sprawled on the floor between the two
pieces.

"Fuck!" he groaned, cradling his throbbing hand

against his chest. In another instant Chris was on his
knees beside Drew, gently helping Drew to sit up.

"Easy, let me see," said Chris. Drew unscrunched his

face enough to squint at Chris. Chris had what Drew
tended to think of as his "game face" on. In any other
circumstance, Chris tended to show every single
emotion on his face, but when the talented trauma
surgeon was in doctor mode, he was much harder to
read.

"I'm okay. I just banged it pretty hard," said Drew,

feeling oddly guilty that Chris was that worried about
him. Ever since Drew had gotten seriously injured in the
line of duty Chris had been a little hyper-protective of
him.

Drew let Chris examine his hand, more to appease

the man than any belief he'd done real damage.

"Wiggle your fingers for me," said Chris.
Drew obliged, even if the motion was slightly

uncomfortable.

Chris commented, "I don't think you've done

anything more than bruise it."

"Think I'll live, Doc?" Drew asked, purposely ribbing

his lover.

"Yeah, I think so."
"You need a sofa, babe! Sofas don't split in half when

you mess around on them," Drew said. Chris looked
vaguely embarrassed. "Help me up, then we're going to
go use your bed, ‘cause I'm not dealing with any more
epic furniture fails tonight."

***

In the bedroom, Drew was divested of the rest of his

clothes by Chris' nimble fingers in about fifteen seconds,
in between nips and caresses. Drew decided Chris was

in one of his "I want it now" moods. Damn it, one of
these days he was going to teach Chris some self-
regulating versions of how to unwind. Even though the
two of them had been involved for months, there were
still times Chris would work and work and work and
wear himself into a frenzied exhaustion unless Drew
short-circuited the cycle.

Drew's moment of thought was interrupted by the

warm swipe of a tongue up the side of his neck as he
sank down onto the bed. He twisted around to meet
Chris' mouth in a kiss.

"Haven't seen you all week," Chris murmured against

Drew's lips as his hands were sliding down the front of
Drew's body.

"I know. Work's been crazy, but hey, I've got most of

the day off tomorrow. You?" He pushed Chris down on
the bed, intent on trying to pick up where they had left
off before the chair and ottoman fiasco.

"I've got two whole days of absolutely nothing

scheduled." Chris was grinding himself up against
Drew's hip. The pressure trapped Drew's prick between
their bodies while Chris devoured his mouth and the
sensation was amazingly good. Drew wound his arms

around his lover and gave in to the primal urge of rutting
against Chris' equally hard cock.

Chris made a whimpering moan, face buried against

Drew's neck, and sticky warmth flooded up between
them. Drew followed close behind with his own climax.

Both were breathing hard as they lay pressed against

each other. Chris was nibbling softly at Drew's jaw, one
hand petting Drew's loose hair. The two of them had
been together long enough for Drew to recognize the
stress sign. Even if Chris fell asleep at this point, it
would be so light as to be almost useless as rest. Like a
soldier in a war zone, the doctor fell too easily into a
tightly wound state of hyper-awareness.

"How many doubles did you work this week?" Drew

asked.

"Only two."

"So instead of forty-eight hours this week you

worked seventy-two, and that's if you even got out on
time when your shifts ended."

"Yeah, I guess." Chris did sound slightly contrite

about the admission.

"I thought we had an agreement. You only get to pick

up one extra shift a week. I really prefer you a little
closer to sane and not ready to come unglued."

"I'm fine."
"Says the guy rubbing my hair like I'm a pet cat or

something," Drew commented.

Chris pulled his hand away, tucking it down by his

side. Drew grabbed Chris' wrist and put the hand back
where it had been.

"It's okay. If it calms you down, I don't mind," said

Drew.

"You make it sound like I should be medicated."
"No, I think you need a nice sedate non-adrenaline

based hobby. How 'bout we take a shower and, provided
your kitchen isn't devoid of actual food, I'll make us
something to eat," Drew suggested. He hoped the hot
water and food would help.

***

Grocery shopping had occurred briefly during the

previous week, and Chris was minutely proud that his
kitchen wasn't quite "the barren wasteland" that Drew
often teased him about. As they sat at the tiny kitchen
table eating spaghetti, Chris could feel fatigue creeping
up on him. Food, sex, and shower, not actually in that
order, was finally slowing him down, blunting that
wired and ready to go mode work inspired. Before he'd
met Drew, it would probably have taken Chris at least
twelve hours of his "weekend" to even slow down
enough to contemplate sleep.

"Next week, after your days off, are you still on days

or back to nights?" Drew asked.

"Nights. Every four weeks, we rotate, unless you're

one of the people who like to stick to nights."

"Do you? I don't know that I ever thought to ask,"

Drew asked.

Chris slurped up a long strand of spaghetti. "I… don't

really know that I have a preference. My residency years
kind of burned out my concept of normal sleep
patterns."

"Why am I so completely unsurprised by that?"

Chapter 4

Chris was an hour late leaving work. So what else

was new? Being a trauma surgeon was a seriously
unpredictable job. Some shifts he might do a single
surgery and spend the rest of the night helping out the
other ER doctors with asthma patients and cut fingers.
Other shifts could be a blur of one stint in the OR after
another. The last patient of this evening had been a two
hour repair job on a gunshot wound to the leg. Chris and
one of the orthopedic guys had sorted out the bone
damage and mangled tissue with the hopes that the
woman would be walking again in a couple of months.

He glanced at his watch as he walked in the direction

of the parking lot. It was five minutes to midnight. At
least he didn't have to be back until eleven tomorrow.

Chris fished his keys from his pocket, unlocked his
bright red Miata and slid into the driver's seat. There
was nobody to go home to tonight. Drew was on a
stakeout projected to last until tomorrow evening. Of
course, going home to Drew was something of a
misnomer anyway; the two of them didn't actually live
together. They'd been seeing each other seriously for
months, but neither of them had broached the subject of
sharing housing. With both of them having such insane
work schedules, finding time to spend together was
sometimes appallingly difficult. Some days Chris
wondered if the ability to fall into bed together, in the
literal sense, on a regular basis would make things better
or worse.

There were days when he worried about the worse

part. Ever since Chris had inadvertently outed Drew, as
well as himself, with the kiss in ICU, Chris agonized
over how much trouble he had caused. Drew said he
didn't care. Having already been with the San Diego
police department's gang taskforce for three years, Drew
claimed he'd proven his worth enough that whatever
flack he got was manageable. Chris cringed a little now

and then at the knowledge that Drew got hassled about
being gay far more frequently than he did.

About two blocks from the hospital, Chris

remembered that he had no sugar left in his kitchen at
home. He'd used the last of it that morning. Coffee
without sugar was evil. He swung his Miata into the
parking lot of the quickie mart at the end of the block.

Inside the convenience store, it took only a few

minutes to find the sugar and pay for it. Chris walked
back out to his car, plastic bag in one hand, car keys in
the other. In the dimness of the parking lot with the
blown out street light, he noticed a man in low slung
dirty jeans and a t-shirt skulking toward him. Chris
sighed a little, expecting a request for spare change from
the man.

He didn't expect the sudden appearance of a gun or

having it waved in his face and then jammed against his
chest.

"Gimme your keys and maybe I won't pop you," the

man snapped. Chris held out the keys, heart pounding.
Visuals of the type of damage a gunshot wound to the
chest inflicted filled his head. The man held out a hand
for the keys and Chris gingerly handed them over.
Taking a step back, the gunman gestured for Chris to
step away from the car. The man stuck the keys in the
lock and swapped the gun to the other hand. Now comes
the part where he shoots me, thought Chris, feeling like
he was about to piss himself. He was so frozen in terror,
he made no move to defend himself when the gun
crashed into the side of his skull.

***

His reality was all pain, nausea and splintered light. It

took three tries for Chris to get his eyes to even halfway
focus. He was lying sprawled on the asphalt…
somewhere. Every movement spiked pain through his
head. He groped a hand toward the area of worst pain
and his hand came away wet and dark. It took another

full two seconds for his brain to supply the word --
blood. Blood was bad. Blood meant hurt. He needed to
get to work. Work was safe space. Work was a place
that made people stop bleeding.

Chris staggered to his feet, fell flat and lay there for

another century until the pain dropped back to a more
manageable level. The next attempt was slower and
more careful. He shuffled his way to the sidewalk and
stared at the big blue "H" on the street sign. "H" was
good. "H" meant help… didn't it? He stumbled his way
up the street.

***

Delilah Frankel crossed the ER's ambulance entrance

hallway intent on talking to one of the paramedics who

was filling out paperwork there. The dark haired
paramedic was named Ryan and he was just deliciously
built. She had shared an ogle of that guy's ass with Chris
Kearney on more than one occasion. Maybe tonight
she'd get a chance to flirt with him.

She was halfway to her objective when a familiar

figure caught her attention, which immediately turned to
shock. Chris was hanging onto the wall just inside the
automatic door, blood dripping down the side of his face
and staining his shirt. His short-cropped blond hair was
matted with blood, and even from twenty feet away she
could see the gash in his head.

"Ryan! I need some help!" she shouted as she hurried

toward Chris. The paramedic grabbed a free gurney and
pushed it toward the bleeding man. The two of them
eased Chris up onto the wheeled stretcher.

"Chris! What happened?" Del demanded as Chris

was hastily pushed toward one of the ER bays.

He lay with one hand touching his head, looking

dazed and in pain. "Need sugar…" he mumbled.

"What? Did you get attacked?" Del asked.

"I need sugar," he mumbled and she wondered if

Chris somehow thought he had blood glucose problems.

He wasn't making any sense. It had to be a result of

the head injury. When they stopped in the bay, Delilah
took hold of his hand and squeezed his fingers. Ryan
ducked back into the hallway to flag a doctor.

"Okay, hang tight sweetie. You know the drill, we're

gonna cut everything off and check you out," she said.
He gave a bleary blink and nodded vaguely.

The doctor who came striding into the room was one

of the residents, Zach Hastings. Zach was short, blond,
compact man in his late twenties. "Ryan said it's one of
our people. Aw, fuck… Chris?"

"He's got altered mental status," said Delilah.
Zach touched a gloved hand to Chris' face. "Chris,

can you tell me what happened?"

"Sugar…" mumbled Chris again. Zach gave Delilah a

questioning look.

"He keeps saying that. I have no idea why.".
"Is he diabetic or hypoglycemic?"
"No, not that I know of," Delilah replied.
"That's a pretty serious looking scalp laceration. Do

we have any other clues as to what happened? Info from
the paramedics?"

"No, he just came staggering in through the ER door

on his own."

"The EMS people didn't bring him?" Zach sounded

surprised.

"No. He was alone."
"Jesus. Okay, let's get some vitals, get him stripped,

and make sure there's nothing else going on. Check his
blood glucose level just to make sure, then call X-ray. I
want a head plate. We'll send him for a CT as soon as
I'm sure he's stable," ordered Zach.

Del grabbed a set of trauma shears and began cutting

off Chris' clothes. It took less than five minutes to
determine that the head wound was the only serious
injury. The rest was just minor scrapes and bruises.

"Do we have any idea how long ago this happened?"

asked Zach.

"He walked out of here a little before midnight. It's a

couple minutes to one now, so that only gives a window
of about an hour," offered Delilah.

Zach touched a hand to Chris' shoulder. "Chris, talk

to me. Do you remember anything? Falling? Getting in a
fight? Getting mugged?"

Chris blinked slowly. "My head is killing me," he

whispered.

Delilah was slightly relieved in that at least Chris'

comment made some kind of sense this time.

"Did somebody do this to you?" Zach asked.
"Not sure." Chris made a face like it hurt to think

about it.

"Okay, maybe it'll come back to you. For now we're

going to focus on making sure there's no bleeding inside
your head," said Zach.

Chapter 5

Stakeouts were hours of boredom occasionally

punctuated by minutes of mad scrambling. Right now
was part of the boring bit. Drew Hayden shifted
restlessly in the front seat of his car as he watched the
front door of a house used by one of the local drug
running middle men. There were whispers on the street
that a whole lot of high quality "blow" was soon going
to be available. The SDPD gang task force had received
corroborating hints that a big shipment was headed into
the city.

In the passenger seat of the car sat Jesse Hernandez,

Drew's new partner. They'd been assigned together for a
month now. The gang task force was in the process of
changing their tactics on trying to control the flow of

drugs within the city. Drew had gone through four
partners in three months before Jesse, and he knew
damn well it had to do with the revelation that he was
gay.

Jesse Hernandez was a stocky Latino who blended in

exquisitely well for the undercover work they did, and
amazingly, he had no issues with Drew's sexual
preference. They had been on another such stakeout
about three weeks ago when Drew had cornered the guy
about the topic.

"You haven't given me any shit about the fact I have a

boyfriend. Why?" Drew asked.

Jesse gave him a level stare. "Who you fuck is your

own business."

"No, huh-uh, that's a nice PC answer and I'm not

buying it."

"I have a little brother," Jesse answered.
"Okay, that's nice. So?"
"He's gay… When he told our family, I spent a batch

of years being pissed as hell, and not talking to him.
Last year I finally broke down and went to see him. The
guy he's living with is a paralegal and he and Manny
have something… well, good. He even convinced Manny

to go take some classes at UCSD. Okay, I can't figure
out what the allure of screwing another guy is, but if it
makes him happy, I can deal with it."

The cell phone in his back pocket vibrated against his

butt, and Drew had to twist beneath the confines of the
steering wheel to dig it out. He ran a hand down over his
face trying to make himself feel more awake before he
answered it. It was probably the lieutenant wanting to
know if anything was going on yet. Drew glanced at the
ID. It was Chris. "What's up, dude?" he answered.

"Drew, this is Delilah. I thought you'd want to know

that Chris is in the ER as a patient. He was assaulted, we
think."

The bottom fell out of Drew's world. No, that wasn't

possible; Chris was the one who received people in the
ER. He was the one who took care of them; he wasn't

supposed to be one of the patients.

"How bad?" Drew forced himself to ask.
"He has a head injury. They're still determining how

bad it is. I snagged his cell phone to call you as soon as I
could."

"I'll be there as soon as I can," Drew said, feeling like

the words were choking him.

Jesse grabbed Drew's arm. "What's up? That didn't

sound good."

"God… Somebody attacked Chris. He's in the

hospital with a head injury. That was one of the nurses
he's buddies with…"

"Bad?" Jesse asked.
"They don't seem to know yet."
Jesse got out of the car and Drew yelled, "Where the

hell are you going?"

Jesse walked around to the driver's side and yanked

Drew's door open. "Chill!" Jesse snapped. "Go get in the
other side or climb across the gear shift for all I care.
You're not driving."

It took a moment to register that Jesse was

volunteering to drive him to the hospital. Drew closed
his eyes for a second in relief.

"You call the brass on the way and tell them you have

an emergency. Now get the fuck out of the car and trade
places with me," Jesse finished.

***

It was probably a damn good thing that Jesse was

driving, because Drew had nearly worked himself into a
frenzy by the time they got to the hospital. Jesse
dropped him off at the ER entrance and went to park.
Drew went to the triage desk and asked for information
about Chris. He promptly met with a stone wall of
patient privacy rights and HIPPA rules. It took all his
self-control not to lunge across the desk and grab the
woman by the throat. He took a deep breath and flashed
his badge, telling the woman he was here about the

assault that Delilah Frankel had called in. She made the
logical leap of assuming he was here on official business
and he didn't correct her.

It still took an anxious, infuriating few minutes in the

waiting area before he saw Delilah coming toward him..
He knew her moderately well because of her close
friendship with Chris.

"He's stable," were the first words from her mouth.

"Come with me, I'll take you back," she said leading him
through the big wooden door.

"Is it bad?" Drew asked, not really sure what stable

implied.

Delilah took him by the arm. "Drew, he's going to be

okay. Zach just got done putting staples in his scalp and
he's having a CT scan done at the moment just to be
cautious because of the head injury. Try not to worry too
much, it's SOP around here for any significant blow to
the head."

Drew was left to wait uneasily in one of the cubicles

for another number of minutes before a different nurse
came in, pushing Chris in a wheelchair. Drew had to
swallow hard. There was a shaved patch and a strip of
staples along the upper left side of Chris' head, as well

as scrapes and bruises on his arms. His face was
incredibly pale and there was dried blood on his cheek
over a dark bruise. He wore a standard hospital gown
and Drew thought that made Chris look even more
fragile and traumatized.

"I came as soon as I could," said Drew, kneeling

beside the wheelchair. He took Chris' hands in his. Chris
looked like he wanted to throw himself into Drew's
arms.

"How 'bout we get you back in bed for now?" the

nurse said to Chris. Chris nodded and the nurse helped
him to his feet. Drew was worried by his lover's
unsteady steps to the gurney. Chris sank down onto it,
and the nurse pulled a blanket up to Chris' waist. "The
neurologist will be by in a little while to let you know
about the CT results."

When the nurse had left, Drew sat on the edge of the

thin mattress and gingerly pulled Chris into his arms.
Chris clung to him, one hand clenched in the fabric of
Drew's shirt, his face buried against Drew's shoulder.

"What the hell happened?" asked Drew.
"I have no fucking clue. The last thing I remember is

finishing up surgery on a GSW to the lower leg. I can
only guess I got mugged."

"Outside the hospital?"
"Uh, I don't know," said Chris. "According to Del, I

left shortly after she came on shift. That was sometime
after eleven I guess." He glanced at his wrist as if he
were checking his watch. His wrist had only a standard
hospital bracelet on it.

"You're not wearing your watch. Did the hospital

staff take it?" Drew rubbed a hand down Chris' back.

"I don't think so. I'm not really sure. Delilah might

know. God, my head hurts."

Drew's mind volleyed back and forth between

wanting to stay with Chris and questioning the nurses
and doctors for more clues on what had happened. A
shiver ran through Chris' body and Drew decided he'd
better stay put.

A black man with graying hair came into the cubicle.

"I took a look at your CT, Chris. No subdural
hematomas and no other signs of bleeding inside your
skull. I think you've just got a grade three concussion.
We're going to hang onto you for another hour or so to
make sure there are no late presentation symptoms.
How's the pain?"

"Pounding," answered Chris.
"I'll get someone to bring you some Tylenol. You

know the routine. No aspirin, lots of rest, make sure
you've got someone to keep an eye on you for at least
twenty-four hours. Do you have somebody to stay
with?" said the neurologist, casting a suspicious glance
at the way Chris was curled against Drew.

"Me," replied Drew.
"Friend?"

"Boyfriend, significant other," Drew answered, trying

to keep his tone from being an outright snarl.

"Oh, um, okay." It was obvious the neurologist was

uncomfortable with the relationship. "One of the nurses
will provide you with a list of things to watch for." The
older man departed.

"Bastard," muttered Drew.
"He's good at his job. He's just one of those that seem

to think if you happen to be gay, it should never ever be
admitted to," Chris commented.

"Yeah, there are at least a handful of those in the

department too. Along with another few who seem to
think I'm going to make a pass at them if they walk too

close."

"Sorry."
"Don't be." Drew cupped his hands around Chris' face

and placed a careful kiss on his lover's lips. "I'm glad
you're okay, well, more or less, anyway." He brushed a
finger along the shaved area on Chris' head.

"I just want to sleep. I kind of feel like I'm hung

over," Chris muttered.

"Is it okay for you to sleep?"

"Yeah, it's all right. I'm sure they'll send one of the

nurses in to check on me in half an hour or so anyway,"
Chris said wearily. "Can you stay with me? I'm weirded
out by the whole memory gap thing."

***

Drew did eventually find out from Delilah that there

had been no watch, no wallet, and no keys on Chris
when he'd staggered into the ER. Chris' cell phone had
still been in his pocket, which seemed to imply that
whoever had attacked Chris either missed taking it or
wasn't interested. Everything about the situation
indicated a robbery.

Enlisting Jesse's help, Drew also found out that Chris'

car wasn't in his assigned parking space. It was nowhere

to be found. He got Jesse to make a couple of phone
calls to flag it as a stolen vehicle, but Drew suspected
that it was long gone and possibly on its way to a chop
shop.

Standing in the hallway outside Chris' cubicle, Jesse

asked, "You want me to hang around and drive you guys
home?"

"No, I'm not sure how long this is going to take,"

Drew said. "If I give you my car keys, can you get
somebody from the precinct to bring my car here to the
hospital?"

"Yeah sure, I can do that. Is he gonna be okay?"
"I think so. We're just killing time so they can make

sure nothing extra's going to show up in the first few
hours."

"That's probably a good idea. I'll call you when I get

back to the station." Jesse gave Drew's shoulder a

friendly squeeze and he departed.

Chapter 6

Chris would have preferred to go home to his own

apartment, but Drew claimed it wasn't safe. Somebody
had Chris' address, by way of his missing driver's
license, and his entire ring of keys, not to mention in all
probability his car too. That made it appallingly easy for
someone to break into Chris' place and do yet more
damage. Chris thought that sounded somewhat far-
fetched, but considering how few cylinders his brain
seemed to be operating on, maybe his judgment wasn't
so great.

So it was Drew's place they went to in the wee hours

of the morning. Drew guided him into the bedroom and
very gently undressed Chris to tuck him into bed. Chris
was only wearing a set of scrubs at that point anyway;

all his clothes had been cut off in the ER.

"I'll set the clock for two hours, since I'm supposed to

wake you up and make sure you're at least vaguely
coherent," said Drew, as he shucked his own clothes.

"'kay," said Chris. "Hey, weren't you on a stakeout

thing tonight? Or did I just imagine that?" He sagged
onto the bed, feeling totally wiped out. His head still
hurt, too.

"I was. When Delilah called me, I told them I had an

emergency and bailed. The lieutenant wasn't happy, but
tough shit."

"I'm sorry. I seem to cause you a lot of job

problems."

"Chris, do not apologize for getting mugged. It's not

like that's something anybody plans," Drew said. He sat
down on the bed and wrapped both arms around Chris,
pulling Chris tight to his body. "Fucking hell, I could've
gotten a call to come ID your body at the morgue."

"I'm fine, more or less." whispered Chris, resting his

head on Drew's shoulder.

"I feel like I should thank a whole batch of deities for

that."

Chris lay in the protective circle of Drew's arms,

feeling unexpectedly safe for the first time in hours. He
couldn't quite decide why that line of thought should
choose now to come forward. It wasn't like the hospital
was some place he felt "unsafe." The hospital damn near
qualified as home some weeks. Maybe it was the
concussion, maybe it was whole set of events, some of
which were missing from his memory. Tears were
sliding down his face before he even realized he was
crying.

"Shh, it'll be all right. You're safe. I'm right here."

murmured Drew, brushing gentle kisses across Chris'
mouth, nose, and cheeks.

Chris' breath hitched. He closed his eyes and focused

on the soft touches. Being with Drew always made him
feel safe. Was that a rational thought for an adult who

spent his career primarily piecing other people's broken
bodies back together? He wasn't sure, but he did know
he felt in desperate need of the comfort Drew was
offering him.

"Are you falling asleep or losing consciousness?"

Drew asked, a hint of panic under his tone.

Forcing his eyes open, Chris tipped his head back far

enough against Drew's shoulder to meet his lover's gaze.
"Don't freak. I'm just falling asleep. I'm really tired," he
reassured Drew.

"Just checking," Drew replied as he eased Chris

down until his head hit the pillow. "I am going to wake
your ass up in a couple of hours."

"Good," whispered Chris and felt the blankets drawn

up over his body.

***

Sleeping in two hour chunks was rough, but it beat no

sleep at all. Drew left an early morning message for his
lieutenant during one of the times he was awake,
apologizing and explaining in a little more detail what
was going on.

Two hours later, there was a message for Drew,

asking him to touch base during the afternoon. Things
were moving forward with the case and everyone on the
task force needed to have some idea of who was
available and how things were likely to play out.

Close to noon, Drew decided coffee and breakfast

were a necessity. After filling the coffeemaker, he
picked up the sheaf of instructions handed to him by one
of the nurses when Chris was discharged. It listed a
number of symptoms to watch for, indicated that Chris
could take Tylenol or Advil for the headaches, and
recommended large amounts of rest with only very mild
physical activity. It also advised that the patient should
not be left alone for any significant amount of time
during the first twenty-four hours.

Okay that sounded simple enough. While the

coffeemaker was gurgling away, Drew went to wake
Chris… again.

He sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed a hand

along Chris' shoulder. "Come on hon', time for some
food."

Chris groaned. "Din' we jus' do this ten minutes

ago?" He asked.

"Actually about two and a half hours ago. I'll let you

go back to sleep after you eat something."

"Not hungry."
"I'm not taking no for an answer. I have a box of that

weird stuff you always eat with your fingers," Drew
replied, trying to tempt his lover.

Chris managed a slight grin. "Cracklin' Oat Bran is

actually healthy for you."

"Yeah, well, most people put their cereal in a bowl

with milk on it and don't eat it straight out of the box."

Chris struggled into a sitting position and made a

sudden grope for the head board. "Whoa…" he
muttered, grimacing.

"What's wrong?"

"The room's moving."
"That doesn't sound too good," replied Drew.

"It's… just a symptom that goes with the concussion.

It'll go away eventually."

***

Chris forced himself to eat a little something for

breakfast, some of the offered cereal and a few chunks
of cantaloupe. He sat at the kitchen table wearing a pair
of sweat pants and a t-shirt he'd left at Drew's a week
ago. His finger traced the lip of the coffee cup. Decaf
sucked but jacking his traumatized brain up on caffeine
at the moment was probably not a great idea.

"How the hell am I going to get back into my

apartment? I guess I'm going to have to try and contact
the building supervisor. God, then there's the insurance
company. Do I just say 'hi, last night somebody bashed

me upside the head and took my car?' Oh, and I guess I
have to try and cancel my credit cards too… Fuck,"
Chris griped. Just thinking about all the crap he was
going to have to sort out made his head ache more.

Sitting across the table from him, Drew dangled a

key ring from his finger. "Getting into your apartment is
the easy part. Now aren't you glad you gave me a set of
keys?"

Chris had to smile. Exchanging keys to each other's

apartments had been a sanity maneuver as much as a
commitment. It had made life a little simpler on the
getting their erratic schedules together front.

"Wait, I had your keys on my ring too… Doesn't that

mean they could get in here too?" Chris asked.

"And how exactly are they going to have any clue

what those keys belong to? They could be keys to your
grandmother's house in Omaha."

"My grandmother lives in a nursing home in Fresno,"

Chris shot back.

"Oh. Anyway, you know what I mean."

"Yeah, I guess." Chris ran a hand up through his hair,

fingers encountering the staples in his scalp and a fair
amount of dried blood. "Jesus, I really need a shower."

"Are you allowed to get your staples wet? I'm

thinking back to when I got stabbed…" Drew said.

"It'll be fine. I just need to make sure they get dried

off well afterward."

***

Glancing at himself in the bathroom mirror while he

waited for the shower to warm up, Chris cataloged
injuries. Besides the obvious gash in his head, there was
a scrape across his left cheekbone that overlaid a purple-
blue bruise. He wasn't sure if he'd been hit by a fist or
taken a header onto a hard surface. A similar scrape-
bruise combo adorned the left elbow and shoulder, but
his hands were basically unscathed. The whole pattern
seemed to indicate a fall where he'd made no attempt to

catch himself. The hole in his memory of last night
yielded no answers.

"Do you need any help?" Drew asked, poking his

head into the bathroom.

Chris opened his mouth to decline, then realized the

vicious headache was reasserting itself after he'd spent
the past hour awake and moving around.

"Yeah, I could use a hand."
Drew shucked the nearly threadbare pair of jeans he

was wearing and stepped into the shower. He held out a
hand to Chris.

Chris guiltily took it and got under the spray. Drew

was gentle and efficient at helping him wash. The two of
them fooled around in the shower often enough that a
part of Chris' mind suggested that the slick soapy hands
that rubbed his body should have been a turn-on, but the
only desire he could muster was wanting to just lean into
his lover's arms.

***

The expression on Chris' face was vacant as he stood

under the shower spray, Drew noted and that worried

him. "Chris? You're zoning out on me. Are you okay? I
mean I know you're not okay, but you're not gonna pass
out, are you?" Drew asked. His hands were under Chris'
arms, ready to catch his lover if he began to fall.

"Um… uh… What did you ask me?" Chris said.
"It doesn't matter. I think we're done, and you need to

be back in bed," Drew replied. Chris made a vague nod
of assent. He helped Chris out of the shower and
wrapped a towel around Chris' hips, then settled him on
the closed toilet lid to carefully dry his hair with another
towel. He noticed that Chris' hand was clenched on the
edge of the sink. "Are you dizzy again?" he asked.

"Yeah… and the headache's trying to split my skull,"

Chris said.

"Stay right there. I'll go get the Tylenol out of the

bedroom."

When Drew returned a few moments later, Chris was

still seated, hands rubbing his temples. He took the
offered meds.

"This is going to make hunting for the paperwork for

the insurance and credit cards just so much fun," Chris
griped.

"That can wait a couple more hours."
"But what--" Chris began.
Drew cut him off. "But nothing. You could damn

well be in intensive care. Reporting your credit cards
stolen can wait until tomorrow if needed."

"I need some clothes."
"I'll go to your place and get you some stuff. And

check to make sure nobody broke in while I'm at it. If
you tell me where to look I might even be able to dig up
the insurance policy numbers and such. I actually do
stuff like that for my job, you know." He tapped a finger
lightly against Chris' forehead.

"Oh, yeah," Chris acknowledged. "I am so not firing

on all cylinders."

Chapter 7

The rest of the day, Chris' primary activity was

sleeping. He did spend a small portion of the afternoon
on the phone because Drew had actually located the
insurance information he needed.

The following day was spent hanging out and

splitting his time between sleeping and watching movies
on TV. All of that was fine; his body was in desperate
need of the rest. Drew was at work for part of the day,
and he called Chris frequently to check on him. Chris
couldn't decide if the extra attention was really sweet or
just a little paranoid.

Day three … and he was starting to lose his mind.

Chris channel-surfed for half an hour before the
boredom level began to really bug him. Being in Drew's

apartment rather than his own and being there alone only
fueled the stir-crazy feeling.

He contemplated going to the gym, but decided that

the dizziness/headache symptom that kept resurfacing
was probably a bad combo with the treadmill or the
elliptical. He did have enough sense that he knew he
ought to do something at least somewhat sedentary.
Hmm, you couldn't get a whole lot more sedate than
filling out health insurance claims and updating patient
information, and there was always an abundance of that
at the hospital.

Chris took a cab to the hospital and began slowly

plugging away at paperwork.

***

Oncology… why the hell was he standing in the

oncology department? Chris looked at the file folder in
his hand. He'd meant to go to radiology. He didn't even
remember walking to the end of the hospital where
oncology was located. That was just a little spooky.

"Dr. Kearney, I thought someone said you were on

sick leave," said a young Hispanic woman in a lab coat.

"I… uh… I'm just here doing paperwork," Chris said.

"I made a wrong turn. I meant to go to Radiology."

"Yeah, that is a wrong turn. They're at the other end

of the wing," she replied. He gave her an embarrassed
smile and turned to go. The floor made an alarming tilt
and he had to put a hand on the wall to steady himself.

"Dr. Kearney? Are you okay?" asked the woman.

Chris started to nod, but that made the dizziness much
worse. "I think you should sit down." She took hold of
his arm and guided him to a chair in the waiting room.
"Is there somebody I can call for you? Maybe somebody
from the ER?"

"Uh, Delilah Frankel. She's one of the ER nurses,"

suggested Chris. The room was still spinning and the
illusion of motion made him feel sick to his stomach.
The headache was returning too. He sat very still, trying

to will the dizziness away.

***

"What the fuck are you doing here? You're on

medical leave. You should be at home resting,
preferably in bed!" snapped Delilah. She squatted down
in front of Chris. He felt embarrassed by the sharp
reprimand from his friend.

"I just came in to do some paperwork. It's not like I

came in for surgery," he replied.

"You have a serious concussion. Obviously it's

dumping piss-poor judgment on top of your OCD
workaholic personality. Please tell me you didn't drive
yourself here," Del continued.

"No, I took a taxi. Stolen car, remember?" he said

irritably.

"You'd better re-think that statement, because it

implies you would have driven yourself if you'd had a
car!"

"I… uh…" Chris did actually slowly realize that it

was probably a good thing he didn't have a car. As bad

as the dizziness was, being behind the wheel was not a
particularly good idea.

"You have no business being here, unless you'd like

to be a patient. I'm taking you back down to the ER and
maybe I'll lock you in the psych eval room until I can
get hold of Drew." Psych eval was a special room with
no handle on the inside of the door. "Stay put. I'm going
to get a wheelchair for you."

"I can walk," he protested.
"Uh-huh and if you fall and hit your head? That

concussion could become an intracranial bleed."

It was a worst case scenario, but he choked down his

annoyance and murmured, "Okay."

***

Why was the hospital calling him? Drew thumbed the

button to answer his cell. He was sitting at his desk in
the task force HQ.

"Drew, it's Delilah again. I really need to you come

haul Chris home and read him the riot act."

"What are you talking about? He's off from work

until next week, bare minimum." Drew was baffled.

"No, he's here. Doing paperwork, and pushing

himself way too hard. I found him in the oncology
department about ready to pass out. He needs to rest or it
could take weeks for him to get over the post-
concussion symptoms."

"Fucking hell, I'm going to strangle him. I'll be there

in an hour." Drew was both furious and worried.

***

Delilah showed Drew to where Chris was curled on a

sofa in the far corner of the doctor's lounge. Chris was
asleep, dark lashes closed against pale skin. The staples
in his head were still appallingly obvious and the dark

bruise on his cheekbone was a vivid contrast to the rest
of the skin on his face.

Drew thought his lover looked nearly as fragile as the
night of the assault. Emotions churned in Drew's gut. On
one hand he could cheerfully choke Chris for the sheer
stupidity of trying to work, even if it was just
paperwork. On the flip side, he wanted to lock the guy
in a cell for his own protection.

"As pissed as you might be, it's not entirely his fault,"

said Delilah from behind him.

Drew turned to look at her. "And what part of

behaving like a freaking moron is not his fault?"

"We both know Chris is a driven personality to start

with, but a severe concussion can cause mood swings,
out of control emotions, irritability and lack of judgment
issues. For a guy who already leans in that direction…"

It didn't exactly help with the conflicting feelings, but

the information was probably good to know, Drew
decided. "Will it get better? I mean will he get back to
what passes for normal for him?"

"It should, but it's apt to take several more days. Not

resting is only going to prolong the problem. Oh, I
should tell you, Zach wrote him a couple of
prescriptions for nausea and dizziness meds. They're apt
to make him feel kind of sleepy but in his case that
might be a good thing."

***

Back in Drew's apartment, Chris walked toward the

bedroom, fingertips touching the wall of the hallway for
balance. Drew's hand was against the small of Chris'
back, steadying him. Chris waited for the metaphoric
shoe to drop. His lover had been almost silent since
picking him up at the hospital.

"Do you need to use the bathroom?" Drew asked as

Chris sat down on the bed.

"No."

Something cold pressed against Chris' wrist and he

heard a metallic clicking noise. It took another moment
to realize that he'd been handcuffed to the bed frame.

"Drew…" Chris began. The narrow glare from his

lover caused the protest to die on Chris' lips. Oh hell,
here came the tongue lashing, he decided. The other man
turned and walked out of the room. Huh? What?

Chris could hear Drew moving through the other

rooms of the apartment and wondered what exactly he
was supposed to do. Sleep? Wait? Apologize? Beg for
forgiveness? If he had crossed some unforgivable line,
Drew would have just left him at the hospital, wouldn't
he? Fuck, his head hurt.

After a few more minutes Drew returned to the

bedroom. "I need to get some groceries," he said,
standing the doorway.

"Am I supposed to stay this way?" Chris asked

uncertainly.

Drew studied him for at least a minute, before laying

something small and metal on the night stand within
Chris' reach. "If you're not here when I get back, don't
bother coming back," Drew said, and he turned and
walked out of the room.

Chris sat motionless for a while. Just how badly had

he screwed up his relationship with Drew? He had no
gauge. He and Drew had already been together longer
than any of his previous relationships had ever lasted.
God, trying to sort out his feelings made his head hurt
even worse.

He made an attempt to stretch out on the bed without

removing the handcuff, but the angle that placed his arm
at was awfully uncomfortable. Chris agonized for a few
more minutes before he picked up the key and released
the portion hooked to the bed frame. The part around his
wrist he left alone. Chris laid the key back on the night
stand and curled up on the bed, closing his eyes.

***

Drew set the bag of food on the kitchen counter. His

apartment was silent. Did that mean Chris was gone?
Feeling sick at heart, Drew crept back toward the
bedroom, half-expecting to find it empty.

It wasn't.
Drew allowed himself a heavy sigh of relief. Chris

was asleep, one arm under the pillow and the other hand
fisted loosely in the sheet. The silvery curve of the
handcuff was visible on the exposed wrist. Drew was
both subtly amused and deeply touched that Chris was
trying so hard to tread within the limits Drew had given
him.

Maybe Delilah was right in asserting that Chris'

behavior was closer to the edge than usual because of
the head injury. All the more reason to set some real
limits on what Drew expected from Chris. Without some

kind of assurance that Chris was safe and healing,
concern would turn into real gut-wrenching worry about
his lover.

Tiptoeing back to the kitchen, Drew began putting

away the groceries. He'd give Chris another hour of
sleep before waking him for a meal.

***

As Drew was stirring the sauce to go over the

enchiladas, a faint noise caught his attention. It sounded
like it was coming from the bedroom. Maybe Chris was
getting up. Drew went toward the sound.

In the bed, Chris was struggling with the blankets,

hands pushing at the fabric in weak uncoordinated
motions, back arching, body twisting. His eyes were still
closed even though his face was a grimace. It took Drew
a moment to realize Chris wasn't even awake, but having
some sort of nightmare instead.

Drew knelt on the edge of the bed with one knee and

gently shook Chris to wake him. Chris' eyes popped
open and the look in them could only be described as
terror. His breath was a sudden loud gasp.

Keeping a gentle, restraining hand on Chris' chest,

Drew kept his face in Chris' field of view, hoping to
reassure him while he calmed down. The frantic thud of
Chris' pulse hammered beneath Drew's fingers.

"It was a dream. You're safe," Drew said. Chris stared

up at him, eyes wide and chest still heaving. As Chris
calmed somewhat, Drew sat on the bed and pulled the
frightened man into his arms. He could feel that Chris'
skin was filmed in cold sweat, his body shaking.
"Wanna tell me what it was about?"

Chris shook his head and said, "I don't really know.

All I remember was handing somebody my car keys and
being so freakin' terrified I thought I was going to piss
myself."

"Sounds like a memory fragment from the assault to

me."

"I guess… God, I'm not sure I want to remember it if

it's all like that."

Kissing him softly, Drew replied. "If you don't

remember the rest, that's okay. If you do, I'll be right
here to help you deal with it." He grabbed the blanket
and pulled it loose from the bottom of the bed and
wrapped it around Chris, who was still shaking a bit.

"You have no idea how much I love you for putting

up with me. I'm such a wreck," said Chris.

"I know exactly how much… You didn't leave."

Drew slipped a fingertip between the handcuff and
Chris' wrist.

"Are you still mad at me?" The expression on Chris'

face was so very vulnerable.

Drew sighed and brushed his lips across his lover's

temple. "Being mad is only half the problem. You make
me worry. Yeah, I could cheerfully beat your ass for
doing things that are just senselessly stupid, but it also
ties me in a knot when you do things that endanger
yourself. I don't want to lose you."

"You're the one with the dangerous job, says the man

who sewed you back together. You think I don't about

drive myself crazy sometimes wondering if I might have
to do it again?"

Drew was silent. He didn't have a good comeback

for that, because it was an all too real possibility.
Reaching for the key that lay on the nightstand, he
unlocked the dangling handcuff from Chris' wrist.

"I smell something cooking," said Chris.
"I was making enchiladas when I heard you thrashing

around in the bed. I thought I'd better check on you. Are
you okay with me going back out to work on dinner?"

"I am actually sort of hungry."

"Good."

Chapter 8

He couldn't work. He couldn't go to the gym. A

steady diet of movies and internet surfing was wearing
his patience thin. Chris wandered into the kitchen where
Drew was putting groceries away.

"I'm bored," he said, sitting at the breakfast counter.
Drew smirked at him. "My mother's solution to that is

to say it's time to clean toilets and dust."

"Okay…not that bored."
"You need a hobby," said Drew.
"Are you conspiring with Del? She's been on my case

about that for ages."

"I'm glad somebody else notices. You work, you run

on the treadmill, and when we manage to match our
schedules, you hang out with me. Am I your hobby?"

Chris grinned. "Maybe alternate obsession?"
"Much as I appreciate that, you need to find

something that's not work-related to fixate on. For me
it's cooking and playing guitar, with a little gaming
thrown in when I'm in a crappy mood and just want to
kill something. Speaking of gaming, I have to bail off to
work for a couple of hours. Why don't you have a go at
one of my Xbox games? I don't play all that often, but I
have a dozen or so of them."

***

The gaming thing had never held much appeal for

Chris, but after an hour of channel-grazing and finding
nothing of interest, he decided it was worth checking
out.

Shuffling through the games on the shelf, Chris

picked out something labeled Call to Duty and popped it
in the main console. In less than five minutes he took it
out. Even though it wasn't real, he couldn't deal with the
shooting and explosions.

He sorted through the games again and decided

maybe Tony Hawk's Pro Skater 4 would be more his

speed. Chris had skateboarded a little as a teen but had
never been particularly great at it.

The visuals were pretty good. The game allowed you

to carve up an oververt and do a 360. You could pull a
McTwist and it showed you exactly what a real skater
saw. He was actually into the game just enough that it
took him a few minutes to realize the motion on the
screen was making him feel sick… really sick… find
something to puke in sick.

The game controller went flying as Chris lunged for

the trashcan at the far end of the sofa and vomited.

***

As Drew unlocked the door to his apartment, he

heard sounds of retching. It took him a moment to

realize that Chris was on his hands and knees beside the
trashcan. Drew hurried toward him and watched
helplessly as Chris spent a few more seconds dry
heaving before he sank back on his heels.

"Damn… are you okay?" asked Drew. Chris gave

him a vague nod, still breathing heavily. "Do you want
some water?" That earned him another slight nod.

When Drew came back, Chris was still sitting on the

floor, but he was leaning sideways against the end of the
sofa, eyes closed. He opened one eye and squinted at
Drew as he took the proffered glass of water.

"A head injury and really realistic-looking

skateboarding motion is a bad combination." Chris
muttered and took a sip of the water.

Drew sat on the carpet facing him. "Shit, I didn't

think about—"

"Neither did I. Stupid me. God, just kill me now…

the headache's back and the room's spinning at music
video angles."

"Anything else I can do? Help you up or something?"

"Go find that batch of meds that I've been avoiding.

Some Tylenol, too."

Drew went to the kitchen and grabbed the bottles out

of the little paper bag on the counter and brought them
back. "There's something called promethazine and
another one called meclizine. Here's the Tylenol." He
handed Chris the assortment of bottles. "Is it okay to
take all that stuff together?"

"It's fine. Just don't be surprised if I sleep like the

dead for a while."

***

Chris woke feeling foggy and incoherent, but at least

the whole nausea and vertigo thing had receded into the
background. The headache, however, was still hanging
around. He glanced over Drew's sleeping body to see the
clock. Damn, it was nearly two a.m. He'd been asleep

for nine hours.

He lay staring at the ceiling before deciding that

maybe he should get up for a while. In the living room,
he picked up Drew's guitar and spent a few minutes
plucking softly at the strings. Considering he didn't have
the slightest clue how to read music or how to play, the
sounds the instrument made were only borderline awful.
Maybe he ought to get Drew to show him a little
something about how to play.

There was no way he was touching the Xbox. No

repeats of yesterday's experience were desired. Maybe
he should break down and read some journal articles. He
had subscriptions to a couple of surgical journal
websites, and if he couldn't actually do any surgery for
at least a few more days, maybe he could appease the
restless desire to do something tactile by reading about
it.

In the second bedroom that Drew used half for

storage and half as an office, Chris sat in front of the
computer and turned it on. As he was waiting for it to
boot, a box that was wedged between two stacks of
books caught his eye. It was a model car kit for an Aston
Martin. Chris was slightly mystified. He'd never heard

Drew mention model building or seen any other
evidence he liked that sort of thing. Chris pulled it off
the shelf. There was a birthday card taped to the front of
the box. Inside it read – Your new car, Mr. Bond. Maybe
you won't wreck this one. He couldn't make out the
scrawled signature. There was a lopsided happy face
with the tongue hanging out. Oh, there had to be story
behind this, thought Chris. He'd button-hole Drew later
about it.

The next hour and a half was spent reading articles

on new advances in synthetic vascular graft materials.
When Chris found himself fighting to stay awake, he
shuffled back to bed. As he slid between the blankets,
Drew curled an arm around him.

"You okay?" Drew murmured.
"Yeah, fine." Chris snuggled into the warm embrace.

***

"Tell me the story behind the model," prompted

Chris. He and Drew were taking an early morning
shower together.

"Huh?" Drew gave him a puzzled look.
"On a shelf in your office, there's a box with an Aston

Martin model kit in it."

Drew chuckled. "Oh yeah, that."
"'Fess up. Why does the card say maybe you won't

wreck this one?"

"I'd only been out of the academy about four or five

months. My training officer Grant Markley was this
hard-nosed pain in the ass, who swore there was a rule
for every possible situation. Another unit was in pursuit
of an armed robbery get-away vehicle and we were
supposed to swing over to a parallel street and try to cut
them off. I was driving. I didn't know yet another unit

had already laid down a spike strip on the cross street to
blow the vehicle's tires. I saw the strip too damn late and
tried to stop anyway. Two tires blew and we spun out
and hit a parked car and totally trashed the back end of

the squad car. As we were sitting there in the wrecked
car, Grant started laughing and called me James Bond.
He's the one who gave me the model."

"When I get around to replacing my car, maybe I

shouldn't let you ever drive it."

"Ass." Drew smirked and grabbed Chris by the balls.

"I'll teach you a thing or two about driving." He let go
and pushed Chris back against the wet tile wall. The kiss
Drew delivered was long and slow and Chris opened his
mouth against the seeking pressure of Drew's tongue.
Eventually Drew pulled his head back a bit. "Are you
going to be good today while I'm at work?"

"Define good."
"You will not go to work. You will avoid video

games that make you hurl. You will call your buddy
Zach and report to him that you're still having

headaches, so that somebody else with a medical degree
is aware of this."

Chris rolled his eyes. He knew Drew had good reason

to raise the first two points, but Chris wanted to balk at
the third one. When had decisions like that been taken
out of his hands? And yet… knowing that Drew was
willing to draw lines in the sand was oddly comforting.

"Yeah, all right," Chris agreed reluctantly.

***

Four more days elapsed before Chris returned to

work, under the watchful eyes of his colleagues. Yet
another week went by before he was allowed back in the
OR.

Chapter 9

July

As soon as Drew parked in the hospital lot, he

stripped out of his bullet-proof vest and dumped it into
the back seat of the car. It was too damn hot for that
thing if he didn't absolutely need to wear it.

The ER exhibited the usual controlled chaos that

Drew noted most of the times he met Chris there. He
was actually a little too early, since Chris' shift didn't
end for another half hour. Delilah must have been told to
keep an eye out for Drew, because within a few minutes
of his arrival, she led him into the back and parked him
at one of the long desks with a cup of coffee.

"He's just getting out of surgery. He's got to go talk to

the family and deliver some bad news," Del informed

Drew.

"What happened?" asked Drew, curious.
"Car accident. Some guy suffered a traumatic

amputation. Chris was going to try to see if he could
reattach the leg, but I heard one of the surgical nurses
say it was way too mangled."

Drew grimaced.
"It could be worse. The man's still alive and the

prognosis for the recovery from the rest of his injuries is
good," said Chris.

Drew sat, sipping the coffee and watching the flow of

people. In another few minutes Chris came down the
hall. He was wearing sweat-stained scrubs. Drew noted
that the neutral expression brightened into a smile when
Chris saw him. Drew stood up and gave his lover a
quick hug.

"I take it the raid went well?" Chris asked.
"Yeah, pretty smooth. I know I'm kind of early, but

there didn't seem much point in going home and then
switching directions to come here."

A nurse walked up to Chris and touched him on the

sleeve. "We have a pediatric coming in. The radio said
there was penetrating trauma to the lower quadrant."

"Okay, on my way," replied to Chris. To Drew, he

said, "If this is easy, I'll be off on time, else…"

"It's okay. I understand. I'm just happy to be out of

the vest and sitting somewhere cool at the moment."

From the desk where he sat, Drew could watch Chris

grabbing fresh gloves and a new gown moments before
the ambulance arrived. A little black girl lay on the
stretcher that was brought in, bloody bandages on her
stomach.

The paramedic began giving information as the

stretcher was wheeled toward one of the bays. "Nine-
year-old female with a severe laceration to the lower
abdomen. According to a bystander, there was a batch of
kids playing in the street. She fell on a broken bottle.
B.P.'s 80/50, respirations are 40 and shallow. She's been
fairly responsive up until about two minutes out."

Chris began giving orders as the child was transferred

from the stretcher. "What's her name?" Drew heard him
ask the paramedic.

"Tonya."
"Tonya, you're at the hospital now. We're going to be

taking care of you," Chris said. The child made no
response.

"Her blood pressure's dropping," said the nurse.
"She's got a belly full of blood. Get me some suction.

I'm going to see if I can find the main source of the
bleeding and get a clamp on it." Chris' voice was calm
but crisp, indicating his control regarding the situation.

Drew watched in a kind of fascinated horror as Chris'

hands explored the gaping wound. He knew on an
intellectual level that Chris did this sort of thing on a
daily basis, but to see him in action, making what were
probably life and death decisions on the fly… Drew was
suddenly getting a whole new understanding of why
Chris' control in other areas of his life was so limited.
Nobody got to have that kind of control in everything.

Apparently the little girl must have been stabilized

enough to be routed off for a CT scan. Drew saw Chris
being directed by a nurse toward a couple who were

probably the child's parents. Chris dropped down to one
knee in front of the seated pair and although Drew
wasn't close enough to hear more than fragments of the
conversation, he observed the body language. Chris had
placed himself slightly lower than the parents, his tone
low and even, a hand casually squeezing the mother's
fingers. Everything conveyed quiet, caring control.

Drew was actually slightly surprised when Chris,

after a detailed conversation with another trauma
surgeon just coming on duty, passed the patient off and
said he was ready to leave.

Walking together across the parking lot to Drew's car,

he said, "Is it my imagination, or have you actually been
working roughly only the hours you're assigned the past
couple of weeks?"

Chris frowned a little. "I… after the whole week of

really bad post-concussion symptoms, I guess I'm not
sure how hard I can push myself."

"I think I'm gonna keel over in shock. You just

acknowledged that you might have human limitations,"
Drew replied in mock horror. Chris punched him in the
arm.

***

Three surgeries in one shift wasn't any kind of record,

but it was more than Chris had done in over a month. It
left him with that wired and tired and jazzed and burnt
combination that he was so familiar with.

On the drive back to his apartment, he crept a hand

over to Drew's leg. The overture was met with a dubious
glance from Drew.

"Are we gonna have one of those nights when you

can't even wait until we get to your place?" Drew asked.

Chris withdrew his hand and resorted to sticking it

under his own thigh.

"You were supposed to answer that question. I didn't

tell you I wanted you to keep your hands to yourself,"
Drew said.

"Do you think I could blow you without you

wrecking the car?" Chris teased.

"Probably not, and I don't have any great desire to

wrap us around a light pole. Maybe you better keep your
hands to yourself."

Chris did as he was told until about three seconds

after Drew put the car in park in the garage under Chris'
apartment building. It took another few seconds to yank
down Drew's fly and undo his belt. Threading one hand
swiftly inside the waistband of Drew's boxers, he
fondled his lover's cock. Chris dipped his head into the
narrow space between Drew's torso and the steering
wheel. Drew groaned and fisted his hand in Chris' hair.

"Impatient bastard." Drew muttered, and he squirmed

against the assault of Chris' tongue.

Hollowing his cheeks, Chris sucked on Drew's

stiffening length, tasting the musky saltiness of sweat on
his skin. He was really enjoying the low groans of
pleasure Drew was making.

"If you… get me… off down here… I'm not gonna be

able to screw … you into that damned big chair." Drew's
words were broken by gasps.

"I thought you hated my chair."
"I do. Actually I was thinking… of bending you over

it."

"Oh?" That caught Chris' attention. He dragged his

tongue one last time over the tip of Drew's prick and sat
up.

Drew managed to get his zipper up and his belt

buckled again before he got out of the car. Chris hooked
a finger in Drew's belt loop and pulled him toward the
elevator. He behaved for the duration of the ride up to
his floor and the few steps down the hall to his
apartment. All bets were off as soon as the door was

closed.

It became a wrestling match when he tried to grope

Drew and Drew grabbed both Chris' wrists, spinning
Chris around toward the middle of the room. He walked

Chris forward and pushed him over the back of the big
stuffed chair.

"Stay put," Drew said. Chris heard him walk into the

bedroom. When Drew returned, he was the one
wrenching Chris' jeans down around his knees. Cool
slick fingers pressed into Chris' ass for a moment, then
he heard the tear of foil. The stretch of flesh and nerves
as Drew's cock pushed in took Chris from just aroused
to hard and moaning in seconds. He ground himself
back against Drew until their bodies met. He wanted
hard and fast. Drew only obliged on the hard part, one
hand gripping Chris' side.

One thrust, a long slow withdraw and then another

hard slam into his body. Soon Chris was teetering on the
edge. Chris reached for his own cock, desperate for
release, but Drew grabbed his hand and put it back on

the chair.

"Wait for it," Drew said.
"Damn you, faster!"
Drew snickered and obeyed, causing Chris to see

stars at the edges of his vision. He whimpered -- fuck
that was embarrassing -- right before the orgasm tore a
shout from his throat. Drew came soon after, fingers
digging into Chris' hips.

Legs trembling, Chris clung to the chair. He looked

down at the upholstery along the back of the chair and
giggled a little. He'd made a mess. He took off his t-shirt
and did a cursory job of cleaning it up. After tossing the
shirt in the direction of the bedroom, he hiked up his
jeans and flopped down into the huge chair yanking
Drew down into his lap. He threaded a hand into Drew's
loose, shoulder-length hair and pulled him into a kiss.

"Missed you," Chris whispered against Drew's lips. It

had been three days since they'd seen each other.

"Obviously."
They spent the next half an hour cuddled together in

that chair, kissing, touching, just being close.

"I want a Porsche," said Chris.

Drew raised an eyebrow. "Where did that come

from?"

"You've been playing chauffeur. I've been catching

rides with Delilah or Zach or sometimes taking a taxi. I
need a car. It's been almost a month since mine was
stolen. I'm guessing you haven't heard anything about it
being found?"

"No. Chances are it ended up in a chop shop. Why

the hell do you want a Porsche?"

"I like sleek and sporty."
"Are you getting tired of being seen in my five-year-

old Toyota?"

"No, you moron. I just want my own car again."
"How 'bout something nice and reliable with four

doors and good gas mileage, maybe even a hybrid?"
suggested Drew.

"I could buy a Tesla," Chris teased. "Except even I

cringe just a little at paying over a hundred grand for a
car."

"Which might get stolen."
Chris grimaced. "Maybe I should buy a beater."
"Buy whatever you like, hon'." Drew cupped his

hands around Chris' face and kissed him. "Just make
sure this one comes with OnStar. Mmm, maybe I should
have you fitted with one too. Or one of those anklets like
we put on guys on house arrest."

Chapter 10

Late July

It was probably a hat tip to Drew's skill at undercover

work that Chris almost didn't recognize his lover when
the detective and his partner Jesse Hernandez,
accompanying a pair of EMTs with a patient, came into
the ER. Drew was dressed in baggy jeans, and a dark
hoodie, hair messy, face unshaven. Only the detective
shield on his belt and the one his partner wore
distinguished them from the similarly dressed man on
the stretcher.

The EMT said, "Gunshot wound to the thigh with an

estimated blood loss of about eight hundred ccs. His
BP's 90/50 but unstable. We've got two IVs going wide
open."

Chris gave a nod of acknowledgement to Drew's

presence. The two cops were lingering against the wall
outside the trauma bay. "Exit wound?" Chris asked as
the man was transferred to the table.

"I didn't find one."
"I wan' s'm morphine!" the patient demanded, words

slurring.

"Oh, and I'm pretty sure the guy's drunk too," the

EMT added.

Chris sighed just a little. It was going to be one of

those cases. He moved toward the man's head, intent on
telling the patient he'd just plain have to wait for a few
minutes for pain relief. As Chris looked down at the
man's face, he froze.

The man… Memories ambushed Chris with brutal

force. There had been a gun, and this man had been
waving it in Chris' face, threatening him, all the while
demanding Chris' car keys. The gun had been swapped
to the opposite hand, and in the moment before the gun
had crashed into the side of his head, Chris had been
certain he was about to die. And the memory snip
started playing it all over again.

"Dr. Kearney? Chris?" called the nurse across from

him.

Hearing his name shook Chris loose from the

terrifying replay just enough for him to realize that he
was actually standing in the familiar surroundings of the
ER and not a darkened parking lot.

"I … get Zach. I can't do this," Chris choked out. He

managed to remain where he was by sheer force of will
until his colleague came striding in.

"Chris? What's going on? You look like shit. Are you

okay?" Zach asked.

"Just… just… take care of him. Page Frank if he

needs the OR." Chris bolted from the cubicle.

***

Seeing Chris fleeing from the trauma bay startled

Drew, and that feeling immediately turned to concern as
he caught a glimpse of how pale and sweaty Chris
appeared.

"I'll be back. You can keep an eye on dumbass over

there," Drew said to Jesse. He headed swiftly after
Chris, almost losing sight of him in the maze of
corridors. He saw Chris push through a door and vanish.
Hurrying to the same door, Drew pushed it open
carefully, in case he was about to walk in on some
medical emergency Chris was being called to. The room
that the door opened into was not particularly big. A tiny
desk lamp sat on a shelf casting a dim glow over two
single beds. Chris was sitting hunched over on one of
them, breathing hard, hands clutching his head, looking
just short of hysterical.

Drew approached him slowly. There was something

very wrong and Drew had no clue what. After a very
rough week of initial recovery from the concussion, the
past month had been pretty smooth, with Chris easing
back into his usual shift load.

He touched a hand to Chris' shoulder and despite his

effort to be gentle, Chris let out a barely stifled scream

and lunged backward on the bed into the corner where
the walls bordered the bed.

Arms up in front of his face in a defensive posture,

knees drawn in, and eyes wide, Chris stared at Drew in
fear. Drew didn't know what Chris was seeing, but he
thought it probably wasn't a dimly lit room and a
familiar face.

He didn't touch Chris again, suspecting he might get

a punch in the face if he tried. This time Drew began to
talk softly to him, hoping to get through to the terrified
man. "Chris, it's Drew. I don't know what you're seeing,
but it's not real. You're at the hospital. Nobody will hurt
you here." Drew continued on, in a litany of mostly soft
reassuring nothings, praying the sound of his voice was
calming.

After a few more minutes, Chris' body began to relax,

arms slipping downward to hug around his torso, knees
falling sideways, head resting against the wall. His eyes
finally met Drew's with something that passed for
awareness.

"He was going to kill me…" Chris whispered.
"Who was going to kill you?" Drew asked, now

suddenly uncertain if Chris really was coherent.

"Him… the gang banger… patient."
"Chris… that guy was bleeding like a stuck pig. He's

dumb as shit and drunk off his ass and tried to mug an
undercover cop," Drew explained in an effort to
convince Chris the man was no threat.

"And me."
Drew was confused. "He didn't do anything other

than wail for morphine."

"Not today… In the parking lot. He was the one."
"Parking lot?" A light bulb of comprehension flashed

in Drew's head. "That guy was the one who assaulted
you and took your car?"

Chris nodded minutely. "He put the gun in my face

and then against my chest… I was sure he was going to
k-k-kill m-me. I don't know w-why he didn't." The
tension in Chris' body was turning into shaking.

"Can I…?" Drew scooted a little closer and held open

his arms, not sure if his lover was ready yet for the
physical contact. Chris crept into his embrace, one hand
fisting in the fabric of Drew's shirt, the other making
little stroking motions on Drew's hair. He could hear
Chris' teeth chattering. Damn, the guy was just
absolutely wrecked.

Drew dragged Chris forward so his butt was parked

between Drew's open legs. It made it easier to cradle his
lover against his chest and shoulder.

"Shh, you're okay. I've got you." He whispered as he

held Chris close, rubbing a hand up and down his lover's
back.

The door opened and Zach, who had traded places

with Chris in the ER, came in. The other doctor had a
concerned expression. "What happened? Chris, are you

all right?"

Chris gave a vague nod.
"It turns out the bastard with the gunshot wound is

the one who assaulted Chris a month ago," Drew
explained.

"Oh wow… that's rough. Listen if you need anything,

just come back down the hall and find one of the staff.
I'll get somebody to cover the rest of his shift."

"Thanks," replied Drew as Zach departed.
Chris was still huddled against Drew. The shaking

had dwindled to intermittent trembling.

"I f-feel like an idiot," Chris muttered.
"Don't. I've seen an awful lot of people just

absolutely wig out when they meet the person who
attacked them face to face. You see the victims here
often right after stuff happens. You know being scared
can provoke some bad reactions." Drew soothed him,
continuing to hold him close.

"Yeah, I should be used to it. I deal with this sort of

crap all the time."

"No, you see crap that happens to other people all the

time. This was you. You were the one he hurt. It's
personal; no detachment possible." Drew tipped Chris'

face up toward his own. Chris was still ghostly pale.
"Will you stay here for me while I go talk to Jesse and
give him a heads up?"

"I'll come with," Chris began, his voice still sounding

ragged.

Drew stopped the offer with a finger against Chris'

lips. "No. I don't want you anywhere near that guy.
Please, stay here."

Chris nodded. He had obviously pulled himself

together a little bit, but Drew felt he was still so close to
the razor edge of self-control that it wasn't worth risking
it.

***

Chris wandered around his bedroom, taking off his

shirt, losing track of his thoughts, thinking he ought to
take a shower, then finding himself standing in front of
the dresser, hands in a drawer digging for a t-shirt. He
gave up and sat on the edge of the bed. Memories of
those few seconds in the parking lot kept fluttering at the
edge of his mind. He couldn't seem to calm down
enough to focus on a task, even something as stupidly
mundane as changing out of his scrubs.

Elbows on his knees, hands hanging between his

legs, he stared at the floor trying to will himself to get
his shit in gear.

"Come eat," said Drew. Chris looked up to see his

partner standing in the doorway of the bedroom. "I made
bacon, just threw the eggs in the pan and grated some
potatoes for hash browns. All nice artery-clogging
things for breakfast."

Chris sighed and followed Drew into the kitchen. He

watched in silence for a few minutes while Drew
finished cooking. "I think I finally figured you out.
When you're worried, you cook… more than usual."

Drew snickered a little. "I could've told you that."

Drew said as he slid a pile of hash browns onto an
already full plate.

As they ate at the counter, Chris' mind was

wandering again, this time more toward the image of the
injured gunman.

"Is it unethical to wish that guy dies in the ER?"

Chris asked.

"Nope, you can wish anything you like. He could've

killed you just as easily as knocked you unconscious.
He'd probably have shot Jesse if he hadn't been so damn
drunk. He's a dirtbag."

Chris let his finger trace the rim of his coffee cup,

still trying to square the way he felt with his professional
responsibilities.

"It's six a.m. Since we're both on nights this week, I

think we should head off to bed," suggested Drew.

"Yes, Mom," Chris intoned.
Drew rolled his eyes. "And here I was thinking a

good hard fuck might be a positive way to end this
night."

"Okay; how 'bout on the counter top?"
"Ew! Just eww! We eat on this counter top!"
"Just think about that statement and the fact you suck

my dick at least once a week and your tongue's done
some really nice things to my ass…" Chris just couldn't
resist the teasing.

"Stop. Just stop. You're messing with my head. You.

Me. B-E-D, bed," said Drew with a growl. The dishes
got put in the sink and Drew pushed Chris in the
direction of the bedroom.

The joking, the meal, and the simple act of getting

into bed together made Chris feel closer to normal.
Beneath the blankets, Drew pulled him close, thumb

stroking softly along Chris' cheekbone.

"If you're uncomfortable about whether you ought to

wish the guy who assaulted you dead, let me wish for
you. I would be exceedingly happy to beat the holy shit
out of him," Drew said.

"I'll keep that in mind." Chris turned his face and

planted a soft kiss in the center of Drew's palm.

Drew's voice was a husky whisper. "I don't really

want a hard fuck, though; I want to make love to you."
His hand traced lightly down Chris' spine, cupping at the
curve of his butt. He began to kiss Chris' mouth, long
slow heated kisses that stirred a different kind of hunger.

Chris slid his fingers through his lover's hair. He

loved the thick silky weight of it and the way it felt on
his skin. Drew's mouth was working its way lower,
down the side of Chris' throat to his collar bone, moving
down the center of his chest. Teeth nipped softly at the
skin over his ribs, and lips soothed the tiny bite. Drew's
head turned sideways and rested over Chris' heart.

"I love you so damn much. Part of me wants to lock

you up somewhere safe and make sure nobody ever
hurts you again, but if I did it'd steal your soul. You
were made for healing people, sewing back together all

the torn up pieces. It makes me so fucking mad that he
could hurt you in such a way that makes you question
the way you think." Drew slid both arms under Chris'
body holding him tight.

Chris let his hands roam along his lover's shoulders

and down his back, fingertips tracing the dips and ridges
of muscle and bone. Over the past months, he'd become
intimately familiar with every inch of Drew's body,
touched it all and kissed most of it. He had fallen very
hard for this man.

Drew loosened his hold and continued his slow

worship of Chris' body. Kissing his way across Chris'
belly, stroking the angle of his hip bones, running a
finger down into his navel, Drew stoked desire in Chris'
veins.

Chris caressed whatever he could reach on Drew, but

mostly he let Drew take control. He was coming to
understand that the care his lover gave him came in
many forms and that being in charge gave Drew the
reassurance that Chris was protected, or at least as much
as any one man could protect another.

Chris let Drew roll him up on his side. Curled behind

him, Drew's body pressed against Chris' from shoulders

to knees, with just enough space to allow his fingers to
work Chris open. Breathing heavily, Chris snuggled
back tighter against his lover's chest, rocking into the
delicious pressure. There was a momentary break for a
condom, then Drew's knee nudged his own further
forward, adjusting the angle as he pushed in.

It was a long slow climb. Chris pulled Drew's hands

around his body to suck and nibble at his lover's fingers,
enjoying the little sounds of pleasure that induced.

"Chris… babe… getting close," Drew moaned

against the side of Chris' neck. Chris guided the hand
that he'd been sucking on down to his leaking cock and
Drew began to stroke him in time with his thrusts.

There was a heavy groan from Drew and Chris could

feel the pulsing heat within him. He came hard, vision
graying into stars.

As they lay in the warm afterglow, bodies still joined,

Chris whispered. "I miss you so much when you're not
around. Not just this… hearing you in the kitchen,
knowing you're in the next room. I think we should get a
place together."

"It's about damn time you realized I want you in my

life permanently."

"Why didn't you tell me sooner? You usually give me

a piece of your mind about everything else I do."

"Huh-uh. I'll kick your butt about working yourself to

exhaustion, forgetting to eat and doing stupid things, but
you and me… that has to be something you want too,"
said Drew solemnly.

"I want us."

Chapter 11

August

"This one has a nice big kitchen," said Chris, reading

the description of the house as Drew parked in front of
the two-story brick structure. They had already looked at
seven houses that fit the rent with option to buy criteria
they wanted, but the two of them had different ideas
about what they thought was essential. Chris liked
higher ceilings and relatively open floor plans. He
wanted space to put his treadmill in, and room to prowl
around when work stress was getting to him. Drew
wanted more specific things.

"Does it have either a mudroom or a laundry room

with its own entrance?" Drew asked.

"Yes, it actually says mudroom. I'm not so sure about

the own entrance part. I guess we'll find out."

The realtor holding the open house greeted them and

showed them through the house. The rooms were all
empty, as the previous tenant had moved out a few
weeks before. Drew took advantage of that fact to poke
around, opening cupboards and closets. Eventually the
realtor left them alone in the kitchen.

"Well, what do you think?" Chris asked.
"It's got everything I'm looking for. I like this

kitchen. That spot over there will be ideal for my pot
rack." Drew pointed. "The mudroom has an exterior
door, and it's big enough for a washer and dryer. I like
the bedrooms being on the second floor, and the master
bath has that big shower stall. I'm leaning toward asking
'where do we sign?'"

"I like it too, but I have to ask what the deal with the

mudroom is. It's not like we get a ton of rain around
here, and you don't muck horse stalls for a living."

"You've never seen me directly after a three or four

day undercover narc' job. You'd think I'd not only
mucked a stall, but laid down and rolled in it too."

"Uh, okay, I'll take your word for it."
They moved in the following week.

***

When Chris got home, he saw Drew's car already in

the driveway. Hot damn, Drew must've have gotten off
his undercover thing a little early. Chris went inside.
They'd only lived there for a few weeks, but already
Chris was truly enjoying having someone to come home
to.

He could hear the shower running upstairs. Mmm,

that sounded like a golden opportunity to grope his
partner's wet, naked body. He climbed the stairs and
walked softly into the bedroom. It only took a couple of
minutes to shed his clothes.

Chris padded into the bathroom, stepped over the lip

into the oversized shower enclosure and reached for

Drew, who was facing the shower head. As soon as his
fingertips hit wet skin, a fist slammed into his face and
he went flailing backward, ending in a heap on the tiled
floor.

A dozen heartbeats of pain and confusion passed

before Drew was hauling Chris into his arms. "Oh God.
Oh fuck, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hit you. You
startled me. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Drew babbled.

Gingerly touching his cheekbone, Chris opened and

closed his mouth, and let his fingers check for anything
that felt like a bone break. Nothing seemed out of place
or moved strangely. It just plain hurt.

"How much damage did I do?" Drew asked.
"S'not too bad. I'll live."
Drew helped Chris to his feet and guided him out of

the shower to sit on the toilet. He tipped Chris' face up
for a better look. "Damn, damn, damn… I think you're
going end up with a hell of a bruise. Sit still. I'll go get
some ice." Drew did a hasty toweling off and headed out
of the bathroom.

Chris didn't sit still, but he did stay in the bathroom.

He dried off and wrapped the towel around his hips, and
took a good look in the steamy mirror. The mark on his

left cheek was dull red and had that dark purple-blue
under-layer that promised spectacular colors in the next
twenty-four hours.

When Drew returned he had a towel wrapped around

a handful of ice. "Here, maybe this'll help." His voice
was quiet and he looked about as miserable as Chris had
ever seen him.

"Thanks."
"Don't thank me. I'm the one responsible." Drew

gently held the icy bundle to Chris' face.

"I expected you to jerk or gasp, or maybe even

scream, not punch me."

"It was a self-defense reflex."
"In our bathroom?"
"Chris… I just spent most of the past thirty-six hours

on an undercover sting. That means almost every single

action or touch could be a threat on my life. Did you
know that in something like eighty percent of stabbings,
the victim is grabbed first, then stabbed? Been there,
done that. It wasn't fun. And I don't think you really
enjoyed sewing me back together."

Chris swallowed hard. "I didn't know that."
"I know we've spent some large chunks of time

together, but I don't think you've ever been with me the
hour I got home from this kind of an op before. I have a
routine. It's how I get out of the head space I have to be
in when I'm undercover. I know this is hard, but you
have to leave me alone for an hour, maybe a little more."

"Or I'll be liable to get punched."
"Yeah." Drew wrapped his arms carefully around

Chris. "You have no idea how guilty I feel. I never want
to hurt you. I have this capacity for violence and it's very
carefully channeled into being one of the good guys, one
of the people who stay on the right side of the law."

The way Drew said that made Chris think there was

something not being said, but he couldn't figure out

what.

***

The following day as Chris came into the ER, Delilah

looked at him with open-mouthed surprise.

"What the hell happened?" she demanded, gesturing

toward Chris' black eye.

"An accident."
"An accident my ass. It looks like somebody hit you."

Her fingers turned his face sideways as she took a good
look at the damage.

Chris knew the bright shades of purple and red were

pretty epic. That morning when he'd dressed for work,
he'd sort of wished he owned makeup so he could
disguise it at least to some degree. "I… snuck up on
Drew in the shower. He'd just gotten off an undercover
gig and he was a little too wired. It wasn't intentional."

"Bullshit."

"Del, it was an accident. He didn't even know it was

me. I touched him from behind and he just reacted. I've
never seen him look so miserable. He got me some ice.
We talked about it. He's still kicking himself for what
happened."

"They're always sorry, Chris. You know the drill."
"It's not like that. It's like a soldier getting home from

a war, that hyper-vigilant 'anyone who touches me could
kill me' mode. He told me that most people who get
knifed are grabbed first. He's been that route. Del, it was
an accident. I'm not that naïve," Chris stressed. Del still
looked a little dubious. "If he'd shut my fingers in a
drawer, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"Yeah, maybe."

Chapter 12

Late August

Chris was less than thrilled that the restaurant was

crowded but he had promised to meet Zach and Del for a
drink. Drew was supposed to join them if he got out of
work in time.

Ordering a beer, Chris scanned the room for his

friends. He didn't see anyone he recognized, so he
leaned against the bar, halfway watching the closed
captioning scroll on the bottom of the news channel.

"You look lonely," said a young woman standing

next to him. Chris glanced in her direction, and she gave
him a flirty little smile. God, as pickup lines went, that
was just plain bad. She had bleach-blonde hair and way
too much makeup.

"I'm waiting for some friends," he said, hoping to

convey the idea he wasn't interested.

"That's okay, we can just hang out while you wait."
"No offense, but I'm seeing somebody already," he

replied.

"She won't mind. We're just talking." The only

problem was, she wasn't just talking; her hand was on
his butt. He tried to scoot off to one side a little, out of
reach.

"He. And yes, he would mind," said Chris. In

actuality, Drew would probably think it was hysterical,
him getting groped by some chick.

"Oh? Hey, maybe you, me and him can have a

threesome."

Chris decided he'd better walk away. He turned and

found himself face to face with another man. The guy
was a little taller than Chris and wore a dark polo shirt.

"You'd better leave my girlfriend the fuck alone!" the

man snarled.

Chris noted the bloodshot eyes and the whiskey-

scented breath and decided the guy had had one too
many. "I'm not trying to poach your girlfriend. She's not
my type."

"You saying she's ugly?"
Oh hell, the guy was right up in Chris' face, pushing

him. "No, I'm just not interested."

"Why the hell ain't you interested? She's hot!"
"Hey, Chris!" a familiar voice called out behind

Chris. Chris whirled to see Del. He yanked her into his
arms and whispered against her ear, "You can slap me
later." He kissed her hard.

"Hey, I thought you said your boyfriend was the

jealous type!" snapped the chick at the bar.

"Boyfriend? Are you a queer or what?" the man

demanded, yanking roughly at Chris' arm.

"No… yeah… uh…" Chris fumbled, uncertain how

to get out of this jam.

"Guess he'd rather have some kike tail," commented

the woman.

That made Chris mad. "At least she's not some bar

slut!"

The man's face darkened with rage, and he gave

Chris a hard, two-handed shove. Chris lost his footing
and hit the floor in an uncoordinated sprawl. As he tried
to pick himself up, he barely caught a glimpse of a
booted foot swinging toward his chest. Suddenly there
was somebody between him and his attacker, and he
heard the hard thud of a fist hitting flesh.

"Don't you fucking so much as touch him again!"

growled a familiar voice. It took Chris another second to
wonder where the hell Drew had come from. The
obnoxious drunk apparently wasn't content to back off
and Chris watched the idiot take a swing at Drew. Drew
blocked the blow with relative ease and delivered a
punch to the man's gut. It was followed with a foot
sweep and suddenly Drew had the man face down on the
floor, one hand twisted up behind the drunk's back.
Reaching for the handcuffs on the back of his belt with
one smooth move, Drew started cuffing the man.

"You're under arrest for assault and battery," Drew

said. By this time the bar's bouncers had come to the
scene. Drew flashed his badge. "Take him outside and

call the cops for a pickup. I'll be out in a couple
minutes."

Delilah helped Chris up off the floor asking, "Are

you okay? Who was that asshole?"

"I have no idea. Just some drunk who seemed to think

I was hitting on his girlfriend," said Chris. He watched
as the two bouncers hauled the man up off the floor and
frog-marched him toward the door. Drew turned to face
Chris.

Drew was dressed for court, in a button down shirt

and tie, but somewhere along the way he'd rolled up his
sleeves and loosened the tie. His hair was pulled back in
a ponytail. He still wore the vest of his suit, but the
jacket was nowhere in sight.

Three steps brought him to stand in front of Chris.

"You're bleeding," Drew said. He cupped his hands

around Chris' face and brushed a thumb very lightly
across Chris' lower lip. In reflex, Chris licked the spot
and tasted blood.

"I guess I bit it when I fell," Chris speculated.
"Jesus…" Drew whispered under his breath. He slid

one arm around Chris' body and curled the other against
the back of Chris' head. He pulled Chris toward him
until their bodies met and he placed a kiss on Chris'
temple, his cheek and a decidedly careful one on his
mouth.

Behind him Chris was aware of clapping from a

number of the bar's patrons. His face flushed hot with
embarrassment.

"Let's get you out of here," Drew murmured. He

turned Chris in the direction of the door and gave him a
little push to get going. Chris noticed that Drew put an
arm behind Del and guided her in the same direction.

Outside on the sidewalk, the two bar security men

had the drunk assailant against the wall as they waited
for the patrol car that was headed down the street toward
them.

"Stay with Del, it's gonna take me a few minutes to

deal with this," Drew said.

Chris watched his lover walk back toward the other

men. He felt both shaken and vaguely annoyed with the
way Drew was treating him.

"Are you supposed to be babysitting me?" Chris

asked Del.

"I don't know, am I?" Del shot back.
"I'm not breakable. So the guy knocked me down, big

deal. Drew's acting like I'm fragile or something."

"To him, you are," she said, hugging him. "He

couldn't protect you from what happened two months
ago. Tonight he comes into the bar just in time to see
some bastard knock you on your ass and about to kick
the shit out of you. And in case you hadn't noticed, your
adrenaline spike has worn off, because you're shaking."

"Fuck you." Chris muttered, his face buried down

against her neck, his arms around her.

"Is that an offer? I mean, what with the kiss and all,"

she teased.

"I am so sorry. It seemed like a good idea at the

time," he apologized. "Was it an incredibly bad kiss?"
He knew she was ragging on him. If he'd been straight
or even bi enough to be interested, they'd have probably
done the 'friends with benefits' thing long ago.

She snickered. "No, it was a really good kiss. I think

I'll spend the next week being totally jealous of Drew."

"You could probably convince him to give you one

too," said Chris.

"Give her one what?" asked Drew, walking up behind

them.

"A kiss. I had this dumb idea that if I kissed her in

front that woman and her boyfriend, it would defuse the
situation. It only made it worse," Chris admitted.

"Guessing at how drunk and pissed off that guy was,

I think he was just looking for somebody to punch," said
Drew. "You were just the one who looked like an easy
mark."

"Easy mark? That makes me sound…" Chris turned

and stalked a dozen strides down the sidewalk. Now he

was the one who wanted to punch something. When had
he suddenly become easy prey?

"Hey, Chris, what are you all doing outside? I

thought we were going to have a beer and kick back?"
asked Zach, coming up the sidewalk toward Chris.

"There was…" Chris trailed off, at a loss to describe

the mess.

"There was a scuffle and Chris ended up being the

center of attention," said Drew. Chris felt Drew's hand
on his shoulder. "How 'bout we all go back to our place?
There's beer in the fridge and I can throw together some
food if we're hungry," Drew continued.

"Yeah sure…The police car, is that the aftermath of

this scuffle?" Zach asked. He gestured toward the patrol
car a number of yards away.

"Yeah, more or less," Drew replied.

***

Everyone had come in separate cars, so it ended up

being something of a convoy heading back to the house
that Drew and Chris lived in.

Drew cast a concerned eye at Chris while he handed

out beer bottles to Zach and Del. Chris and Del were
trying to explain to Zach the disaster at the bar.

Eventually they all settled in the den on the pair of

sofas there. Drew made sure he was within touching
distance of Chris. No matter how much Chris was
pretending the whole event was a nothing big , Drew
could tell he was actually rather shaken by it. Drew
suspected Del could tell too; she had known Chris
longer than he had, even if it was on a different level.

Conversation veered off to job weirdness and tales

they'd heard of jealous boyfriends. Drew watched Chris
fidget, peeling the label from the beer bottle, shifting
uneasily where he sat, tongue worrying the bitten spot
on his lip. How subtly could he manage to calm his
partner down?

Drew grabbed a pillow from the back end of the sofa,

tossed it in Chris' lap, and laid his head down on it. It
took maybe two minutes for Chris' restless fingers to
pull off the hair band that bound Drew's hair into a
ponytail, and card through the now loose strands. Some
of the tightly wound tension began to slowly leave his
lover.

***

Del headed for the door and Drew followed. Zach

had left several minutes before. Chris was gathering up
bottles and doing a little general cleanup back in the den.

Del paused in the doorway, "You know that he's still

pretty rattled, don't you?" she said softly.

"Yeah, I know. Physically he may be healed up from

being mugged, but the emotional stuff…" admitted
Drew.

"Call him on it. Did you know he stayed an hour after

his shift back on Tues, 'til Zach was done, and they
walked out to the parking lot together?"

"Damn," whispered Drew.
"He's fine on the job, really, but there's little stuff that

makes me worry about him."

"I'll talk to him."
After Del was gone, Drew went toward the kitchen.

Chris was setting up the coffee pot to come on in the
morning. Drew sat on one of the stools at the breakfast
bar and crooked a finger at his partner. Chris walked
over to stand in front of him, and Drew looped his hands
around his lover's waist.

"How much do you think about getting attacked?"

Drew asked.

Chris' face showed a flash of annoyance and Drew

expected a denial.

"Some," Chris finally replied.
That admission made Drew believe Chris was a lot

more aware of how close to the surface his fear ran than
Drew had originally thought.

"You could've talked to me about it."
"And said what exactly? That I feel like a paranoid

ass? That I don't stop anywhere on my way home from
work anymore if it's night time? That I have second
thoughts about walking out to my car in the hospital
parking lot if it's dark? That lately I wonder if I have the
same amount of balls as a thirteen-year-old girl!"

Drew pulled Chris a little closer. "I knew you were a

little antsy some nights, but I didn't realize it was that
bad." He leaned his head on Chris' chest, listening to the
soft thud of his lover's heart. "Give me a little while to
think about it. There's gotta be some way to fix it…
make you worry less."

"You make it sound like I'm broken." Chris had a

hurt note in his voice.

"Not broken, just… dented a little." Drew slid a hand

up under Chris' t-shirt, stroking the smooth warm skin
beneath. "Let's go to bed."

***

Across, through the loop, under and so forth: Drew

stood in front of the mirror doing his tie. He had court
appearances all week. Most of it was for a single case
that involved eight different gang members. Chris
stepped up behind him and rested his chin on Drew's
shoulder. Drew met his eyes in the mirror and noted that
Chris' expression was tense, even though he was
smiling.

"You're going to have fashion whiplash," Chris said.
"What?"
"Last week it was beat to hell jeans and a flannel shirt

dirty enough to stand up under its own power. This
week it's suits and power ties." Chris nuzzled at the side
of Drew's neck, face half hidden by Drew's hair.

Drew had to laugh. "This from the guy who spends

eighty percent of his time wearing something that
resembles pajamas?"

"They're called scrubs, dear," Chris teased.

Turning around, Drew pulled Chris into a loose hug.

"I've been thinking about the whole incident from last
night. I have a couple of thoughts; actually, maybe
they're closer to suggestions."

"I'm not sure I want a gun…" Chris began.
"And I'm not sure I'd want you to have one. But,"

Drew placed a finger on Chris' chin, "I think a taser
might be a safer alternative."

Chris' mouth dropped open a little, then shut. He gave

Drew a dubious look. "Having had my ass shocked
across the room by a defibrillator misfire, I don't know if
I'd call a taser safe."

"I've been tasered. It's part of the academy training.

While it definitely doesn't qualify as a pleasant
experience, the chances of permanent damage are really
low. The goal of having a civilian carry one is to give

you get-away time…When did you get hit by a
defibrillator?"

"Not recently. It was a couple of years ago. One of

my colleagues didn't yell 'clear' and I got zapped. I spent
the next two hours hooked to an EKG because they were
afraid it had messed up my heart rhythm."

"Yow. The other suggestion I have is a self-defense

class that's being held at one of the local community
colleges."

"No." Chris cut him off.
"What? Why?"
"I am not going to some class that teaches middle-

aged women to kick guys in the balls."

"It's a class for men. Do you really think I'd try to

send you to one of those classes?"

"I don't know. It depends on how fragile you think I

am."

Drew looked into Chris' face. He saw frustration and

shame. "Chris, you see the results of violence nearly
every day. But until recently, I'm guessing, you've never
been right smack in the middle of it. It's scary. I've been
shot at. I've been stabbed. I've been kicked and punched.
But part of the difference between me and you is the

training. The police academy doesn't just hand out guns
and shields and say 'go for it.' They teach us, First it's in
classrooms and gyms and later it's in the field with a
training officer. They didn't hand you a scalpel and tell
you 'see what you can do', did they?"

Chris smiled a little. "No."
"You are never going to be comfortable in violent

confrontational situations; I don't think that's part of
your personality. But we can work on making you feel
safer. Okay?" Drew rubbed a thumb across Chris' jaw,
feeling the prickle of beard stubble. He pulled Chris into
a kiss, murmuring, "I love you."

Chapter 13

Early September

The parking garage was eerily quiet at two a.m. Chris

reached in his pocket and felt the blocky weight of the
taser Drew had given him. He hadn't originally been
scheduled to work tonight, but one of the other ER
doctors had left early due to having a sick kid at home,
and Chris had agreed to pick up the last four hours of the
shift.

His sneakers made little sound on the concrete so

when he heard a thud behind him, he knew it wasn't an
echo. Chris glanced back and saw nothing. Fingers
clenched around the taser, he pulled it out. There was
another noise. He whirled in the direction of the
stairwell and nearly pulled the trigger as a figure came

through the doorway.

"Aaah!" Zach yelped and ducked back behind the lip

of the doorway.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Zach, you scared me half to

death!" Chris dropped his hand to his side.

Zach poked his head back out, then slowly stepped

into full view. "I think you're the one doing the scaring.
Damn, Chris, you nearly shot me." Zach squinted at the
weapon. "What the hell is that thing?"

"It's a taser. Drew got for me. You would have been

treated to 50,000 volts. Why the hell were you sneaking
up on me anyway?"

"I wasn't sneaking up on you. I left my phone in my

car and was coming to get it. You and I have parking
spots assigned on the same row, Doofus."

"Oh." Chris' heart rate was finally beginning to slow

back toward normal.

Chris and Zach walked the rest of the way over to

their cars, and said good night. As Chris was getting
ready to pull out, his own phone rang.

"Hey, Drew," he answered it.
"Are you still at work?"

"Nope, just leaving. Why?"

"I… I need you to come pick me up," Drew said.
"Okay," Chris said slowly. "I thought you got off two

hours ago."

"I got delayed and… I think my car is totaled."
"What! Are you all right? Where are you?" Chris'

hand clenched around the steering wheel.

"I'm okay. It's just a big mess. Uniforms are taking

statements and directing traffic and it's probably going
to take another half hour for the tow trucks to get
everything moved."

"Tell me where you are."
Drew gave him the address.

***

The highway was a mess of police cars, fire engines

and a couple of ambulances. Six cars were crumpled and
skewed into a tangle of metal and broken glass. In the
darkness, the highlights from all the emergency vehicles
flashed a riot of colored splashes.

Chris pulled off the road a few hundred feet behind it

all and began walking. He was stopped by a uniformed
officer and had to explain that he was Drew Hayden's
emergency contact and had come to pick him up. After a
few moments of radio conversation, Chris was sent on
through.

Drew was sitting on a guard rail. The green Toyota

he owned was smashed between two other cars a dozen
feet in front of him. Chris jogged toward him.

"Drew?" Chris said.
His partner looked up at him. Drew had a resigned

expression on his face. "Guess I'm going to be car
shopping, too."

Chris took a second glance at the car. It was

frighteningly damaged: broken windshield, partially
crushed front end, and crumpled rear, air bag remnants
dangling inside.

"What did the EMTs say?" Chris asked.
"Nothing. I told them I was okay."

"You are a moron. Do. Not. Move." Chris looked

around for the nearest ambulance. He saw Ryan, who he
knew moderately well from working the ER, standing
behind the open back doors of the ambulance. He
hurried toward the man.

"Hey, Ryan. I need a favor," Chris said.
"Dr. Kearney! What are you doing here? You're

supposed to be on the hospital end of this."

"Yeah, well. Listen, my partner was one of the

drivers in all this. Can I borrow some of your gear to
check him out?"

"Yeah, sure. Is he okay? Nobody told me there was

another patient."

"He's probably just rattled, but I want to make sure."
"Of course." Ryan handed equipment to Chris.
It took another minute to get back to Drew, who,

surprisingly, was exactly where Chris had left him.
Chris sat on the guard rail beside Drew and put a blood
pressure cuff on him.

"I'm fine. Just a little bruised," Drew protested.
"Okay, then sit still and be quiet for a minute." The

blood pressure was a little high, but nothing that couldn't
be explained by the shock of the incident. "Did you lose
consciousness?" Chris flicked a penlight across Drew's
pupils.

"No."
"Dazed? Foggy?"
"Not now."
"But you were?" Chris pressed.
"For a second or two. It was a pretty big impact."
"Follow my finger." Chris watched for equal

response in both directions, then he ran his fingers along
Drew's scalp. Beyond a few flecks of glass caught in
Drew's hair, there didn't seem to be any abnormalities.

"I had my seat belt on. It's not like I took a flying

header through the windshield," Drew complained.

"Uh-huh. Hold out your hands and wiggle your

fingers for me." Drew obeyed. Chris ran his hands

carefully down the sides of Drew's neck. "Any neck
pain?"

"No."
Chris' hand continued down Drew's body. Drew

flinched as Chris touched his chest. "Pain?"

"A little. I probably have a few bruises. Big deal."
Lifting Drew's shirt, Chris held the pen light in his

teeth, looking at discolored skin. There was a long
diagonal mark across Drew's chest and stomach,
undoubtedly from the seat belt.

"Any back pain? Or arms or legs?" Chris continued.
"My elbow hurts. I think it got slammed against the

steering wheel. Do you want to kiss it better?" Drew
snapped.

"You are a shitty patient." Chris said, amused by

Drew's irritation.

"I think you're just enjoying bossing me around."
"Mmm, maybe. Take a deep breath for me." Chris

placed the stethoscope against Drew's chest and listened.

"Two lungs and one heart present and accounted

for?" Drew said.

"Yes. You know you're probably going to be sore as

all hell tomorrow."

"Yeah, whatever. I really ought to dig my registration

out of the glove compartment before the car gets towed."
Drew stood up and then wavered. "Whoa…"

Chris leaped to his feet and grabbed hold of Drew.

"Sit down. On the ground." He eased Drew down and
laid him so Drew's head lay on Chris' legs. "You're
okay. I think we can safely assume the adrenaline rush
of the accident has left your system." He stroked a
gentle hand across Drew's cheek.

Drew fisted a hand in the fabric of Chris' shirt and

curled up, burying his face against Chris' stomach. He
muttered "Fuck, fuck, fuck…" as he began to shake.

***

He knew he was breathing too fast, but he couldn't

seem to get a handle on controlling it. Drew cursed
himself for succumbing to such a stupid physical
reaction, but at the same time he was insanely glad that
Chris was there. He'd had that 'oh shit I'm gonna die'
moment as the cars in front of him had slammed on
brakes and begun skidding. After everything had
stopped, he'd shaken the cobwebs out of his brain,
forced the car door open and calmly called 911. In
retrospect, getting out of the car under his own power
less than two minutes after the collision probably hadn't
been too bright.

Drew's teeth chattered together. It was all he could do

just to hang on to the familiar solid presence of his
partner.

Chris wrapped both arms around Drew's body and

pulled Drew up tight to his chest. "It's okay. Really, it's
okay. I've got you. Try to breathe slowly." Chris brushed
his lips along Drew's temple, kissing him lightly.

"S-s-so st-stupid," Drew said.
"It's a common reaction, babe. I have seen hundreds

of people just lose it sometimes an hour after they get to
the ER. They pass out, they cry, scream, just sit and
shake. It's not something you can control."

"Am-m a c-cop." Drew held his breath, trying to will

his body to stop gasping. The tremors shaking his body
were easing off some.

"Weren't you getting on my case just the other day,

telling me it's different when it's personal? You're not
the one out directing traffic and taking statements. You

were one of the people in the destroyed cars." Chris
rubbed a hand on Drew's back.

"Hey is everything okay, Dr. Kearney?" said a voice.
Drew pried his eyes open and looked up to see Ryan,

the EMT, coming toward them.

"He's just really shaken," said Chris. "If you could

give me a hand getting him up and back to my car that
would be great."

"I can do that," said the man.

"Get my registration out of the damned glove

compartment first," Drew said.

"I will. Ryan, can you stay with him while I go find

it?" Chris asked.

"Of course."
After helping Drew sit up straight, Chris headed

toward the smashed car. Drew felt embarrassed. Here he
was, sitting on the pavement like an idiot. He'd finally
managed to stop breathing so hard, but he was still
shaking in fits and starts. The EMT was down on one
knee beside him, with a hand on Drew's shoulder.

"You're one of the lucky ones. A couple of the

drivers got transported. One had to have the roof cut off
to get him out," said the EMT.

"It was disaster movie scary for a few minutes."
"I'll bet. How long have you and Dr. Kearney been

together?"

"Um, about six months." Drew had to count months

in his head.

"He's a good doctor."
Chris came back. "I found it. It's in my pocket. Come

on, let's get you up." The EMT and Chris helped Drew
to his feet. He didn't get the same head rush as before,
but his legs felt all wobbly.

With one man on either side of him, Drew walked

slowly back down the highway to where Chris had
parked. It was probably only a few hundred yards, but it
felt a hell of a lot longer.

As they drove, Drew pulled his phone from his

pocket. "I ought to text Jesse and tell him I'm gonna
need him to swing by and pick me up in the morning,
and I ought to call the Captain and tell him that there's a
possibility I might be late."

"You're going to tell your boss you're taking a sick

day tomorrow."

"Is there something you're not telling me?"
"No. I just know you're underestimating how bad

you're going to feel tomorrow. You would be amazed at
the number of people who show up in the ER the day

after a car accident, thinking something is horrendously
wrong because they didn't hurt the day it happened,"
Chris said.

"Unh." Drew pondered that. He also thought about

Chris' moderately calm response to the whole thing. "I
think I expected you to be more freaked about this thing
tonight."

"Why? Because I care about you?" Chris glanced at

him.

"I guess. I don't know."
"Hon', you might spend your work hours figuring out

who's dealing and who's buying, but mine are keyed in
on deciding who's merely injured and who's circling the
drain. When you got stabbed… it was… it was bad.
Tonight, nowhere near as much, but what merely hurts
now is likely to ache like all hell tomorrow."

"Geez, you're such an optimist."
"I prefer realist."
Drew called work and left appropriate messages with

the sergeant on duty.

***

By the time Chris and Drew got home, Drew felt

steadier but considerably more tired. It took a bit of
concentration to walk inside, and he was guiltily glad
that Chris kept a hand on him all the way upstairs to the
bedroom. He sank wearily onto the bed.

"Stay put. I'm going to get you some ibuprofen and

maybe we can head off some of the muscle aches. Do
you want something to drink? Or food? It'd be better not
to have an empty stomach." asked Chris.

"A glass of water and if you didn't scarf the rest of

the chamomile bread…"

"I was in such a rush to get out the door this morning,

I forgot about it. Back in a minute."

Drew got as far as getting his shoes off and emptying

his pockets onto the nightstand before Chris returned.

Damn… he could already feel the aches from the impact
beginning to set in.

"Do you want some help?" Chris set the things in his

hands on the nightstand too.

"Yeah, I guess so."
Chris eased the shirt up over Drew's head, and Drew

groaned in discomfort. Tossing the shirt on the bed,
Chris slid down the jeans and boxers in one slow
motion. "The seat belt got you on the hip too." Chris'
fingertip grazed lightly over another developing bruise.

Water, some of the chamomile bread he'd made the

day before and some ibuprofen came next, and were
closely followed by a wave of jittery exhaustion. His
muscles threatened to start shaking again.

"Lie down. You really need some rest," said Chris.
"Isn't that usually my line?" Drew was trying for a

light-hearted jab as he stretched out on the bed.

Chris' hands lightly traced all the visible bruises on

Drew's body. "Uh-huh."

The touches were a caress tinged with pain in some

spots and Drew shivered. He wanted Chris' warmth up
against him, the reassurance of care and expertise and
just a touch of crazy.

"Can you… are you coming to bed, too?"
"In about two or three minutes. I have to go back

downstairs, turn off the lights, and make a quick pit stop
in the bathroom."

"Good."
Lights off a few minutes later, Drew lay in the careful

circle of Chris' arms. "Thank you."

"For what?"
"For coming to get me. For not letting me pull stupid

shit, much. For being there when I'm about to have a
meltdown."

"Drew, babe, I love you. Did you think I wouldn't

come?" Chris asked.

"No, no, I figured you'd come unless you were in the

middle of surgery. Just… I want to make sure you know
how much I need you."

***

Coffee in hand, laptop on the kitchen counter, Chris

was having breakfast when he heard a knock on the back
door. He glanced out the window before he opened it,
and saw Drew's partner Jesse.

"Hey, didn't you get the text Drew sent?" Chris

asked, beckoning him inside. Chris returned to his tall
chair at the counter.

"Yeah, I did. Is he okay? I heard some chit chat early

this morning. One of the uniforms said it was a fairly
nasty six-car pileup."

"He's a little banged up, but I checked him out pretty

thoroughly. He'll be okay."

"One of the advantages of being hooked up with a

doctor?" Jesse teased. "Did he change his mind and go
to work anyway?"

"No, he's still asleep."
"Am not," mumbled Drew from the doorway into the

kitchen. He was wearing faded jeans with a blown out
knee and nothing else, hair a tumbled mess. The long
diagonal bruise across his chest was painfully evident.

"Dude, you look rough," said Jesse.
"Feel worse." Drew moved stiffly toward where

Chris sat.

Chris opened his arms and Drew shuffled forward

into the embrace. "Told you," murmured Chris. Drew's
head drooped forward and rested on Chris' shoulder.
Chris placed a line of soft kisses down the side of
Drew's neck.

"You two are worse than a couple of newlyweds,"

Jesse said. Drew lifted a hand and flipped him the
finger, which caused a snort of laughter from Jesse.
"You coming to work tomorrow?"

"Yeah, I'll be there." Drew's answer was tinged with a

groan.

Chapter 14

September

When Chris heard the knock on his front door, he

assumed it was Zach. The other ER doctor had said he
would swing by and drop off a couple of DVDs he'd
borrowed. Opening the door, Chris found himself face to
face with his parents.

"We came to San Diego to attend the opera and

decided we'd drop by and see your new place," said his
father.

"Uh, um, come in," Chris said. God in heaven, what

the hell had he done to deserve this?

"It's a fair bit bigger than your old condo," said his

mother, peering around the entranceway.

"Because I live with my partner," said Chris bluntly.

"Hmm, oh yes, I'd forgotten," commented Miranda

Kearney. She wandered off into the den, looking around.

"Can I get you a cup of coffee or soda?" Chris asked,

forcing himself to be polite.

"Coffee would be fine," replied his father. "Have you

been to Jason's new house yet? Four thousand square
feet, it's amazing." Chris' brother Jason was an attorney
with a large firm in L.A. and raked in a substantial six-
figure salary, more than twice what Chris earned.

"No, not yet. I've been busy," Chris said as he headed

toward the kitchen and pulled some mugs from the
cupboard.

"You look tired, dear," said his mother. She was

eyeing the layout of the kitchen.

"I was working nights this week. I only got off work

a couple of hours ago."

"You really need to get out of the ER thing. With

your vascular background, you could join a cardiology
practice and have much better hours. When did you get
so many pots and pans? You never used to cook." His
mother gestured at the heavily loaded stainless steel pot
rack.

"I still don't. Drew's the one who likes to cook."

"Mmm, I guess that's good. What did you say he

does?"

"He's a cop. He works for the San Diego Police

Department's gang task force." Chris knew full well that
his mother remembered exactly what Drew did, and was
yanking Chris' chain because it wasn't a high paying or
high profile career.

***

The foremost thought in Drew's mind was the desire

for a very long, very hot shower. He and his partner
Jesse had been on a three day undercover op, locating
and busting a meth lab and its cooks. Three days of
hanging with wound-up tweakers who couldn't sit still,
eat a decent meal or be bothered with anything

approaching personal hygiene. His clothes were filthy,
his hair a greasy, tangled mess barely held out of his
face by a rubber band. He hadn't shaved, had only
managed to brush his teeth once in those three days, and
some high as a kite asshole had peed on his shoe. God,
there were days when he wondered if he needed his head
examined for doing this job.

Drew noticed an unfamiliar Jaguar parked out in

front of the house and assumed it belonged to some
colleague of Chris'. He put his key in the lock to the
back door and opened it.

Walking into the mudroom behind the kitchen, Drew

sat on the wooden bench there and removed his shoes.
Damn, he just might have to trash them; they smelled
pretty bad. As he shed his jacket too, sounds of

conversation caught his attention. He didn't recognize
the voices other than Chris'.

He wasn't really in the mood to be social; maybe he

could sneak off in the direction of the master bathroom
without drawing any attention to himself. Padding sock-
footed through the kitchen, he smelled coffee. Lord, he
could kill for a decent cup of coffee. He dug a large mug

out of the cupboard and poured himself a cup, stirring
some sugar into it.

There was motion in the doorway that led to the den.

The woman standing there let out a shriek and dropped
the cup in her hand. It shattered on the floor.

"Mom?" Drew heard Chris yell and his lover came

bolting into the kitchen. "Oh hey, you're home," said
Chris.

The woman stared at Chris in wide-eyed shock. "Y-

you know him?" she choked out. An older man appeared
behind her a moment later.

"Yes, he lives here. Drew, this is my mother,

Miranda. Mom, Detective Drew Hayden, my partner,"
Chris introduced them. "And this is my father, Bill."

"Oh my… I… oh dear… I thought you'd had a break-

in from some drug-crazed burglar," Chris' mother said,

sounding totally flustered.

"Burglars don't usually stop for coffee," Drew

snapped. He let his gaze roam down the designer blouse
and slacks, and the insanely expensive Jimmy Choos.
He winced a little inside. This woman had probably
never faced anyone who'd ever had more than a parking
ticket in her life. Did he really look like he was drugged
out of his mind? As he stood in his own kitchen with a
coffee mug in his hand, it was about all he could do not
to fling his own cup on the floor and snarl something
really nasty.

"I thought you weren't getting home until after five,"

said Chris.

"Got off early," Drew said with a growl in his tone.
"You look beat."
"Yeah."
Chris' hand curled against Drew's neck, and he

started to lean in for a kiss.

"Don't," said Drew. "Just don't. I'm eight kinds of

dirty. I'm gonna go take a shower." He took the coffee
cup with him and headed for the stairs.

***

Chris watched his lover walk out of the room. He

should have known better than to even touch Drew when
he was fresh off an undercover job, but having his
parents there broke the usual pattern. Chris knew that
stripping out of the undercover persona and getting
clean was part of the separation ritual Drew went
through, part of that demarcation between the job and
the other half of life. It was something Chris still hadn't
mastered.

"Chris… Are you sure he's the type of person you

really want to be associated with?" Bill asked as Chris
began cleaning up the broken mug and spilled coffee.

"Type of person?" Chris spat out. "A hard working

police officer who just spent three days undercover
trying to get a batch of drug dealers off the streets?

Yeah, he's exactly the type of person I want to be
associated with!"

"Honey, we're just thinking about your career,"

Miranda said.

"My career is just fine. I think you should go." Chris

was mad. His parents hesitated for a moment, then
departed. Chris locked the door behind them and stalked
back into the kitchen. He sat on one of the tall chairs at
the counter and slowly drank the rest of his own coffee.
He wanted to go upstairs and get in the shower with
Drew and help him clean up, but he'd learned his lesson
about giving Drew transition time. He had no desire to
re-experience the punch to the face he'd gotten the last
time he'd tried to cuddle Drew fresh off an undercover
job.

So Chris dawdled, impatiently watching the clock for

twenty minutes before he went up the stairs. He heard
the shower shut off and he sat down on the edge of the
bed, waiting some more. It was another ten minutes or
so before Drew emerged, a towel wrapped around his
hips, hair wet and loose.

"Are your parents still here?" Drew asked.
"No, they left."

"So I'm guessing they think I'm about one step above

something you scrape off your shoe?"

"Yeah, I guess," Chris said.
"Sorry."
"What the hell are you sorry about?" Chris asked.
"For making things rougher on you."
"There's nothing I could possibly do that would

actually make them totally happy with me. No, I take
that back, there's nothing I'd be willing to do that would
make them happy."

"I thought they were proud you're a surgeon?"
"Yes and no. They'd be much happier if I did tummy

tucks and boob jobs and played golf with the mayor,
instead of dealing with gunshot wounds and stabbings in
a hospital on the edge of the 'hood. Can I touch you
now?" Chris begged.

Drew nodded, and he sank down to sit on the bed

beside Chris. Chris twisted around to slide a leg behind
Drew and pulled him close, placing a long soft kiss on
Drew's mouth.

"You smell a whole lot better," teased Chris.
"Jesus, I hope so. I think I used half a bottle of soap

trying to get all the stench off."

"Your hair's still soaked."
"Oh, yeah, I should have grabbed another towel."
As Chris got up he said, "Stay where you are, I'll get

one." It took only a few seconds to return with a dry
towel. Chris spread it over Drew's head and helped him
dry his hair from soaking to just damp. "Better?"

"Uh-huh," murmured Drew.

"I missed you…" Chris whispered, looping the towel

around Drew's neck. Drew gave him one of those quirky
little smiles that just about melted Chris' heart. Chris
nuzzled along his lover's jaw line, taking in the scent of
soap and the smoothness of freshly shaved skin. "You
miss me?"

"Yes, like hell… but it's also not that simple," Drew

said with a sigh. "When I'm doing the undercover
thing… There are so many layers. This op, I'm supposed

to be the hard ass 'looking to score so I can sell to my
tweaker clients and support my own habit' dealer. Then
there's me and Jesse trying to make sure we've got the
right intel to pass to the uniforms so they can find the
meth labs. If we say the wrong thing, do the wrong
thing, it could get us killed. We're trying to watch each
other's back…Thinking of you, babe, wishing I was
coming home to fix dinner and make out on the couch
with you… That has to be buried down so deep…"

Chris pulled back just enough to look at Drew's face.

There was a tense sadness in his lover's eyes. "But
you're home now, and you're okay, right?"

"I'm getting there."
Chris was slightly disconcerted by the uncertainty in

Drew's tone. He'd learned over the past months that
while his own stress issues came out as fairly overt

physical actions, Drew's tended to be subtle, sometimes
involved talking more, but touching less, indicating that
he was somehow afraid the violence of his job would
overflow into their relationship.

"Are you hungry? Do you want to throw something

together for a late lunch?" Chris asked, trying to take a
cue from Drew's comments.

"Yeah, I do. I think the only stuff I've eaten in the

past three days has been soda and junk food."

***

Back in the kitchen, Drew put a pot of water on the

stove for making pasta, while he chopped vegetables and
kielbasa to sauté. It wasn't a particularly epic thing to do
for a meal, but at least it qualified as real food. Gran
would be proud of him, he thought. Behind him, Chris
slid an arm around his waist and snuggled against his
back, lips brushing against Drew's neck.

"My parents are going to be in town for a couple of

days. Do you think it's worth trying to have dinner with
them? Maybe we could convince them you're… I

dunno… respectable or something?" Chris asked.

"And how likely is that to be successful?"
"I don't know. Probably only partially, but there's a

chance we might be able to impress upon them that they
met you under just about the worst possible
circumstances, fresh off an undercover job and all."

"And get to show 'em how a poor white trash cop can

clean up nice?" Drew said, letting a little hint of a drawl
color his voice.

"Poor white… I think your mother, the college

English professor, would take exception to being called
trash," Chris commented. He rapped his knuckles on the
back of Drew's skull.

Drew had to chuckle. Chris was right; Mom would

take exception. The little midwestern college she taught
for might not be Big Ten, but it had a good reputation,
and his childhood had been filled with classical

literature, fine art and music lessons. "Yeah, she would
read me the riot act," he admitted.

"If we do this, should we invite them here or is it

going to be easier to escape if we all meet at a
restaurant?"

"Hmm, I vote for the restaurant. It's neutral territory,

more or less. Just pick some place that won't have a cow
if I put my arm around you." Drew dumped the meat and
vegetables in the pan along with some garlic and olive
oil.

"How upscale should I shoot for?"
"How should I know? They're your parents," Drew

replied.

"Someplace with a decent wine list but not too many

forks then."

Drew finished preparing dinner and dished it out. He

and Chris ate at the breakfast bar.

"Are you ready for the making out on the couch

part?" Chris asked.

Drew smiled and shook his head a little. "Dropping

hints, are you?" Chris laughed a little and tugged on
Drew's wrist until he slid off the stool and followed

Chris to the sofa. Chris pushed him down on the
cushions and settled beside him.

Drew leaned back and pulled Chris against his chest.

Chris' arms wound around Drew's body and they stayed
that way for quite a while. It made Drew think about the
unique type of stress his undercover work put on Chris.
His partner had already been down the road of having to
put his hands inside Drew's stabbed, bleeding body
once. He suspected there were moments when that
haunted Chris.

"Love you," he whispered against Chris' forehead.

Chris tilted his face up toward Drew's and they began to
kiss. It was long and slow and Drew savored the
softness of his lover's mouth. Slow was good. Slow was
something Chris was still learning, but he was getting a
lot better at it. Chris' fingers were threaded through

Drew's long loose hair. He could feel the ridge of Chris'
cock grinding against his thigh. His own arousal was
building too. Drew pulled at the back of Chris' t-shirt,
working it up over Chris' head and off. Better. Now he
could run his hands along his lover's back.

"No fair," muttered Chris between nips at Drew's jaw

and throat. Those nimble fingers had Drew's shirt up and
off almost before he realized it. Damn… he should be
used to Chris' ability to effortlessly strip him by now. A
smile curved Drew's lips and was quickly followed by a
gasp as Chris began tracing a nipple with his tongue.

The building arousal was all the way there now.

Drew's cock was hard and aching, and his jeans were
feeling way too tight. Apparently Chris had a solution to
that problem and Drew's fly was quickly unzipped. His
cock immediately bobbed free.

"Oh, going commando on me, huh?" Chris teased.
"Since I only took a shower an hour ago, it seemed

kinda pointless to bother with underwear if I was
considering getting naked with you this afternoon."

"You sound pretty certain of your chances for getting

lucky."

"You're the one who asked me if I was ready for the

making out part, babe," Drew replied.

Chris snickered and dipped his head to lick his way

down the center of Drew's belly. When he reached the
tip of Drew's prick, he tongued the leaking slit, then
closed his lips lightly on taut, swollen skin. Drew
bucked up into the gentle assault. Chris scooted further
down Drew's body and sucked on his balls. Oh hell, that
was a toe curling sensation. Chris' warm mouth nibbled
up the underside of his cock.

"Mmm, I think you need to lose the jeans," Chris

said. His hand cupped under Drew's sac but his fingers
only grazed the opening behind them. The angle was too
awkward.

Drew planted his feet and lifted his butt as Chris

pulled the jeans down and off. It also gave him a

moment to regain a little control. Much good that did. In
seconds Chris' mouth was doing fabulously obscene
things, tongue teasing all around the tip of Drew's
cock… then it was gone. Huh, what? Drew opened his
eyes.

Chris was shucking his own clothes. He pulled a tube

of slick and a condom out of the pocket of his pants.

"Been planning this long?" Drew teased.
"Oh yeah, a whole half hour." Chris rolled the

condom down Drew's cock and slicked him well before
straddling Drew.

Chris eased down and Drew was sheathed in tight

heat. Drew curled his hands around Chris' hips, letting
his lover set the pace. He felt the climax start low in his
belly and explode outward through his body, leaving
him gasping in pleasure. Chris followed moments later,
spurting come up across Drew's stomach.

Pulling Chris down into a kiss, Drew whispered,

"Coming home to you has definitely been the best part
of my day."

***

Fennini's was a bit more upscale than Drew had

hoped for when he'd agreed to go to dinner with Chris
and his parents. Dressed in one of the suits he wore for
court appearances, Drew waited with Chris while the
maitre d' asked a staff member whether the table was
ready.

"I thought we were going someplace without too

many forks," muttered Drew.

Chris gave him a smile. "It's not as bad as you think. I

got reservations with only three hours' notice and the
menus actually have the prices on them. I'm told they
have good martinis, which my dad likes."

"What do I call them? Mr. and Mrs. Kearney?"
"Bill and Miranda is probably fine. Relax, it's not a

job interview and if they're not impressed, I don't give a
rat's ass because you're mine and that's not going to

change." Chris squeezed Drew's hand.

They were shown to a table and Chris' parents arrived

a few minutes later. Drew thought Bill Kearney seemed
fairly friendly but Miranda seemed to be giving him the
hairy eyeball.

"Do you spend much time doing undercover work?"

Miranda asked.

Drew wondered what she was fishing for. "A few

days a month."

"Is it dangerous?"
"Sometimes." He figured he wouldn't mention the

getting stabbed in the line of duty part.

"Why would you choose a career like that?" she

asked.

"Because I think I can make a difference. I like to

think I'm one of the guys in the white hats."

"That makes you sound a bit like my son," said Bill.
Drew wasn't sure how to take the comment.
Later when Drew and Chris walked back out to the

car, Chris pulled him into a warm kiss.

"What's that for?" asked Drew, standing in the circle

of Chris' arms.

"For being willing to say what you believe in, instead

of inventing something you might have thought they
wanted to hear."

"I meant it."
"I know, and that's one of the reasons I love you."

Chapter 15

Late September

It had taken nearly three weeks for Jesse and Drew to

set up a new meth buy. The game plan was to purchase
just enough to whet the appetite of the dealer, with a
promise to buy a larger amount a week or two later. This
way the sting by the SDPD gang task force could get a
substantial chunk of the drug off the street at the same
time that it busted several levels of dealers.

At this moment, things weren't going according to

plan.

"It's really good shit. You oughta try it," said Tomas.

The dealer wore a tight tank t-shirt with a much looser
black shirt over top, all the better to just barely hide the
big 0.45 he had tucked in the top of his jeans. A gaudy

gold and diamond ring adorned one finger.

Drew tilted his head a little like he was trying to

decide if he believed the comment about the quality.
Inside, he was damn near panicking. He was supposed to
be buying for resale not trying the stuff out. He cast a
casual glance at Jesse, looking for a clue at what his
partner thought of this sticky situation.

"Whataya think? Is it good enough to waste my time

with?" Drew asked. He heard the soft clicking of the
dealer's muscle man cocking his gun. Was there any
chance he and Jesse could make it out of there without
getting shot if he said no?

Jesse gave him a casual shrug. "Yeah, whatever man.

You want to sample the product, that's your biz."

Drew knew that that translated to Jesse agreeing that

this was the only way they were likely to get out of this
unharmed. "Okay, light some up for me."

It took a minute or so for Tomas to wave a lighter

flame under the little glass pipe. All the while Drew was
damn near tempted to go ahead and risk getting shot just
avoid the having to take the meth. He was handed the

pipe and he went through the motions he'd seen in far
too many tweakers.

It took only a minute for the drug to actually hit his

bloodstream. He could feel his pulse accelerate and he
began to sweat. It was like skidding a car in the middle
of high speed chase, that thin edge where the world is
hyper-real and you wonder if you're about to die. The
feeling transitioned into a frantic buzz and he could feel
his muscles begin to shake as his vision did weird glowy
things. He was totally uncertain how much time had
passed when his eyes finally settled enough to focus.

"So?" Tomas asked. "You like it?"
"Yeah, good fucking shit. I want." Drew's voice

sounded too fast and his mind was racing ninety miles
an hour too. He could pull this off. He could get himself
and Jesse out of this mess. And. And. And…

He was barely aware of what happened afterward,

until he was walking swiftly down the street, carrying a

gym bag half full of meth. He was so wired he wanted to
run and run and run until… He didn't know until what.

"We gotta get you out of here and someplace safe,"

said Jesse.

"I am so ungodly fucked," Drew replied, pulling

together just enough thought to know that this could
destroy his career.

"Maybe. It was a totally 'do or die' situation, man.

We'll figure something out. Get in the car," Jesse
ordered.

***

When Chris got home from his shift he'd expected a

dark and silent house; Drew was on an undercover job
tonight. He was slightly mystified that the lights were
on. Chris let himself in. He could hear the treadmill
going in the den and the sounds of talking.

He went toward the noise. In the den, Drew was on

the treadmill pounding away at a fair speed. His partner

Jesse was watching him from only a few feet away.

"When it's over, we'll put our heads together and

decide how we want to tell this to the Captain," said
Jesse. "Are you listening?"

"Yeah… trying… feeling like I have the focus of a

two-year-old," panted Drew.

"Hey, I thought I wasn't going to see you until

tomorrow," said Chris.

"Yeah, uh… problems," said Drew.
"Okay… Are you all right? Why don't you stop and

you can tell me about it?" suggested Chris, beginning to
realize there was something definitely wrong. Drew was
still in a filthy t-shirt and jeans. There was no evidence
that he'd begun his usual routine of getting clean and
transitioning out of his undercover mode.

"Our op almost went very bad," Jesse began. He

looked at Drew and Drew made a gesture to keep going.

"The only way we got out… was for Drew to try the
meth the guy was selling."
It took a moment for Chris to process the information.

"You're tripping on meth?" Chris asked.
Drew nodded. "If I keep running, it gives me a handle

on controlling it. It gives me a focus… sort of…"

"Damn, that shit is dangerous. How long ago did you

take it?" Chris demanded. Drew raised his hands
uncertainly.

"About two hours," answered Jesse. "It wasn't a big

dose, but I think it was pretty high potency. I figure he's
got two, maybe three hours before it starts to wear off."

"Fuck," muttered Chris. "How many miles have you

run?"

"Uh… nine," Drew said.
"Quit. That's more than twice what you usually run. I

know it probably doesn't hurt now, but tomorrow you
are going to hurt big time."

"Can't. If I stop I feel like I'm totally losing control."
Chris was mentally scrambling. "Okay, here's what

we're going to do. I'll go get my prescription pad and
write a couple of scripts for some sedatives. Jesse can go

get them filled at the all-night pharmacy on Grove
Street. That sound like a plan?"

Jesse hastily agreed. When Chris returned with the

prescriptions, he said, "Off, now. While he goes to the
pharmacy, I want to check your vitals and get you in the
shower. You're flushed and drenched with sweat and I'm
willing to bet your temperature is seriously elevated."

Drew looked reluctant, but he pushed the stop button

on the treadmill.

***

Up in the bedroom, Drew let Chris help him strip.

His sweat-soaked clothes were plastered to his skin. As
Chris peeled down Drew's boxers, the graze of his
lover's hand across his cock was somewhere between

torture and bliss. He was more than half hard before
Chris ordered him to step out of the clothes.

"I wanna fuck you," begged Drew, trying to draw

Chris into a sloppy kiss.

"No," said Chris flatly, turning his head away from

the kiss.

"God, I need to get off so bad." Drew gently pushed

Chris back until he sprawled across the bed. "Want
you," he whispered. His cock was achingly hard and he
squirmed against the familiar body of his lover.

"We are not going to have sex. You're wired out of

your mind."

Fury mixed with confusion in Drew's head and he

rolled off of Chris. Why wouldn't his partner have sex
with him? They did it all the time, why not now?
Something else niggled in the back of his speeding
brain, suggesting maybe Chris had a point. Oh God, he
hurt though. Drew reached down and started stroking
himself. A little self-help might ease the pain.

"Drew," Chris started. His face was a mask of worry.

"Okay, I don't guess anybody ever killed themselves
jerking off. I'm going to start the shower." He got up off
the bed and walked into the bathroom.

Need to… Got to… Drew was jacking himself hard.

It felt like he was getting close, but he couldn't actually
get there. His body was screaming at him for a release
and his mind was churning with demands of why the
hell was he doing this.

"Drew, what the-- Jesus, honey, you're going to hurt

yourself." Firm hands took his wrists and Drew
struggled against the restraint. "Drew. Drew! Open your
eyes and look at me," Chris ordered.

Drew gritted his teeth and forced himself to obey.
"You're stuck aren't you?" Chris asked. Drew

managed a nod. "I can probably fix it, but I'm not sure
you're going to like this. I know you're not really very
lucid right now, but can you give me some clue you
understand?"

"Uh-huh… please…" Drew whispered. He tried to lie

still while Chris grabbed the lube from the bedside table.
The push of Chris' cold slick fingers against his ass was
a mix of slight relief and enhanced frustration, but it
only took a couple of hard presses against his prostate to
tip him the rest of the way. Drew came so hard, his
vision went black and a scream tore his throat as his
muscles clenched and spasmed and turned into a long
blur of ecstasy that quickly crossed over into pain.

When Drew's awareness finally returned, Chris was

cradling him in his arms, rocking him and whispering.
"Breathe, honey, just breathe, nice and slow."

***

Chris let Drew sit on the floor in the shower. Keeping

him standing was too hard with all the muscle tremors
going on. His medical training told Chris that his lover
was starting what was probably going to be a very hard
crash from the restless manic high of the drug.

"I shouldn't have… It was dumb… I should've taken

a bullet instead…" Drew was mumbling an endless
litany of self-doubt.

After Chris finally finished rinsing the film of sweat

from his lover's body, he helped Drew back to the
bedroom and into a clean pair of boxers. Jesse returned
from the pharmacy about that time too.

Chris dosed Drew with 20mg of Valium, a fairly

heavy dose, hoping the medication would ease Drew
into sleep.

"He looks like absolute shit," Jesse said.
"And tomorrow he's going to feel like he got dragged

under a truck," added Chris. "Any ideas what you're
going to do about the whole incident?"

"Not exactly. Mostly just tell the truth and hope the

brass believes we didn't have a choice."

***

He felt like he'd been chewed up and puked off a

cliff. Drew opened his eyes a slit. The curtains were
cracked just a little and sunlight peeked through. Every
major muscle group screamed in protest as Drew levered
himself out of bed and staggered to the bathroom. Even
his dick hurt, and the skin on it appeared to be rubbed
half raw in a couple of places.

"I'm surprised you can even walk," said Chris from

the doorway of the bathroom.

"Yeah, me too," replied Drew.
"You want coffee or a shower?"
"Coffee." Drew half shuffled, half stumbled his way

back to the bed and sank onto it, slouching against the
headboard. Chris returned with coffee in a couple of
minutes.

"I'm having a hard time understanding why anyone

would want to feel like that," said Drew, then he
chugged down about half the contents of the cup.

"I don't think everyone experiences meth the same

way. And it's not like you did it exactly voluntarily."
Chris brushed a hand along Drew's cheek.

"I could have raped you…" Drew whispered.

"It wouldn't have been rape. It might have been

significantly rougher than we usually go at it, but it still
would have been you and me."

"That doesn't make…" Drew wasn't sure how he felt

about Chris' take on the event, so he switched gears.
"Why… why did it hurt so fucking much? I thought
orgasms on meth were supposed to be some kind of
nirvana thing."

"I don't know, but I suspect it had to do with how

hard you were fighting the whole experience. In your
twisted little understated way, you can be more of a
control freak than I am. And the drug stripped away
nearly every shred of control you had. All you had left
was a thread of stubborn willpower. Think about it. You
got on the treadmill and ran yourself to exhaustion so
that you and Jesse could attempt to think things through.

When I said no, you tried to solve the arousal problem
yourself, rather than force the issue with me. At your
core, you are a loving and honorable person, and not
even a bad drug trip can change that about you." Chris
kissed Drew softly.

Drew traced a finger along Chris' mouth, those soft,

tender lips. "There are things about me you don't know.
There are some things I've done that I'm very, very
ashamed of. Bad things." Emotion raged through him
and unshed tears burned in his eyes.

"Recently?"
"No."
"When?"
"I was a teenager."
"Lot of us do some pretty stupid shit as teenagers."
"There's a difference between stupid and criminal."
It took a moment for Chris to think about that

implication. Drew had hinted more than once at
something dark in his past. Now was probably as good a
time as any to try and pry it out of Drew. "Did you steal
a car or a candy bar?" Chris was going for a humorous
opening.

Drew blinked then gave Chris a lopsided smile. "A

little of both."

"So you were one of the bad boys in high school?"
"I… got involved with the wrong people my

sophomore year. My dad walked out of the picture when
I was two years old and I guess I could have done with a
good male role model, or maybe just somebody to beat
my ass when I got too far out of line."

"Keep going."
"We did a little joy riding, we roughed up a couple of

other kids. There was some petty larceny and some
vandalism… then somewhere along the line it changed. I
started getting uncomfortable and tried to step away just
a little."

"But I'm guessing that didn't fly too well?"
"One night a couple of months into my junior year,

several of the thugs I was hanging around with started
razzing a girl from the school. She was cute and curvy
and had something of a reputation as easy. I don't really
know if it was true or not." Drew stood up and walked
across the room and stared out the window. "I was high
as a kite. It was the first time and last time I ever tried
cocaine. They… they gang raped her. I didn't
participate… but I didn't stop them either. I didn't go
home that night and I think my mother wondered if I'd
run away."

"Did you?"
"Only as far as a lonely country road, where I could

think and pace and try to figure out what the hell I was
going to do."

"And then?"
"The next day I told my mother some partial truths.

Not the whole thing but enough that I'm pretty sure she
guessed the most of the rest. She took me two hundred
miles away to my paternal granddad's farm and made
arrangements for me to go to school in the town where
he lived. A month later she quit her job and moved there
too. I spent the next two years finishing school, baling

hay, shoveling horse shit and getting my head on
straight."

"It sounds to me like you are exactly the person I

know you to be."

"That girl… she committed suicide six months later."

Drew stared out the window, not seeing the grass of the
backyard or the patio table, instead he saw the obituary
from the newspaper with its little three inch statement.

He heard Chris pad softly across the room and felt

Chris nuzzle his face against the back of his neck.
Strong arms slipped around his body and held him.

"You didn't hurt anybody then, and you didn't hurt

me last night. No matter what you think you might be
capable of, you've made the best of bad situations."
Chris' voice was gentle.

Maybe it was the aftermath of the meth, maybe it was

the unconditional love from his partner, but something
cracked inside Drew. He turned and buried his face
against Chris' shoulder and sobbed. He hurt inside and
out. The tears flowed hot down his face.

Chris just held him, one hand rubbing Drew's back.

***

Internal Affairs immediately got involved in the

incident regarding Drew, Jesse and the meth. There were
a couple of tense days, but the ultimate decision was a
week's suspension, followed by two weeks of desk duty.
Both Drew and Jesse heaved sighs of relief. It could
have been so much worse on many fronts.

There was still a mile and a half of paperwork to be

dealt with afterward.

***

In the department office, Drew took a brief break and

pulled a thin stack of printouts from his desk drawer.

Apparently this action caught Jesse's attention, where he
sat at a desk across from Drew's.

"What are all those pages you're looking at?" Jesse

asked. "Is that jewelry?"

"Uh… yeah," Drew reluctantly admitted.
Jesse leaned over to peer at the sheaf of paper.

"Weddings rings? Are you and Chris gonna do the legal
thing?"

"I… maybe… I don't know."
"You're gonna spring it on him aren't you?"
"I'm thinking about it. I just don't know if he'll say

yes."

"You two have been together for what, seven maybe

eight months? You got a house together. Most every
time I see you guys together, you're both all touchy
feely. Why wouldn't he say yes?"

"It's not so much that I think he might say no. It's

more like I'm not sure if he thinks that magic piece of

paper is actually necessary, that so long as we're
together, that's enough."

"Okay…" Jesse said slowly. "Why do you want that

magic piece of paper?"

"'Cause I'm a freaking hopeless romantic, and even

though I don't get to have the white picket fence and the
two point five kids, I want just a little piece of happy
ever after."

"You could adopt."
"Say what? Did you just suggest I should get a kid?"
"It's not impossible. A cop and a surgeon? That'd

look way impressive on any adoption form. And hey, we
live in California, I know there's gotta be some agencies
that specialize in GLBT families," Jesse commented.

"Damn, and here I thought you'd be telling me I'd lost

my mind."

"Dude, Latino here. Marriage, kids, family… it's a

very big thing in my world."

"So why're you doing the chick of the month thing?"
"Huh-uh, we aren't going there. I'm not ready for

wedding rings and diapers yet."

"Maybe you haven't met the right woman yet… or

the right man," Drew teased.

"Eww. I happen to like boobs."
"Tits are nice and soft, but overrated. A tight ass on

the other hand…"

"No way, we are not talking about your dick and

Chris' ass!"

"What makes you assume I'm a top?" Drew couldn't

resist jerking Jesse's chain.

"Not listening!" Jesse stuck his fingers in his ears and

sang "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" loudly and off key.

***

Chris answered his phone. "Hey, Del, what's up?"
"I need a favor. A pretty big favor."
"Okay…" he said slowly.
"I need you to borrow a fetal Doppler from Labor and

Delivery and bring it to me over at the Santa Lucia
Women's Shelter."

He was silent for a moment. He knew that one day a

month Delilah volunteered at a women's shelter a few
miles from the hospital. She saw the victims of abuse
passing through the ER often enough that she felt she
needed some sort of emotional continuity. There had to
be women who finally had the courage to take advantage
of an extended hand and get themselves out of horrific
situations. Delilah wanted to be one of the people who
helped support those kinds of tough decisions.

"Why?" he asked.
"It's complicated. I have a woman here who got beat

up by her boyfriend and she says she's almost five
months pregnant. She's worried about the baby," Del
explained. “She got into a fight with her boyfriend
earlier today and he hit her several times, one of them on
her belly. Marguerite, that’s her name, then escaped
from the apartment she shared with her boyfriend, and

sought refuge at the shelter. She’s refusing to press
charges because her fifteen-year-old sister, Ariel, lives
with her, and she’s afraid Ricky will take out his rage on
Ariel. She’s tried to contact Ariel to tell her to come to

the shelter too, but had no success, so Marguerite’s
refusing to go the hospital to get checked out."

"It would make more sense to bring her to the ER.

Call an ambulance if you need to,” suggested Chris.

"I can't. There's… immigration issues."
"Oh."

"Please. It's not like I'm asking you to do something

illegal,” Del begged.

"Okay, give me half an hour."

***

It took a little sweet talking and skirting the truth, but

Chris got a hold of the fetal Doppler. He also borrowed
a trauma kit from the closet used to resupply the EMS
trucks. Better over-prepared than under. If he didn't need

the supplies in it, great. If he needed them and didn't
have them, it would make things far more dangerous.

It took slightly more than the half hour he'd

estimated, but it was the best he could do. Pulling into
the small parking lot beside the shelter, he momentarily
wished he owned a less conspicuous car than a silver
gray Porsche, especially in this area. Chris touched the
heavy weight of the taser in his pocket.

He went into the shelter. A woman he didn't know

was at the front desk.

"I'm looking for Delilah Frankel. My name is Chris

Kearney, she asked me to bring her some medical
supplies." He showed the woman the two bags in his
hand.

"Let me call back and let her know you're here. She

did tell me that a doctor friend of hers was coming." The
woman picked up the phone on the desk. Shortly, Chris
was sent through the main door into the rest of the
building.

Delilah met him in the hallway. "Any problems?"

"No, not really. Weiman up in Labor and Delivery

thought I was off my rocker, but as I long as I bring it
back, she is okay with it," replied Chris. They turned

down another hall. He could see a series of rooms that
contained metal frame single beds and a night stand.
Delilah led him into one of them. On the bed, a plump
young Hispanic woman sat flipping through a magazine.
One side of her face was bruised and there was a mark
on her neck. Her left wrist was badly swollen.

"Marguerite, this is Chris. He's a friend of mine. He

brought some equipment to help check on your baby,"
Delilah explained.

"Hello. Del told me you're worried about the fact you

were hit today, that you thought it might have hurt your
baby." Chris sat on the edge of the bed, and set the bags
on the floor. The woman looked nervous.

"Si. He so mad. He hit me. My face, my arm, he push

me and I fall on the floor, and he try to choke me."
Marguerite's hand twisted a fold of the blanket on the

bed.

"Is it okay if I touch you? I would like to examine

your face and your arm." He decided it might be less
threatening if he didn't asked her to lie down and pull up
her shirt first thing.

She nodded. Chris touched his fingers along her face.

Nothing felt out of place, even though she flinched in
discomfort. He checked her pupils. Nothing unusual
showed there. Her wrist, however, was a different
matter. It was a classic defensive maneuver: put your
arms up to protect your head and end up with a wrist
injury. Chris was moderately sure Marguerite had a
fracture, not a bad one, but short of doing an X-ray he
could only guess based on what his fingers told him.

"I think you may have broken your wrist. It would be

really helpful if you came to the hospital and had it X-
rayed," he suggested.

She shook her head in refusal. "My baby… please?"
"If you could lie down and pull up your shirt some

that would be really helpful."

Marguerite glanced at Delilah.
"It's okay. He needs to listen for the baby's

heartbeat," Del said.

The woman lay back on the bed and pulled her shirt

up, exposing her belly.

Chris carefully felt his way along the curve of her

belly. It had been years since his OB rotation. "Have you
had any prenatal care?" he asked. "Do you know how
many weeks pregnant you are?"

"I go to clinic once, last month. Doctor say four

months."

Chris felt again and then pulled a stethoscope out of

the bag. "Are you sure? I'm not an OB but it feels a lot
further along than that."

Marguerite shrugged.
Listening in several spots, Chris wasn't sure he heard

anything. That was neither good nor bad, he knew a
regular stethoscope could be unpredictable depending on
which way the fetus was turned. He switched to the

Doppler monitor, squeezing conducting gel on
Marguerite's belly. It took a couple of tries, then he
found it. The fetal heartbeat was chugging away like a
tiny train engine. The woman smiled.

"It sounds good. I think your baby's probably okay,"

said Chris.

"Estaba muy preocupada. Mi estomago ha estado

doliendo un poco."

"Uh, what? I'm sorry my Spanish is really bad,"

apologized Chris. He'd caught the words for belly and
hurt or pain. He put his hand flat on her stomach, palm
slimed by the conducting gel. It was rigid. Oh hell…
that felt like a contraction. He looked up at Delilah. "Get
me out some gloves. Is there a bathroom where I wash
my hands?"

"Across the hall. Chris?" Delilah gave him a worried

look. "Is something wrong?"

"I think she might be in labor. I'm really hoping not

because if she is five months, the baby is going to be
very premature. I need to do a pelvic; if she's dilating,
we need an ambulance."

"No ambulance. No hospital!" Marguerite snapped.

"Calm down," Delilah sat on the bed beside

Marguerite and took her uninjured hand, as Chris went
to scrub up.

By the time he had done as good as job as an average

bathroom with a bar of soap allowed, Del had convinced
Marguerite to strip off her pants and underwear and she
was lying under the blanket with her toes peeking out.
Marguerite looked both nervous and uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry, but I really need to put my hand inside

you," Chris said. "Did you bleed at all today?" He put on
a pair of gloves from the trauma kit.

"No," Marguerite whispered." No blood. It hurt when

I fall. I… pee-pee in my pants. No blood."

Urine? Could that have been amniotic fluid? Chris

wondered. "Is this your first baby?"

"Si."

"Bend your knees for me." He folded the blanket

back a bit and used a couple of fingers to perform a
pelvic check. That took about two seconds, because she
was fully dilated and the infant's head was starting to
descend.

"Señor, it hurts," whimpered Marguerite.
"Call an ambulance now," said Chris. "And tell them

to send a neonatal unit."

Panic flickered through Del's eyes, but she did

exactly as he said and then started grabbing supplies out
of the trauma bag.

"Miss Del?" Marguerite whimpered.
"It'll be okay. Your baby is coming right now. Try to

stay calm," Delilah said.

Chris gave up on offering Marguerite modesty and

pulled the blanket all the way off. She frowned at him
and then her face contorted. She made a little sound of
pure pain.

"Push, like you're on the toilet," said Chris. If this

baby was months premature, the faster it was delivered,
the better its chances. It was already almost crowning, so
there was no possibility of delaying this.

He'd delivered exactly one baby before, in the ER,

with help and resuscitation equipment less than two
steps away. He had almost nothing here. At least the
heartbeat had been strong only a few minutes ago. He
might not have to try to do CPR on a premature
newborn if he was lucky.

Marguerite made another whimper of pain and her

teeth clenched as the next contraction came.

Chris could see the top of the head. "Come on, honey,

just a couple more pushes. It'll be done." His mind was
racing, trying to anticipate what he could do if
Marguerite started hemorrhaging or something else went
wrong.

The head emerged and then, with one more push, the

rest of the baby slipped free. Chris caught it carefully
and lifted it. It jerked, flailed and made a tiny bleating

scream. The baby was big enough to fill both his hands.
He made a fast guess that it weighed at least five
pounds, and seemed to be breathing just fine.

"It's a boy," he said. "I think you were a lot more than

five months. He's a little small, but he's nice and pink
and breathing just fine."

Marguerite gave Chris a relieved grin.
"Del, can you cut the cord? And do we have

something to wrap him in? I don't want him to get
chilled before the ambulance gets here."

Delilah picked up a couple of hemostats to clamp the

cord and cut it with a pair of trauma shears. She went
out of the room and came back with a pair of baby
blankets as Chris was lying the newborn on Marguerite's
chest.

Together they tucked the blankets around the baby,

trying to make sure the warmth of the mother was
protecting the newborn.

Chris grinned at Del. "I think he's okay. If he is early,

I think it's not by more than a couple of weeks. God, he's
only the second one I've ever delivered."

"I knew I could count on you to come through in a

pinch." Del kissed Chris on the forehead, then she

turned to Marguerite. "You have to go to the hospital.
We need to make sure you and your baby are okay.
They'll be checking your arm too. Okay?"

Marguerite gave Del a resigned nod.
Delilah went off to let the lady running the front desk

know that an ambulance was coming. A couple more
women looked into the room to see what was going on.
Chris shooed them out and returned to his task of
checking Marguerite's blood pressure and the status of
her afterbirth bleeding.

When another figure appeared in the doorway, Chris

cast a cursory glance, expecting it be Del or one of the
other women. He was startled to see a large, muscular
Hispanic man in jeans and a dirty button-down shirt that
might once have been blue.

" Ricky!" Marguerite blurted out.

"Por que estas aqui! Quien es este hombre?"

Chris stood up as the man barged into the room. Too

many years of working the ER told him with one good
look the man was either drunk or stoned.

"Un medico, una para mi bebe. No se puende estar

aqui!"

"Sir, you need to leave," said Chris. He put himself

between the man and Marguerite. There was no way he
was letting this angry moron near his patient.

"Get the fuck out of my way!" the man yelled, his

accent heavy and slurred. He began fumbling in his
pocket and came up with a big lock-back knife that he
opened with a snap of his wrist.

"No. You need to leave." Chris finally remembered

the taser in his own pocket. He pulled it out and aimed it
in the direction of the man.

"Piss-ant bastard." The man waved the knife in Chris'

direction.

Chris thumbed the cover off the button and pushed it.

Two barb end wires shot out and struck the man in the
chest, delivering 50,000 volts. The man jerked and
stiffened and fell twitching to the floor. The charge

continued for several more seconds, and left the man
limp and moaning.

There was a yelp from down the hall and a moment

later Delilah and a uniformed cop came practically
skidding in the doorway. Chris stood there half-frozen,
staring at his assailant.

"Shit, that must be the boyfriend," said Del.
"He had a knife…" Chris began as the cop dropped to

one knee, rolled the man over, and kicked the knife over
into the corner. "I thought they were sending EMTs,"
said Chris.

"We're in the hall with a stretcher," said a male voice.
"In this area, they always send a patrol car with the

ambulance," explained Delilah. "With good reason."

Chris was still holding the taser. He'd just zapped the

hell out of some guy with a knife. Right after he'd

delivered a baby… He swallowed hard and laid the taser
on the floor. It was more than a little disconcerting to
realize that if he'd owned a gun instead of a taser, he still
would have pulled the trigger.

The cop cuffed the man and hauled him out the door,

making room for one of the EMTs to come in.

Marguerite watched her boyfriend being led away.

Her expression seemed to be one of shock.

It took a good ten minutes to make sure Marguerite

was stable and get her loaded in the ambulance. The
baby seemed in good condition, too. Chris still felt
slightly dazed by the events.

"This day is going to be engraved in memory for a

while," said Delilah, as the ambulance pulled away.

"Undoubtedly."
Chris put the borrowed equipment in his car and

drove back to the hospital to return it. By the time he
made it home, the jittery elation and bewildered scare
was fading. This was one of the days when he worked
and Drew didn't. That was always a mixed blessing, but
it also meant Drew would probably be cooking.

Chris caught the scent of cooking meat mixed with

sweeter smells as he came in the back door, and he
suddenly realized how hungry he was.

Drew cast a glance over his shoulder as he heard

Chris come in. "You're late. I was beginning to wonder
if you got stuck in the OR."

"It was… a little more involved than that." Chris

peered into the pot Drew was casually stirring.
"Apples?"

"I haven't made stewed apples in a while. It's fall, and

it seemed appropriate. You okay?" Drew laid the spoon
down and turned to face Chris. He gently pulled Chris
against him.

"Yeah, I'm okay. This afternoon was surreal." The

story of Marguerite and the baby and the boyfriend and
the taser tumbled out of Chris.

"Wow." Drew's eyes widened. He very gently tapped

his fist on Chris' jaw. "I'm proud of you. You protected
her and the baby and you. And you didn't panic."

"The panic all went into the part where I thought I

was going to have to resuscitate a baby that was four
months premature."

"So I guess her estimate was off by quite a bit."
"I'd say so. A lot of the low income and illegal

population gets precious little prenatal care. The baby
was small, but I've seen a few full-term babies hardly
any bigger."

"I hope the boyfriend gets put away. A new mom

with a tiny baby is a dangerous situation in the world of
abuse. I've seen situations where the father kills them
both. You do know that you're probably going to get
called to court to press charges if she doesn't?" Drew

said.

"One of the cops who hauled the boyfriend away

mentioned it. I have no problem with doing that,
especially if it keeps them safe. Is dinner ready? I'm
about to keel over from hunger."

***

Stuffed full of pot roast, stewed apples, and

buttermilk biscuits, Chris found himself playing with
Drew's hand at the kitchen table. Tracing his fingertips
along Drew's strong blunt fingers, he mused on their
dexterity. Chris knew their skill in cooking, the strum of
a guitar, and how they felt on his own skin. That last bit
was something he wanted badly tonight, but not in the
same way he usually burned for it. No bent over the
chair, up against a wall, or blow job in the shower
version. Instead, he wanted it slow.

"Do we still have a bottle of wine in the fridge?"

Chris asked.

"I think so."
"Let's grab a couple of glasses and take it out in the

backyard."

The backyard had a recent addition: a big swing that

hung between two A-frame supports. Chris had been
dubious about buying it when Drew had suggested it,
thinking they'd never use it. He'd been surprised that it
was beginning to turn into one of his favorite spots. The
yard was protected by high fencing that screened out a
lot of the street noise and provided a tranquil outdoor
space. He'd even begun to consider building raised beds
and planting some green things.

Chris settled in one corner of the swing and spread

his legs so Drew could sit between them. After Drew
sat, Chris wound an arm around his partner's body. They
cuddled in the swing for a long number of quiet minutes,
sipping wine and discussing whether or not they thought
they had the time and energy to landscape the backyard
themselves. No decision was reached on the landscaping
issue.

Eventually glasses were set on the grass and Chris

nibbled at Drew's ear. His hands mapped the planes of
Drew's chest and stomach, sliding up under Drew's t-
shirt to touch skin.

"Are we planning on making out in the backyard?"

Drew leaned his head back on Chris' shoulder.

"Mmm, maybe."
Drew rubbed Chris' leg where it lay against the back

of the swing. "Are we revisiting your exhibitionist
tendencies? I seem to recall you, me, and the hospital
roof."

Chris chuckled. "I think we're pretty secluded out

here, not much chance of getting seen." He skimmed a
hand down over the crotch of Drew's jeans. They spent a
while kissing and petting, slowly discarding clothing. A
precipitous lurch of the swing convinced them to move
to the grass below.

Pinning Drew's wrists lightly to the ground, Chris lay

on top of him, rubbing against the warm, well muscled
body of his lover. "I want you," he whispered.

"I think I figured that part out."
"I want to be balls deep inside of you and…" He

hesitated.

"And what?"
Chris was uncertain about the next part. "I want to be

bare." He took a breath and blurted out the rest. "I know
we haven't talked about it, but I get tested every six
months by the hospital. There hasn't been anybody but
you for a really long time now. I know the department
tests you every year. I saw the report lying on the
kitchen counter about a month ago. Since--"

Drew pulled one hand loose and put it over Chris'

mouth. "The answer is yes, but you might want to give
consideration to the fact we're outside and the lube is
inside."

That deserved a long slow kiss. "Maybe we should go

inside then."

Upstairs they stretched out on the bed. Chris kissed

his way down the length of Drew's body, following the
dips and swells of muscle over his lover's chest and
stomach and hip. He pressed his lips to the scar on
Drew's lower belly, one end jagged from a knife, the
other end a smooth surgical seam. Fuck, he could have
ended up with a matching scar today.

"Chris," Drew murmured.

He looked up at Drew's face. The expression was

tender. He moved back up Drew's body to kiss his
mouth. When had care passed into 'I can't live without
you'? Their bodies fit together with a familiar heat,
cocks grinding against each other. Chris could feel the
slippery glide of pre-come between them and it
ratcheted up his desire another notch. He groped on the
nightstand for the lube, fingers bumping past condoms.

"Are you sure you're okay with this?" Chris asked.

Drew didn't bottom very often and Chris wanted to give
Drew a chance to change his mind if the idea was too
uncomfortable.

"It's fine, babe."
When Chris pushed a slick finger inside, Drew let out

a little moan, tilting his hips and spreading his legs
farther apart. Working Drew open, Chris nipped lightly

at the inside of Drew's thigh. A heavy-lidded gaze from
Drew assured Chris that his lover was definitely
enjoying this. He stuffed a pillow under Drew and
slicked himself. Oh God, Drew was tight. The sheer
close heat with no barrier to the sensation nearly undid
Chris right then. He stilled, breathing hard until that
knife edge prelude to climax backed off a little.

Drew's pupils were blown wide and his lips were

parted. This was intense. Chris finally canted his hips
back and thrust in. It must have been a damn good angle
because Drew gulped and his hands fisted in the sheets.
Chris went as slowly as he could stand, which probably
wasn't very.

"Jesus… Fuck… Chris…" Drew mumbled, his hand

straying toward his prick. One stroke was all it took and
he was coming in spurts across his belly.

The spasming squeeze of Drew's orgasm shot Chris

over the edge, tearing a groan from him as he spent
inside Drew. Sweaty and winded, he collapsed beside
Drew, his hand tracing random swirls on Drew's chest,
then moving to tangle in Drew's hair.

Drew rolled on his side and pulled Chris against him.

They lay in silence, half drowsing for a while.

"If I'd had a gun I would have shot him," Chris said

softly. "I probably would have killed him."

"Hon', I bought you a taser for a reason, and not just

because I thought it would protect you. I knew you'd
have a really big problem living with the guilt if
something did happen."

"Am I really that big of a wuss?"
"No. Chris, I just understand the way you're put

together, probably better than you do. When you took
that 'do no harm' oath, it meant something to you, and it
obviously still does."

"I don't think I regret shocking his ass across the

room, though."

"Good."

Chapter 16

October

"Your mom called last night," said Chris as Drew

walked into the kitchen. The two of them were stuck
with opposite shifts this week, Chris on days and Drew
on nights. Drew glanced in the direction of the coffee
pot and decided coffee right before trying to sleep was
probably a bad idea.

"She has my cell number," commented Drew,

looking for juice instead. "Anything important?"

"I don't think so. She just said she hadn't gotten any

emails from you this week and wondered if everything
was okay."

"Damn, I meant to shoot her one yesterday and

forgot." Drew stood, staring in the open refrigerator.

This was a golden opportunity to broach the subject of
flying to Iowa to visit his mother.

"How would you feel about going to see her? We

could do it over a long weekend," Drew suggested. "Fly
in to Des Moines and rent a car. It would only take a few
hours to drive to Waterloo."

"Every time you talk about Waterloo I have visions

of Napoleon and cannons."

"Cattle, corn, wheat, pickup trucks, no cannons. On

the topic of shotguns though, all bets are off."

Chris rolled his eyes. "I've talked to your mom on the

phone several times. I guess it's about time we met face
to face. I'm thinking this might go a little smoother than
you meeting my parents."

"My mother is way more relaxed."
"What about your grandparents? You said your mom

lives with them."

"That's a little stickier. They know I'm gay, but we

kind of steer clear of actually talking about it. I've never
brought anybody home to meet them before, so this'll be
a first."

***

The GPS that came with the rental car lay on the back

seat. Chris sincerely hoped Drew knew where he was
going because all these roads bordered by fields looked
the same to him.

"Should we have eaten at the airport?" Chris asked.

They'd passed a couple of gas stations and a quickie
mart since driving through the last town, but he'd seen
very little else that he thought of as civilization.

"Nope, Gran will undoubtedly have bought enough

food to feed an army for a month. And despite the fact
you seem to think we've fallen off the edge of the earth,
Waterloo is only a twenty minute drive from the farm.
We're almost there."

Drew turned the car left at a crossroad and headed

down yet another rural road. Finally he slowed and

Chris could see a big white clapboard house in front of a
pair of barns and a silo.

"Is that it?" he asked.
"Yes. What do you think?" Drew replied.
"It looks nice."
Drew parked the car off to one side of the house and

two of them got out. A woman wearing a khaki skirt and
dark green blouse came out onto the wide front porch.
Chris noted she had the same light brown hair as Drew,
though it was streaked with gray. She bore a strong
resemblance to her son.

"Hey, honey, how was the flight?" she asked.
"Not bad. We ended up sitting on the runway about

half an hour before they sent us off," Drew said as he
walked up on the porch and hugged her. Chris followed
more slowly until Drew beckoned him closer. "Mom,
this is Chris. Chris, Dr. Carolyn Hayden."

Chris offered his hand. "Dr. Hayden."
She wrapped an arm around him and gave him a hug

too. "Just Carolyn. After talking to you on the phone,

I'm so glad to finally meet you. Come on in."

The big room they entered held comfortable looking

furniture and one wall was lined with books. A much
older woman came bustling in from another room.

"Gran," said Drew and he went to her.
She hugged Drew and patted his face. "You need to

come home more often, child. Your granddad's out
talking to Mel. He'll be back in shortly." She cast an
appraising look at Chris and he wondered if she
approved. "Well, I guess you better introduce me to your
friend."

Drew held out a hand to Chris and made

introductions. Chris noted there was no hug offered by
this woman; on the other hand, she didn't seem overly
perturbed by Chris' presence.

***

Dinner was awkward. Drew had suspected it would

be, but he didn't intend to back down. The fact that
Drew was gay had long been an uneasy point of
contention between him and his grandfather. There had
been a time when Drew wondered why the man hadn't
up and thrown him out after catching Drew in the barn
making out with a male farm hand who was only a
couple of years older than him. God, he remembered the
painful conversation that occurred a week later.

"Boy, I wish I could say I was surprised, but I'm not.

I guess it's in your genes," Lee Hayden said.

"What do you mean about my genes?" Drew asked.
"Your father. He… He had a roving eye and it wasn't

just for the ladies. Damn if I didn't catch him near the
same way I caught you, pants around his ankles,
another boy doing… that thing."

"He was gay?"
"I don't know. We had a hell of a fight. I told him if

he ever got fast with another guy I'd beat the shit out of
him and disown him too. A year later, when he knocked
up your mom, I was actually happy. I figured he'd got it

out of his system. But it only lasted the two years, then I
guess he couldn't stand it anymore, and he took off."

"You think he left because he couldn't stand the lie."
"I wish I knew. I have to say I'd like it a whole lot

better if you had a girlfriend, but I don't suppose that's
too likely."

"I doubt it."
"I don't want to lose you, Drew, but I can't really say

I understand either."

For more than a decade Drew had been circumspect,

making sure his grandparents knew as little as possible
about his love life without actually lying. He wasn't
giving Chris up. He loved the hard-headed doctor too
much for that. He didn't need approval for his choices,
but it sure would make it easier.

After the meal, Drew offered to show Chris around.

They walked out toward the bigger of the two barns.

"Do your grandparents still do the farming?" Chris

asked.

"No, they own the land and the buildings and all, but

the actual farming is a contract thing. A guy named Mel
Abrahms leases the fields, uses the equipment and pays
a fee to them. Mel's known my grandparents since I was
in high school, and he lets Granddad putter around and
offer advice."

"I guess that sounds like an amicable solution… I'm

not sure your grandfather likes me. What do you think?"

"I wouldn't go so far as to say he dislikes you, but

he'd be a lot happier if you had boobs and a vagina."

"Sorry, can't help you there." Chris gave Drew an

amused smile.

***

When bedtime rolled around, Chris and Drew were

shown to two separate bedrooms. In the hallway, Chris
laid a hand on his partner's shoulder. "Really? Separate
rooms? Does your family know we live together?" He
was a little baffled by the situation.

"Mom knows. She wouldn't care, but my

grandparents… I'm trying not to make too many waves
at one time. If it makes you feel any better, they
wouldn't let us share a room without a wedding ring
even if we were a hetero couple."

"Not helping," Chris muttered. He was tired from the

trip and wanted the comfort of falling asleep with Drew.

"Sorry." Drew pulled him into a long sweet kiss. "It's

only for a few days."

***

It was shady down by the creek, willow trees

swishing slightly in the breeze, just beginning to shed
their leaves. Drew and Chris walked along in silence for
a couple of minutes before Drew held out his hand to his

partner. Chris threaded his fingers between Drew's and
they kept walking. Drew wondered if Chris sensed how
nervous he was.

"Being somewhere this quiet is just a little weird,"

commented Chris.

"So says the city boy," teased Drew.
"Oh come on, you live there, too."
"I know. I like San Diego, otherwise I wouldn't have

moved there, but I can appreciate the slow pace of a
farming town just about in the middle of nowhere. I
grew up here, remember?"

"It seems like the boredom factor would just about

drive you crazy."

"Don't underestimate the ability to get involved in

some really deep shit around here," Drew said slowly.
He thought back for a moment to being sixteen and
cocky as hell and very nearly destroying his life with
bad decisions. Somehow he had managed to scrape
together the courage to make the choice to step away.

"Hey," Chris stopped and turned to face Drew. "The

past is past. Lots of people do stupid shit as teenagers. I
don't love you any less for knowing what happened back
then." He kissed Drew softly.

Drew was silent. This wasn't going quite exactly how

he thought and his stomach was tied in about six knots.
He took a deep breath and gave Chris a little push to
walk up under one of the willow trees. "Sit down," he
said.

Chris gave him a funny, puzzled smile but did so,

sitting cross-legged on the grass.

Drew knelt in front of him and sat back on his heels

to dig into his pocket. He took hold of Chris' hand. "Will
you marry me?" he blurted out, putting the ring he'd
bought in Chris' palm. Chris' eyes widened and Drew
decided he'd definitely caught his lover off-guard. The
silence was, however, turning his nerves into anguish.

Chris turned his hand over and said, "Put it on." He

dropped the ring back in Drew's hand and held out his
own with fingers spread.

"Is that yes?" Drew managed to whisper, pushing the

ring onto Chris' finger. Chris yanked Drew forward by
his shirt and they toppled back into the grass as Chris
delivered a hard passionate kiss.

When they finally broke for air, Chris asked, "You

dumb ass, did you really think I'd say no? Yes, I'll marry
you."

Drew stared down into those beautiful blue eyes,

feeling almost limp with relief.

"Love, honor, and obey, and all that," Chris

snickered.

"Love, honor, and cherish, babe."
They spent a long time just kissing, tangled together

in the grass.

***

"Much as I love you, I'm starving," said Chris, sitting

up slowly. The sun had sunk fairly low toward the
horizon, casting long slanting shadows through the trees.

"Mmm, yeah… my family'll think we got lost or

something."

"Just the 'or something' part," Chris replied with a

grin. "Do you want me to keep on wearing this before
we do the legal thing?" He held up the hand with the
ring. It was a plain gold band, nothing exotic, smooth
and flat enough to wear under his gloves in surgery. He
suspected Drew had thought of that.

"That's up to you. I didn't see much point in the

whole engagement ring idea." Drew got to his feet and
pulled Chris up too.

"I was thinking maybe I should wear it on the other

hand until then… Did you buy one for yourself? To
match?"

"Yeah, it's in my luggage." Drew began to head back

in the direction of the farmhouse.

"Are we telling your family?" Chris asked.
"I think so, unless you don't want to."

"No, it's fine. What would you have done if I'd said

no?"

"Try not to be devastated and hope we'd still at least

be together."

Chris stopped walking. "Why would you think I'd say

no?"

"I… I love you to death, babe, but you have this

brutally pragmatic streak. We already live together,
signed a lease and decided to give up the condoms. I
thought you might think that was enough. It's… a piece
of paper."

"Drew." Chris cupped his hands around his lover's

face. "The point is it represents something important to
you, and that's what matters to me."

"Would you consider doing it tomorrow?"
Chris laughed. "Damn, Drew, and I thought I was the

impetuous one. But I thought we were staying a couple
more days. California's liberal laws are half a country
away."

"Iowa does same sex marriages too," Drew said.

Chris looked even more surprised. "If we go to the local
courthouse today, we could get married tomorrow."

"I ought to punch you. You planned this whole thing

out didn't you?" Chris looped his arms around Drew's
neck.

"As best I could. It was all contingent on you saying

yes."

"You are a devious bastard."
"Who me?" Drew nipped softly at Chris' mouth.
"You told me to pack a suit because we might go out

someplace nice with your mom."

"And we might."
"And you conveniently didn't mention that I might

need it to get married in."

***

The squeal Carolyn let out when Drew told her that

he and Chris were going to drive to Waterloo and fill out
the paperwork for a marriage license was worthy of a
ten-year-old. She threw her arms around Drew. "I am so
happy for you. My baby's getting married!"

Chris was amused that Drew blushed.
"I don't suppose you're going to let me throw a big

wedding reception," Carolyn asked more soberly.

"Mom, you know that even though it's legal for us to

do this, it's still a pretty awkward thing in this part of the
country."

Carolyn sighed. "I understand. It doesn't make me

any less happy about it though. I'm guessing you haven't
told your grandparents yet."

"No, I know their opinion of my… lifestyle is a

sticky subject."

***

A few words by the justice of the peace and some

signatures on the legal documents was all it took. Chris
was glad that Drew's grandparents had agreed to come
along with Carolyn to the courthouse. He wouldn't say
they looked overjoyed, but the older couple didn't look

angry either. Chris saw Drew glance back at his
grandfather after the brief ceremony was over. Lee
Hayden gave his grandson a curt nod, and Chris decided
that was as close to congratulations as the two of them
were likely to get from the old man.

Carolyn, on the other hand, shed a few happy tears

and hugged and kissed both Drew and Chris.

Walking back to the car, Chris paused and wrapped

his arms around his husband. "So now you're stuck with
me for the long haul."

"Mmm, I'm hoping for at least fifty years." Drew ran

his thumb along Chris' mouth, hand cupped to Chris'
face.

"In the short term, do you think they might actually

let us sleep in the same bed tonight?"

Drew chuckled. "I suspect they might."

- End -

If you liked this book you might like: Crimson Regret,
A Taste of Darkness, Re-Ignition