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.

Seeking the Balance
Torquere Press Publishers
PO Box 2545
Round Rock, TX 78680
Copyright 2009 by AR Moler
Cover illustration by Alessia Brio
Published with permission
ISBN: 978-1-61040-694-9

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: March 2012
Printed in the USA

1: Blue Bike Blues

One thousand ccs of smooth, raw power. Oh baby.

Lt. Cameron Bradshaw accelerated up onto the highway
on his brand-spanking-new electric blue Suzuki
SV1000S. Three months ago, an assassin had arranged a
very intentional “accident,” smashing a pickup truck
into him while he was on his previous motorcycle. He
had come horrendously close to dying, and only
survived due to the amazing skills of an orthopedic
surgeon who also happened to be a psychic healer: Dr.
Mason Flynn.

Six foot two and eyes of blue, wasn’t that how the

phrase went? Cam thought Mason was the most
delicious thing he’d ever known. And his best kept
secret. F/A-18 Navy fighter pilots did not have male

lovers. To the public world, Mason was his best friend,
nothing more.

After the murder of his roommate, a casualty of the

same covert op that had nearly killed him, Cam had
moved back onto the base. Bachelor Officer’s Quarters
sucked. Okay, that wasn’t exactly true. It was a bland,
boring, one bedroom apartment that was far too close to
too many other people. For a psychic, that was a
problem. So he escaped to Mason’s house near the
Virginia Beach oceanfront as often as feasible. And
that’s where he was headed now. He was eager to show
his lover his awesome new toy.

Cam took the Birdneck Road exit and turned toward

the north end of the beach, threading his way over to
Atlantic and up to 63rd Street. He pulled into Mason’s

driveway and killed the engine. He yanked off his
helmet and ran his hand through his hair. The driveway
was empty except for his cycle; Mason must be running
late. Not that that was uncommon with the doctor. Cam
sat for a moment astride his bike, opening his senses,
mentally searching for his lover. Finding people and
things was his gift, with a little empathy thrown in. His
tie to Mason had grown deep over the past weeks. These

days he could probably find that man anywhere on earth,
and he was nearly home.

Swinging his leg off the bike, he set the helmet on the

seat as Mason pulled his car into the driveway beside the
motorcycle. The doctor got out of the car slowly.

“So, like my new bike?” Cam asked with a grin. He

traced a finger down over the bright metallic blue paint.
The flash of anger hit him so hard he took a step back.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” shouted Mason.

“I would have thought almost dying on the last one
would be enough for you!”

“That accident wasn’t my God damn fault! You

know that!”

“And what happens when someone nails you on this

one?”

“That’s pretty damn unlikely,” Cam yelled back. He

was rapidly heading toward pissed.

“Get the hell out of my driveway and don’t come

back ‘til you find some sanity!” Mason strode to the
front door, unlocked it and slammed it hard enough to
echo.

“Bastard,” Cam muttered and grabbed his helmet,

yanking it on. He started up the engine and gunned it out
onto the road, He was a full grown adult capable of
flying an F/A-18. The motorcycle was a hell of lot less
dangerous than a navy jet. Mason Flynn could keep his
frigging opinion to himself and Cam decided he
wouldn’t be darkening the doctor’s doorstep anytime
soon.

***

The sound of the motorcycle engine retreated as

Mason leaned back against the inside of his front door.
How could that man be so fucking stupid? The

“accident” had been so very close to being fatal, and
Mason’s skills had probably been the deciding factor
between life and death. He hadn’t known Cam then.
Hadn’t cared about him, except in the way that a doctor
cares for a critically injured patient. Now... The chances

of him being present if Cam had another such crash
were almost nonexistent. He wasn’t sure if he could face
having to bury the pilot. God in heaven, he had even
killed to protect Cam from that homicidal traitor who
had been part of the whole stolen missile fiasco.

Mason couldn’t decide if he wanted to punch

something or just scream. Ultimately he did neither. He
went out into the garage and flipped on the light. Pieces
of a partially assembled mahogany chest lay on the saw
horse and workbench. He picked up a block plane and
began evening out the slight ridge on the piece of wood
that was to be the lid. It probably would go a lot faster
with a table saw and a random orbital sander, but he
hated power tools. Steve Villetti, one of the other
surgeons in the practice, teased the crap out of him,
telling him he used more power tools on people than he

did on his pet furniture projects. It was true. He loved
the near silence of the hand tools and feel of perfect
control that they imparted. Tiny curls of wood fluttered
to the floor. It was soothing, relaxing, and best of all, for
just a little while he didn’t think about the lover he had
probably just driven out of his life.

***
“Hey, you wanna grab a beer and some food at the

Gator Grill?” yelled Curtis from across the parking lot.

Cam looked up from where he was about to stick the

key in the ignition of his bike. Curtis was one of the
other guys in Hell Dogs Squadron and they had just
finished an exhaustive analysis of a simulated dogfight.

“Sonja might swing by,” taunted the other pilot. Cam

had dated the deliciously built blonde a couple of times.
From a purely physical point of view a woman held as
great an appeal as a hot guy. He and Sonja had even
made it to bed once. No commitments, no expectations.
Yeah, that sounded like what he needed.

It had been six days since the argument in Mason’s

driveway. Argument or fight? The word fight evoked
images of fists and punches when applied to two guys.
Six days that normally would have been broken by a
couple of phone calls between them. At the very least, a

handful of text messages, if their schedules were too
tight to allow anything else. There had been nothing.

He wasn’t going to get rid of his motorcycle just

because Mason thought it was too damn dangerous.
How dare he think he could run Cam’s life? Memories
of the words -- don’t come back ‘til you find some
sanity -- burned in his head and his hand clenched
around the keys. Christ, what an arrogant prick that man
was!

And his chest ached like someone had torn a huge

chunk out of his heart.

“Yeah, sounds like a plan. I need to swing by an

ATM and get some cash. I’ll meet you there,” said Cam.

***

Make sure the blood flow is reaching all the way to

the toes, Mason told himself, as he directed a trickle of
his healing talent all the way to the bottom of the
patient’s leg. His little eight year old female patient’s
lower left leg had been virtually crushed in a car
accident. All his colleagues thought he should amputate
just below the knee. Not without a fight, he decided.

He had already spent ninety minutes just cleaning

and debriding the multiple open fractures. This was
going to take at least another two hours. If it didn’t
work, he’d probably be bringing her back to the OR in
another twenty four hours to perform the amputation he
was trying so hard to avoid. But he had an edge, an edge
that almost no one knew of, one that he had recently
been refining with the help of Division P’s top healer,
Peter Vithoulkas.

He gritted his teeth a little behind his surgical mask.

He would make this work, damn it.

***
Having Sonja squirm her butt down on his groin was

a definite turn on, decided Cam. He and Curtis had been
hanging out in the sports bar for a good three hours over
dinner, a beer and several games of pool. Sonja had
indeed shown up with Curtis’s girlfriend Liz, and Cam

had done nothing to dissuade her blatant flirting. He was
currently leaning on the wall waiting for Curtis to take a
shot at the corner pocket. Sonja was slouched against
him, the curve of her behind planted very deliberately
against his crotch. It was a sort of deliciously
uncomfortable pressure.

“We should get out of here when you’re done with

the game,” she suggested. He grinned at her.

“Your place?” he asked.
“If you like.”
“I’ll follow you on my bike.”
“You could give me a ride.”
“I’ve only got one helmet.”
“Oh. Then you need to get another helmet.”
“Yeah, okay,” he laughed. “But I think it’s bit too

late to buy one tonight.”

“Bummer,” she smiled.
It took another twenty minutes to finish the game,

then they walked out into the parking lot. The late
September air was still comfortably warm. Cam stood
beside her car and pressed her gently back against the
closed door. Judging by the smirk on her lips, he was
sure she could feel the hard length of his arousal as his
hips pushed against her. He kissed her slowly, savoring
the taste of her mouth. It had been a while since he’d
been inches taller than the person he was kissing. Mason
was not quite two inches taller and if they both had
shoes on, he usually ended up tilting his head back just a
little. Oh God. Mason. Cam froze for a moment and then
turned his head away.

“Hey, did I do something wrong? I thought you were

into this,” said Sonja.

He was. No he wasn’t. He was letting his dick make

decisions he was going to regret. He pushed back away
from her. “Listen, I’m sorry. I’m seeing someone... and
we had a fight. I... I just can’t. Not ‘til I know where I
stand with him,” Cam said. She gave him a funny look.

“Did you just say him?” she demanded.
“Uh, yeah,” he replied uncertainly.

She slapped him. Hard, across the mouth. Hard

enough that he could taste blood.

“Get away from me, you pervert!” she shouted, and

yanked her car door open. He stepped back as she
started the car and stomped on the gas, peeling out of the
parking lot.

He stood in the center of the aisle between cars,

watching her go. He carefully felt his lip with his
fingers. Ow. They came away smeared with blood.
Damn. Even when he was absolutely furious, Mason
hadn’t hit him. Cam slowly walked toward his
motorcycle. Picking up his helmet, he swung a leg over
and sat down.

He wasn’t planning on apologizing. And he damn

sure wasn’t going to get rid of his brand new bike. But
he needed to talk to Mason. Despite the fact his body

seemed to think it was a good idea, kissing Sonja had
felt so very wrong. Betrayal wrong. Cheating wrong. Oh
Jesus, when had this “thing” between him and Mason
become... whatever the hell it was? When people asked
who Mason was, he said, "my best friend." And he
wasn’t lying. Best friend with benefits? Lovers?
Partners?

He sat on his bike for a long time, trying to

compartmentalize what he felt. Depressed. Frustrated.
Angry. Empty. Alone. Cam slowly put on his helmet

and started the motorcycle. He had to go see Mason. It
was midnight on a Wednesday. That should mean
Mason would be home, probably in bed, but as he left
the parking lot, he realized he was heading toward
Norfolk. Opening his senses, he focused on the tugging
sensation that guided him when he hunting for
something or someone. Mason was at Norfolk General
Hospital. Midnight in the middle of week, must mean he
was on call and gotten yanked out of bed for an
emergency. Maybe they could grab a cup of coffee when
the doctor was finished, and talk.

***

Mason sat down heavily on the bench in the locker

room. Close to four hours of surgery on the little girl’s
leg, accompanied by a vast output of energy in terms of
his healing talent, had left him sweaty and exhausted. He
grabbed a bottle of Gatorade from the locker and
chugged it. That much healing took a marathon level of
calorie consumption and was capable of leaving him
with a dangerously low blood glucose level. He had
wolfed down a power bar while his patient was being
prepped, but that was long gone. Mason held his hand
out in front of him. A fine tremor shook his fingers.
Hopefully the carbs from the Gatorade would kick in
soon. He ran a hand back through his hair. It was sweat
damp. Shower time.

It was incredibly tempting to just sit down on the

floor of the shower and fall into a coma. He goaded

himself to finish and returned to his locker to dress. He
was sitting on the bench fumbling with the buttons of his
shirt. Christ, his coordination was shot.

“You look like shit,” said a voice beside him, and his

head whipped around to see -- Cameron Bradshaw. The
pilot was leaning on a locker, facing him, arms crossed.

“Damn! Give a guy a little warning. You about gave

me a coronary,” said Mason.

“Sorry. I figured you heard the door open.”
“I... wasn’t paying that much attention.”
“You done with whatever case dragged you over

here?”

“Yeah. For the night anyway.”

“Give me your car keys,” said Cam.
“Why?”
“Because I’m driving you home. A guy too tired to

notice he’s fucked up the buttons on his shirt is too tired
to drive home without wrapping his car around a light
pole,” replied Cam.

Mason looked down at the front of his shirt and

realized he had mismatched the buttons and the opening
was hanging at an angle. He made a low growl of
frustration and undid them. Then he dug his keys out
and handed them to Cam.

“You’re about to screw it up again. Let me do it,”

said Cam, as he reached for Mason’s shirt. Mason stood
with his hands hanging at his sides while Cam buttoned
up his shirt for him. It was a meaningless practical
gesture... except it wasn’t.

***

How come you could make a satellite bounced phone

call from the Mediterranean to the U.S., but the intercom
at the drive through always sounded like the guy was on
Mars? Cam pulled up to the second window and grabbed
the Wendy’s bag that was handed to him. He passed it
across to Mason.

“Eat,” he said, pulling out onto the street. When he

had walked Mason out to his car at the hospital, he had

noticed that the doctor was shaking. They’d been
through this enough times before that Cam knew food
was a priority. Fast food wasn’t an ideal solution, but
fast was the operative word.

Mason ate while Cam drove, and it took roughly

twenty-five minutes to get back to Mason’s house. Cam
unlocked the front door. Mason followed him in and
flopped onto the sofa, rubbing his hands down over his
face. Cam sat down in a chair, facing him.

“So what happened to your lip?” Mason asked.
“I got slapped.”
“I’m guessing by a woman?”
“Yeah. Basically for deciding not to sleep with her.”
“Any particular reason?”
“I told her I was seeing someone. And...” Cam blew

out a breath. This was hard. What exactly was he
supposed to say? “I said we’d had a fight and wasn’t
really all that sure where I stood with... him.”

“And she hit you.”

“Yeah.”
“Come here,” Mason beckoned him with a finger.

Cam slowly got up and walked over to sit on the sofa
beside the doctor. Mason reached out and brushed his
thumb across the swollen and bloodied lip. Cam grabbed

Mason's wrist as soon as he felt the warm thrum of
energy.

“Don’t,” he said.
Mason raised an eyebrow. “Why not? I can fix it.”
“You’re so wiped out, you can hardly keep your eyes

open. You don’t need to burn yourself out any further
over something so minor.”

“Maybe I want to.” Mason’s voice was barely audible

and his expression so raw it tightened Cam’s throat.
Cam hugged Mason’s hand to his chest.

“I... missed you,” he whispered.
“If you kill yourself on that God damn motorcycle,

I’m gonna miss you a whole lot more.”

“I’m not selling it, but I should’ve told you I was

buying it. You... I should’ve guessed you would be
stressed out by the idea.”

“Cam, you nearly died in my arms... and I didn’t

even know you then.”

“I’ll be careful, I promise. Oh God, I sound like I’m

sixteen.”

“I’m not your parent.”
Cam stared into those beautiful blue eyes and his

heart clenched. “What are we?” he whispered.

“Lovers... I hope.”
“We’re two guys.”
“So? I lost my heart to you months ago. I want you in

my life, permanently if I can get it. But much as I want
to, I can’t make your choices for you. It hurts. The fear
that I could lose you. To a plane crash, to a motorcycle
accident... to someone else.” Cam watched the tears slip
down his lover’s cheeks. “God, I’m such a wreck. I can’t
even hold it together,” Mason muttered. He angrily
scrubbed the sleeve of his shirt across his face.

Cam cupped his lover’s face in his hands. “Not

someone else. Very definitely not someone else. I

couldn’t go through with it, even though I was stupid
enough to think about it. It felt all wrong. She wasn’t
you.” He carefully pulled Mason's body against his own
and wrapped both arms around him. This was the man
he had nearly gotten killed by an assassin. This was man

who had pulled the trigger and saved him from his own
death. This was the man who tolerated being Cam’s
dirty little secret in a country that didn’t allow the
military to have same-sex partners. His cheek rested on
Mason’s forehead. Suck it up. Say the words. Tell him.

“I love you,” Cam whispered. He tilted his head and

placed a careful lopsided kiss on his lover’s forehead.
His mouth still hurt.

“I love you, too,” said Mason.
Cam sat still for a long time just holding Mason. It

was right. He hadn’t realized just how achingly hollow
he had felt for days.

Mason tipped his head back a little and nuzzled

against the underside of Cam’s jaw. “Let me fix your
mouth, please,” he said.

Cam nodded.

Mason’s fingertips brushed over the bruised and

swollen skin of his lip and Cam could feel the soothing
buzz of warmth. He licked across the inside edge, still
tasting a hint of blood. The swelling was receding and
Mason’s head was growing heavier on his shoulder. He
kissed the healer’s fingertips and then pulled the hand
back down to his chest.

“Quit already. You’re done. You’re too tired for

this,” Cam said. “You need some sleep. Do you have to
work tomorrow?”

“Noon.”
“Good. It’s already pushing toward three am.” Cam

hauled Mason to his feet and pushed him in the direction
of the bedroom.

***

Waking in the darkness to a warm tangle of limbs,

Mason inhaled the scent of his lover. It was a mix of
soap and sweat and male skin. Cam. To have Cam back
after nearly a week’s worth of agony over whether he
had made an unforgivable error, was incomparable.
During sleep, they had unconsciously migrated tightly
together. Cam’s head was tucked against Mason’s chest

as if to listen to his heart, one arm flung over his body,
one knee jammed between Mason's legs.

Mason squinted at the display of the digital clock

across the room. It read 6:20. He twisted his head and
placed a kiss on Cam’s temple. His lover made a sleepy
sound and stretched slightly. Cam nibbled softly at the
base of Mason’s throat, then up the side toward the
pulse point beneath his ear. Mason’s breath hitched and
his fingers tightened on Cam’s hip as he felt arousal
pooling in his groin. Too tired, his brain suggested half-
heartedly; his cock had other ideas, especially when
Cam’s mouth began sucking at the skin beneath the
corner of his jaw.

Mason slid his hand down inside Cam’s briefs,

curling it around the curve of his lover's behind. His
fingers explored along the warm cleft between butt

cheeks. Cam made a huskier sound and ground his own
arousal against Mason’s. He could feel the soft pressure
of Cam’s mind on his psychic shielding and he dropped
it so he could more fully sense the delicious intimacy of
his lover’s presence. If someone had asked him to
describe how his lover’s mind felt brushing along his
own, Mason would have been hard pressed to find
words that were adequate. Maybe somewhere between
the feel of warm skin on lips and running your fingers
through electricity. That probably didn’t make sense. He
sometimes wondered how he felt to Cam.

“You’re thinking too hard,” mumbled Cam as he bit

gently at the skin he was sucking on. Wanna leave a
mark. Mason was slightly surprised, he seldom got

coherent specific thoughts from Cam. The teeth were
more insistent, bringing a whisper of almost pain. Cam
immediately relented a little, soothing the spot with a
stroke of his tongue. Mason whimpered. The small
sensation was going straight to his crotch, along with
most of the blood in his body apparently. His brain was
a fog of pure lust.

His mouth sought skin, and came down against the

firm muscles of Cam’s shoulder. Tracing across the
trapezius, he licked and sucked on the skin there,

twisting to bring his face down toward a tantalizingly
tight nipple. He could feel Cam’s hand fisted in the hair
at the back of his head, dragging him back upward for a
deep passionate kiss.

“Need to make love to you,” Cam whispered. “Need

to hold you. Be in you and feel you in my head.” Mason
gulped. It was raw and needy and the intensity of the
emotion nearly sent him over the edge.

“Yes,” was the only word that came out.
For a moment, neither of them moved, then Mason

managed to grope on the night stand for the tube of lube
and the condoms. Cam nudged him to roll over and
spooned up against his back. There was a moment of
squirming as they both struggled out of their briefs. The
feeling of Cam’s chest pressed to his back was a divine
warmth.

Slick fingers breeched him gently and Cam rained

kisses down the back of his neck and across his
shoulders. He rocked back a little, trying to increase the
penetration. The fingers were gone and replaced
moments later by the delicious pressure of his lover’s
cock. Cam’s knee pushed up behind his top leg, edging
it further forward into a hurdle position. Oh God, so
good. He pulled Cam’s hand to his mouth, sucking on
his fingers, tracing his tongue along the blunt tips. Cam
moaned against the back of his neck.

“Fuck... don’t... too much,” Cam gasped, trying to

pull his hand from Mason’s grasp.

Mason guided it toward his groin, where his erection

bobbed against the tangled sheets of the bed. Cam’s
fingers wrapped around his aching cock and stroked him
firmly. He could feel his pulse pounding in his ears and
in his crotch. Cam thrust harder into him, rolling him
forward a fraction, changing the angle, slamming into
his prostate. Time slowed down for a moment as he felt
Cam’s body teeter on that knife edge. He yanked Cam’s
mind as far into his own as he could, and it tipped the
scale for both of them. Cam’s body slammed into him
with almost a scream, cock pulsing, back arching.
Mason sprayed hot pulses across his belly, Cam’s hand

and the sheets, as the orgasm ripped through his nervous
system. They were both left gasping for oxygen,
muscles limp and shaky.

Love you, Mason whispered inside his lover’s head.
“Love you too,” murmured Cam. Mason could feel

the intensity of the connection fading much the same
way Cam was sliding from his body, but a little lingered.
Mason pushed the sticky sheets off to one side and
turned in the circle of Cam’s arms. He kissed Cam softly
and they drifted back to sleep.

***

Cam leaned against the desk where Mason kept his

laptop. The doctor was checking email while drinking
coffee. Mason glanced up at him. There were times

when Cam felt like he could just drown himself in those
blue eyes, and now was one of them. Where did they go
from here? He supposed he could say they’d patched
things back together well enough. But where did that
leave them?

“Talk to me, Cam. I can feel you stewing, even if I

can’t figure out why,” said Mason.

“You, um, you said you wanted me in your life

permanently. What does that mean?”

“Ideally, monogamy.”
“I can live with that.” A brief image of pushing away

from Sonja flitted through his memory. “What else?”

“I’d like for you and me to both get tested, so we can

forget about the condoms.”

Cam’s throat tightened up a little. Don’t be an ass, he

told himself, if you had a female lover you’d have to
worry about birth control. “Okay.”

Mason hooked a finger in Cam’s belt loop and pulled

him forward to stand between his legs. He loosely
wrapped his arms around Cam’s hips and looked up at
him. “I like having you around. Maybe I could convince
you to leave some extra clothes here?”

Cam’s fingers brushed down the side of his lover’s

face. “If I start leaving stuff at your place, does that
make me your boyfriend?” asked Cam.

Mason grinned at him. “If you like. However that

kind of makes us sound like we’re in high school. I’d
rather say you’re my partner. Can you deal with that? I
mean, I understand that we still have to put on the public
face of just being friends. But it would be nice to be able
tell a few select people, openly.”

“Can I think about that last part? The telling people

part. I know that a couple of the Division P people
know, but I’m... kind of skittish about the regular
people.”

“For the moment I’d settle for us being open when

we’re at P. Peter and Stephen obviously know, but we’re
still doing the 'don’t touch' thing most of the time when

we’re there. I’d like to be able to hold your hand or kiss
you in plain view.” Mason sounded wistful, and the
longing cut Cam like a knife. How could he have not
realized how hard the secrecy was on Mason. The doctor
was by no means a flamer, but he wasn’t in the closet
either.

“I’ll try to be more... relaxed when I can,” he said. He

bent forward and kissed Mason, who tasted of coffee
and sugar. Mason’s arms tightened around his hips a
little. Damn. How could something that felt so right be
viewed as wrong?

“I’ve got to get moving. I’ve got office hours and

then I need to go check on the little girl from last night’s
case,” said Mason as Cam lifted his head.

***

The rest of the day took a little finagling. Mason had

to drop Cam back at the hospital to get his motorcycle
and then dash back to the orthopedic office for a long
afternoon filled with a stream of patients. Then back to
hospital again to check on the little girl with the crush
injury. Everything was healing within acceptable limits
on her leg except her little toe and a small portion of the

foot. Dead tissue was beyond his capabilities. He was
going to have to take her back to the OR to remove that
part. He sighed in frustration. After notifying the parents
and making the necessary scheduling arrangements for
the surgery, he headed for the cafeteria. Over a mediocre
meal, he called Cam.

“Hey, I’m going to be at the hospital for a while,

probably at least a couple hours,” Mason said.

“Problem?” asked Cam.
“Nothing really unexpected. I’m going to have to

amputate the girl’s toe and remove some other tissue.
Could be a lot worse. Everything is else is doing okay.”

“You want me to meet you there?”
“No, I don’t know exactly how long this will take. I

can either call you when I’m done or you can hang out
at my place and wait for me.”

“How ‘bout I go pick up the clothes you suggested

and take them over?” This brought a little bit of a smile
to Mason’s face. Cam was actually following up on the
morning’s discussion.

“That’s sounds like plan. I should be home before

midnight. I hope.” Mason hung up and sat staring
thoughtfully into his coffee cup.

He knew that Cam frequently felt conflicted about

their relationship. If the pilot had a different type of job,
things would be easier, not simple, just easier. Mason
was trying not to push too hard. In truth, he’d love for
Cam to just flat out move in with him and have this
whole thing turn into forever. The first item might
eventually be possible. Lots of Navy guys had
roommates, i.e. Keith Haverty, Cam’s previous
roommate, now dead. The other part? Even hetero
couples frequently didn’t last forever; he wasn’t sure
what his chances were. Knowing that Cam was willing
to bend a little was a step in the right direction. Mason
knew he needed to bend a little more, too.

The previous week had been horrible. He kept

reaching for the phone, intending to apologize, and then
stopping. What could he say that would make amends?
It certainly wouldn’t have been his first relationship to

hit an abrupt screeching halt. But it had hurt, like an
open wound. And it wasn’t the type of pain he could just
shut off. He hadn’t figured that Cam would be the one to
make the first move. You didn’t get much more alpha
than a Navy pilot. He decided the developing psychic
bond between them had to be a contributing factor. God,
last night had been intense.

***

When Mason dropped heavily onto the sofa in his

den, Cam fleetingly wondered how the man had made it
home without running off the road. Four wheels had
some benefits over two. Cam grabbed a soda from the
refrigerator and went back to give it to his lover.

“You’ve been really burning it at both ends the past

couple of days,” he said, handing the soda to Mason.

“It happens. I didn’t used to use my healing stuff as

much as I do these days. Having Division P cover my
back, so to speak, makes a difference.”

“Are you going out there tomorrow?” Most Tuesdays

and every other Friday, Mason spent training with Peter
Vithoulkas, the primary healer for Division P.

“Yeah, I will, but I’m thinking of telling him I’ll be

late. I want to pick his brains a little for tips on the crush
injury I’ve been treating.” Mason took a long drink from
the soda and leaned on Cam’s shoulder.

Cam was tense. He needed to tell his lover something

and he desperately hoped it wouldn’t start another fight.

“I, um, I bought a second motorcycle helmet. I’m

kind of hoping I can convince you to come riding with
me. If you don’t like it, that’s okay. But I remember one

time you said you’d never even been on one. And I
know it scares you, but you might like it,” he blurted out
in one long breath.

Mason laid his head back against the sofa looking at

him. Oh please don’t let him freak about this, Cam
prayed internally.

“Okay.”
“Okay?” Cam was stunned.

“You’re right. It scares me, but I shouldn’t pass

judgment on something I’ve never tried. If we go riding,
can we stick to somewhere with a kind of low speed
limit?”

“Absolutely. We could ride up to Rudee Inlet on

Pacific Avenue or something. Given the usual traffic,
we’d probably never get above thirty-five.” Cam smiled
at Mason, infinitely relieved. He put an arm around
Mason and pulled him into a kiss.

“You thought I was going to rip your head off again,

didn’t you?” Mason asked, curling against Cam’s chest
in fatigue.

“I wasn’t sure. I was hoping maybe not.”
“’m tryin’ to be more... flexible,” mumbled Mason.

Cam could tell the healer was fighting the intense desire
to just fall asleep in his arms.

“I know. Me, too. Come on. Much as I like your sofa,

your bed’s more comfortable and I have to fly in the
morning.”

***

“You could have begged off completely,” said Peter,

handing Mason a cup of coffee. “Believe me, I
understand the too tired to move concept.” The older
healer sat down across the table. The infirmary was a
quiet place that morning, no patients in residence.

“I suppose, but I’d really like to pick your brains

about the little girl I’ve been working on,” replied
Mason. He'd dragged himself out of bed and off to the
Division P complex in Suffolk. He was wearing jeans
and a T-shirt, not needing the respectable shirt and tie

motif he usually wore for office hours.

“Okay. You seem to be in a much better mood today

than Tuesday,” Peter commented.

Mason couldn’t help the slight smile that curved his

lips. “Yeah, I probably am.”

“I take it you worked things out with Cam?”
“Yes.” Mason decided it was nice to be able to give a

straight answer to at least one colleague, even if he was

reticent on details. Peter had been one of the very first
people to be aware of the relationship between him and
Cam. In a place where better than eighty percent of the
personnel had at least some degree of telepathic or
empathic talent, true secrets were impossible.

“Good. You two belong together,” said Peter.

Mason’s eyebrows raised a little. He still hadn’t quite
adjusted to the absolute bluntness sometimes expressed
by the other healer. “So tell me about your patient,”
Peter continued.

They spend two hours thrashing through all the case

details and all the things Mason had done, both as a
surgeon and as a healer. It was a sweet thing. After
decades of fumbling his way through what worked and
what didn’t, to have someone to openly compare
strategies with was invaluable.

“I have an idea I need you to think about,” said Peter.
“I’m not ready to ditch my day job,” replied Mason.
“I know, I know. But hear me out. Benford and I

have been discussing an idea with the head honcho.
Over the past year, we’ve had a half dozen serious
medical incidents with our personnel. Since we farm
them out to about fifty different agencies, in spots all
over the world, care specific to psi can be dicey. We
never know if one of our own is going to have a really
bad time with standard medical care. We’ve been
thinking about putting together a mobile trauma team of
sorts. One healer, two corpsmen or nurses and
somebody on security detail. Before you even ask, the
last incident we had was in Afghanistan. Somebody to
watch our backs is a necessity, especially if we’re
distracted with patient issues.”

“I take it that I’m supposed to fit into this scenario?”
“I hope so. The majority of what’s occurred has been

on domestic soil or friendly nations. And the stuff I’ve
done has been a kind of emergency damage control and
get our people back here sort of thing. Medivac type
stuff.”

“Flying.”
“Yeah, sometimes,” admitted Peter.

Mason grimaced. “I’m not a real big fan of anything

that leaves the ground.”

“I know, but there’s only one of me. The other two

healers we have are fair, but they don’t have the same
level of Talent as you. How’s that for an ego stroke?”

“I’m gonna have to think about this,” Mason said

slowly.

“I figured. Here’s an additional thought though. We

normally use Cam for his 'finder' Talents but on a more
practical level, a psi pilot could be a really useful thing
for a medivac team.”

***
“Here,” Cam said, handing the helmet to Mason. He

watched the other man take a deep breath before pulling
it on. “Thread the strap back through the D-rings. It
should be snug but not tight enough to hurt. I forgot to

buy a speed clip for it.”

“A speed what?”
“Speed clip. It’s kind of like a seat belt buckle, well

sort of anyway. It’s faster and a lot less hassle. Get on
behind me and put your arms around me.” Cam slung
one leg over the motorcycle and sat there pulling on his
gloves. He felt Mason gingerly ease onto the seat behind
him. “Another thing, going around a turn, lean with me.
It’s counter-intuitive. You lean into it, not away. Got
it?”

“Um, guess so,” replied Mason. The bike was sitting

face out in Mason’s driveway. Cam fired up the engine
and adjusted the choke just a little. “Ready?” he asked.

“No, but go anyway.”
Cam laughed and squeezed Mason’s hand where it

wrapped around his chest. He eased out of the drive and
down to the end of the street. He could feel Mason’s
heart hammering against his back, where their bodies
were snug together. Pausing for a moment at the
intersection, he pulled out onto the main street. Mason’s
arms tightened around him. They rode along Atlantic
Avenue for a couple of miles before coming to the area
where the main density of beachfront hotels were.
Stoplights and a certain amount of traffic slowed them.

Cam pulled into the parking lot at the south end of the
beach and shut down the motorcycle.

“Want to get off and stretch your legs for a few

minutes?” he asked. Mason slid off from behind him and
took his own helmet off. “So? What’d ya think?”

“I looked over your shoulder at the speedometer. I

can’t believe we were only going like thirty miles an
hour. I kept expecting the jump to hyperspace,” replied
Mason.

“You didn’t answer the question.”
“I liked it. Sort of. It’s also fairly scary.”
“Kind of like flying?”
“No. Not like flying. If the engine stopped working,

I’m hoping we could safely coast to a stop on the side of
road, rather than fall out of the sky like a brick!” Mason
bared his teeth in a mock snarl.

Cam snickered. “Guess I’m never going to get you

voluntarily on a plane again. Although, you have to
admit, we did come up with a way to pass the time.”

“I like that part just fine. I also didn’t mind the part I

was unconscious for. Now if you can find a way to
combine the two...” Mason suggested.

“I’ll see if I can come up with an idea. You know,

you could learn how to ride by yourself.”

“Uh-huh. I can just see myself getting hosed off the

highway in about six pieces.”

“Come on. It’s like when you first learn to drive a

car. We can go to some nice quiet school parking lot and
you can just cruise around at like five miles an hour.
Minimal risk.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No. Isn’t there an elementary school about two

blocks from your house?”

“Yeah.”
“It’s Friday. Nobody’s going to be there. It’ll be

perfect.”

“I must be out of my freakin’ mind.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, okay,” agreed Mason.

Cam threw an arm around Mason’s shoulders and

rubbed his knuckles across the top of Mason's head.
“It’ll be cool.”

***

In the deserted parking lot of the elementary school,

Mason sat astride Cam’s motorcycle. The sun was
beginning to set, but it was still fairly light. Hands
sweating inside his gloves, Mason began to relax his left
hand and the bike began to move. Yipe! And as he let
the clutch out the rest of the way, the engine promptly
stalled out. Fuck. Okay, squeeze the clutch and the brake
and push the starter button. The engine grumbled and
restarted. Try again. Let go of the brake and try to let out
the clutch. The bike lurched forward and died and he

suddenly had to brace both feet on the pavement to
prevent it from tipping over. Oh God, why in the hell
had he let Cam con him into this? Cam walked over and
laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Relax Mas’. I don’t care if you stall it out twenty

times in a row. You have to get use to the deal of
releasing the clutch and giving it just a little gas.”

“I feel like it’s going to take off at like ninety and

throw me over the handle bars!”

“It’s in first gear, dude. You can’t go ninety in first

gear.” Cam smiled at him.

Mason gnashed his teeth. “Says the guy who thinks

Mach one is a nice safe cruising speed at work!”

“It’s not like this thing has afterburners. 1000 ccs.

Smaller than the engine of your car.”

“My damn car has four wheels. And seat belts!”
“Uh-huh. Lots less fun, too.” Cam tipped the face

shield up on Mason’s helmet and leaned down and
kissed him on the nose. “Try again,” he said. Mason
made a growling noise and started the engine again.
Cam stepped back a few feet.

He opened his left hand at slowly as he could

manage. He was rolling. Aaah! His feet were just barely
off the ground.

“Put your feet on the pegs!” Cam yelled from

halfway across the parking lot. He fumbled to comply
and it took two tries to figure where his right foot was
supposed to be. He was heading toward the far end of
the lot. Brake, brake, brake, his brain shouted. His right
hand clenched around the brake lever and he stopped
somewhat abruptly as the engine coughed and died. Shit.
He was supposed to do the clutch thing, too, to get it out
of gear. God, he was hopeless. Cam jogged in his
direction.

“Hey, that was a little better. Believe it or not,

speeding up just a little will make it feel less wobbly.
Bend your knees a little more, too. Your legs are a little
bit longer than mine. It’s gonna put your knees a little
closer to the gas tank,” Cam commented.

“I’m just pathetic,” grumbled Mason. He hadn’t felt

this uncoordinated since high school.

“It’s just like driving a stick. Only it’s with your

hands not your feet,” Cam said.

“I can’t drive a stick.”
“What?”
“Slowly now, for the hearing impaired -- I -- can’t --

drive -- a -- stick. Hence the reason I have a Mustang
with an automatic transmission.”

“You’re kidding.”
“No. I had a boyfriend who tried to teach me. But

after a couple episodes of grinding the crap out of his
transmission, he quit.”

“Damn Mas’! You’re a surgeon. It’s not like you

have eye/hand coordination problems. You just need

some practice,” said Cam. Mason flexed his fingers.
They ached from the death grip he’d had on the handle
bars. “It’s getting dark. Let’s head back. You can try
again when it’s daylight.”

Mason put down the kick stand and got off so Cam

could drive. God, the man made it look simple.

***

Cam and Mason rode the brief way back to Mason’s

house and went inside, peeling off helmets and gloves
along the way. In the kitchen, Mason set his helmet on
the table and yanked open the refrigerator.

“Want a beer? Cause God knows I need one,” Mason

said. He was bent over beside the open door. The denim
of his jeans pulled tight across his butt, and Cam had to
swallow hard before he could answer.

“Yeah. Give me one,” Cam said.
Mason straightened up and handed him one. He had

apparently run his hand through his sweat damp hair
after taking off the helmet and his hair was sticking out
in all directions. It reminded Cam of how Mason looked
wet and just out of the shower. And suddenly his jeans
felt way too tight.

He pushed Mason back against the counter, and set

the bottle down. His hands clasped his lover’s head,
holding Mason immobile as he kissed his lover with
enthusiasm. Cam pushed his tongue against Mason’s
teeth and plunged his tongue inside as the doctor’s
mouth opened to him. His head was tilted back just a
little as he nipped at his lover’s soft lips. Like it hadn’t
been when he kissed Sonja. This was the one he loved.
This was the one that felt right. Just the right
combination of hard muscle and intense care.

Cam leaned his head back and looked at Mason’s

face. Eyes so blue focused all on him, pupils blown wide
in desire. He rubbed his hand down across the fly of
Mason's jeans. He was every bit as hard as Cam. Cam
yanked open the button and slid the zipper of Mason’s
jeans down. He jammed his hand down inside his
lover’s briefs and palmed the hard cock trapped inside.
It was already slick at the tip. He shoved jeans and
underwear down over his partner’s hips. Mason’s
breathing sped up a little as Cam’s fingers wrapped
around his erection. A slight flush was spreading across
his face. Cam thought it was one of the most erotic
things he had ever seen.

He stroked Mason and his lover bucked into the

rhythm. Teeth clenched, then parted as he panted for

breath. Cam nipped at his exposed throat as Mason’s
head hung back. He was making little gasping moans,
and then his body froze for an instant before he
exploded, spurting warmth all over Cam’s hand and
shirt. Cam watched his face. It was amazing. That
contortion that almost looked like pain, followed by the
eyes rolling back and the completely blissed out
relaxation of muscles. He pushed his thigh between
Mason’s, who looked for a moment like he might slither
bonelessly to the floor. Cam kissed him.

“Unh... God... Does this mean giving me riding

lessons counts as foreplay?” Mason said between gasps.

“Mmm, maybe, I‘d rather have you ride me at the

moment,” replied Cam.

Mason gave him a wicked grin, pushing Cam’s T-

shirt up and off. He walked Cam backward until his legs

hit one of the kitchen chairs. He sat down somewhat
abruptly.

“Stay put,” said Mason and vanished toward the

bedroom. He was gone just long enough that Cam was
beginning to wonder where the hell he'd gone. He finally
returned, buck naked, with lube and a condom in his
hand.

“You could’ve have just told me to follow you,

instead of leaving me out here in agony,” Cam teased,
having some idea where this was heading.

Mason merely smiled and hauled him to his feet,

yanking his pants and briefs down around his knees and
pushed him back into the chair. Mason popped open the
condom packet and put it on Cam. He squirmed slightly
as those long slender fingers tightened around his cock
for a moment. Mason slicked him with the lube and then
straddled him. He lowered his body onto Cam’s, slowly

impaling himself until he sat on Cam's legs.

Cam breathed hard. Fuck. He almost came right then,

but Mason didn’t move, except for nipping down the
side of his neck. His urgency calmed a little. Mason
began to move, in an excruciatingly slow rhythm. Cam’s
arms wrapped around him, pulling him down with more
force. Mason’s cock bobbed between their bodies as the

friction reawakened that part of his body. The chair
creaked ominously with their combined weight.

Cam buried his face against Mason’s chest. The dark

curls of chest hair rubbed his nose and mouth. Mason
smelled of sweat and come and that scent that was all
male. Cam could feel the thrum of his energy and the
lust distracted caress of Mason's mind at the edges of his
own. All of this was melting his brain into incoherence.

Mine, was the whisper he heard in his head as the rest

of conscious thought was ripped away. He came hard
enough to black out his vision and leave his body
clinging to his lover’s, hips jerking in a few brief
reflexive thrusts.

Mason’s mouth brushed along his hairline and down

the side of his face, kissing, nibbling. It was another
several minutes before either one spoke.

“Should I be amazed we didn’t break the chair?”

Cam said with a smile.

Mason slid off his legs and chuckled a little. “Guess

maybe I should have aimed you at the bed or maybe the
floor. I wasn’t exactly thinking structural integrity at the
time.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had sex on a kitchen floor.”
“We’ll put that on our to-do list then,” said Mason,

giving him a leer.

Cam rolled his eyes and stood up. He pulled up his

pants enough that he could walk without falling over.
“I’m thinking a shower ought to go on our do it next list.
Guess it’s a good thing I brought a couple of changes of
clothes over, cause this shirt’s not fit to wear,” said
Cam. He scooped his sticky T-shirt up off the floor.

“Throw it in the hamper in the bedroom. I’ll toss it in

with my next load.”

“Oh, are you volunteering to do my laundry now?”

“Only cause the mess is fifty percent my fault.”

Mason grinned.

“Only fifty percent?”
“You’re the one who started this.”
“Yeah, guess I am. No, wait, you’re the one who bent

over in front of the fridge.”

“So now it’s my fault you decided to jerk me off

against the kitchen counter?”

“Uh-huh. Cause you’re so hot I couldn’t help

myself.” Cam backed Mason against the wall of the
hallway that led away from the kitchen, planting a soft
kiss on his mouth. “About that shower...” he whispered.

***

Mason lay sprawled across his bed watching his lover

dress in his uniform. It was Saturday. He didn’t have to
work today, but Cam did.

“What did you want me to do with the extra clothes I

brought over?” asked Cam. He gestured at the backpack
sitting near the wall.

“Let me grab some stuff out of my bottom dresser

drawer. You can put it in there.” Mason got up and
pulled a batch of sweaters out and went to stick them on
a shelf in the closet.

“Next thing you know I’ll be leaving my razor in

your bathroom and my undies stuffed in between the
sofa cushions,” said Cam.

Mason’s stomach clenched. That was what he

wanted. He wanted Cam to live with him, but knew that
his lover hadn’t quite reached that step yet. “Okay. Just
so long as your lipstick and mascara don’t end up in the
bathroom, too,” said Mason.

Cam laughed and put his clothes in the drawer. “I

was thinking, I could leave my bike here today and
borrow your car. You could go putt along the street and
down to the school parking lot and just mess around.
Try to get used to the clutch and all. Maybe you’d be
less stressed about not knowing what you’re doing if
nobody’s watching,” Cam suggested.

“I guess maybe I could,” replied Mason. The thought

put a mix of butterflies and a vague tingle of excitement
in his gut.

“Go for it.” Cam picked up Mason’s wad of keys

from the dresser. “Gotta go. I’ll see you later.” He
smiled and walked out of the room.

Mason could almost see Cam erecting those mental

walls. What did he call it one time?
Compartmentalization. The job and personal life didn’t
intersect, except in the most casual way. He was in
uniform, and the uniform meant Mason was off limits.
No touching, no kiss goodbye, even though they were
alone.

***

The late afternoon sun had warmed the seat of the

motorcycle, Mason noticed as he turned the key in the
ignition. He pushed the starter switch and sat listening to
the engine warm up for a couple of minutes. Here goes,
he thought, letting out the clutch. The bike eased
forward and he guided it out of the driveway. Cool, he

was moving. With a combination of thrill and fear, he
rode down the quiet residential street at about ten miles
an hour. It wasn't very far to the school, and he could
practice for a little while.

He paused at the stop sign without too much of a

lurch. Pretend to be the cautious five year old, look both
ways, make sure you’re in first and go. The engine
grumbled like it was going to stall and he cranked the
throttle a little.

Too fast! Too fast! He groped at the controls, but not

quickly enough. The front wheel hit the curb and he was

thrown sideways as the tire slammed into the concrete
and dumped him to the right. His right hand and elbow
hit the sidewalk. Stunned by the event, he slowly
realized he wasn’t really even off the motorcycle
exactly. His right knee was on the ground, foot sort of
under the body of the motorcycle. It wasn’t lying flat
because it was against the curb. He floundered to his
feet, suddenly mad as hell that he had done something
so stupid. Fucking hell, he’d wrecked Cam’s bike.

He stood there looking at it for a long moment,

slowly aware that something was dripping down the
back of his forearm. He twisted his arm to look. Just
great. He’d skinned the crap out of his elbow and about

halfway down his forearm and the blood was dripping.
Nothing life threatening, just road rash. He would mend.
He wasn’t so sure about the motorcycle. There was a
piece lying on the sidewalk. What the hell was that that?
Oh, the right front turn signal. Effing magnificent. Wires
stuck out of the place where it was suppose to be
attached.

Cam was going to blow a gasket. Brand new bike and

his boyfriend wrecked it! Mason wrestled the bike back
upright and examined it. It was scuffed a bit along the
front cowling and also little in front of the right foot peg.
The front fender looked a little worse for wear, too.
Nothing else seemed to be dangling or obviously
broken. No leaking gas, no other shredded parts except
for the turn signal. He picked up the piece and stuck it in
his pocket.

He was roughly a block and half from home.

Dammit, he would get back on and go home and then
have his nervous breakdown. He flung his leg over and
nervously pushed the button to start it. The engine
fluttered and sputtered and refused to catch. He double
checked the clutch and brake and made sure it was in
neutral. He tried again. The engine turned over and
refused to catch. Damn. Shit. Fuck. He couldn’t leave it
at the edge of the school parking lot. The wheels still
worked. No apparent flats. He’d have to push it. It
wasn’t that far.

Twenty minutes, six hundred pounds of motorcycle

and two tenths of a sweat soaked mile later, he pushed it
into the driveway, put the kick stand down and
staggered into the house. He needed to rinse out the
scrapes and gouges in his arm before he could even
think about having a go at healing them. He was still
pretty lame at fixing himself. That was something that
Peter was trying to help him work on.

***

Cam had an uneasy feeling driving back to Mason’s

house. He couldn’t put a finger on it, but something was

wrong. Not God-awful things blowing up people dying
wrong. Just wrong.

He pulled into the driveway. The motorcycle was

parked there. Mason must be home. It was only after he
had climbed out of the car that he realized the turn signal
light had been snapped off, and there were wires
dangling. There were also scuffs along the body, and
something dark smeared across the throttle. He touched
it. Blood. He bolted into the house.

“Mason! Mason! Where the hell are you?!” he

screamed.

“Master bathroom,” said a slightly muffled voice. He

ran toward the back of the house. Mason had one hip
leaning on the sink as he examined the damage to the
back of his forearm in the mirror. Cam hastily wrapped
an arm around his partner's waist.

“Jesus Christ! Are you okay?” he demanded.
Mason let out a shaky sigh. “Yeah, it’s just skin. I

screwed up your bike.”

“I don’t give a shit about the bike! I can get it fixed.

What the hell happened?”

“I stopped at the intersection that leads into the

school parking lot. When I started up again... Obviously
I was going too fast and wiped out,” Mason said with a
sigh.

Cam rested his forehead against the back of Mason’s

shoulder, both arms wrapped around his lover’s body,
just holding him. Cam shouldn’t have pushed him to
learn to ride. Cam shouldn’t have proposed swapping
vehicles. Mason wasn’t ready. It had seemed so simple.
Just let him cruise around the parking lot and residential
street and get a feel for how the bike felt in a nice low
speed, low traffic situation.

“Hey, look at me,” Mason prompted. He turned

within the circle of Cam’s arms and tipped Cam's face

up with a finger. “I’m okay. It’s just road rash. I was
beginning to feel a bit too comfortable. I understand just
a little why you like the stupid thing.” Mason gave him a
lop-sided smile.

Cam hugged him tightly. “I saw blood on the bike

and about freaked,” he whispered.

“I don’t suppose it occurred to you that if I was hurt

very badly, the motorcycle wouldn’t have been parked
in the driveway, banged up though it is.”

“No, that part definitely didn’t cross my mind. Not

too rational for a pilot,” he admitted. Mason kissed him
softly. “Can you fix it?”

“My arm or the motorcycle?”
“Your arm, doofus. I’ll get the dealer to fix the bike.”
“It won’t start,” said Mason. Cam just looked at him.

Say what? “The bike -- it won’t start. I screwed up more
than the paint job and the turn signal.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I’ll take a look at it later.

Back to your arm. Can you heal it?”

“Probably. At least enough to get me to work

tomorrow and not draw too much attention. I had to
come home and clean the dirt out of it first though.”

“Is there anything I can do?”
“Once I’m done with the clean up, I could do with

leaning up against you while I do the healing thing.”

Cam nodded and sat down on the toilet lid to watch

Mason finish rinsing the dirt and gravel bits out of the
injuries. God, it could have been so much worse. He’d
had worse. Even if you didn’t count the near death
experience after getting hit by the pickup truck, he’d
wiped out himself. Road rash more than once, some evil
bruises, and a sprained wrist fell in the category of
motorcycle inflicted damage he’d suffered.

“Okay, done as it’s going to get,” said Mason.
They went into the bedroom. Cam leaned back on the

headboard of the bed and Mason slouched between his
legs, leaning back on his chest. Cam slid his arms
around his lover and rested his chin on Mason’s
shoulder.

“This might take a while. Let me know if you want to

get up,” said Mason. He closed his eyes and let his
injured arm lie with his hand on his collar bone. Cam

noticed a change in the soft energy vibration he nearly
always felt when he held his lover. It was sort of like a

change in tone. This was different from all the times
Mason had healed him. Must have been something
Mason was learning from Peter. He closed his own eyes
just holding Mason and feeling his lover breathe. Half
an hour ticked by. Mason shifted and drew a deep
breath.

“You done?” asked Cam.
“For now,” replied Mason. He twisted his arm around

trying to get a good look at his elbow. “What do you
think? Feels sort of better. Less sting and all.” He held it
up for inspection by Cam.

“Yeah, definitely looks better. Can we not do this

again any time soon?” Cam said. The skin was less red
and torn, and more pink and scabby, looking several
days old at least. He still felt worried about what had
happened. “Do you always feel this way about me

riding?” he asked softly.

“Sometimes. I’m getting used to the idea, sort of. I

guess it classifies somewhere in the same vein as
worrying about you crashing the jet.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t really get it. I just didn’t get why

you were so amazingly furious when I bought the new
one. Now...” Cam blew out a long breath and ran his
hands down over his face.

“How ‘bout we forego vehicles entirely for the rest of

the evening and go walk on the beach?” Mason
suggested.

“Sounds like a plan. Gimme a few minutes to put on

some civvies.”

***

In the late September dusk, the beach was moderately

deserted. The height of the tourist season was winding
down to a close. Mason padded along the wet sand at the
edge of the surf, cuffs of his jeans rolled up. His sandals
were tucked under his arm. Cam walked beside him.

“So, wanna tell me why you aren’t just absolutely

about to blow a gasket wigged out by what happened?”
asked Cam.

“Cause it was my fault. I should have been more

careful, and I wasn’t. It was a stupid maneuver and I lost
control, so I’m mad at myself.” They walked in silence
for another couple of minutes. “It doesn’t mean I’m not
going to be shaking in my shoes, when I finally get up
the nerve to try again.”

“Everybody drops their bike sometime. Despite what

happened, I’m still proud that you had the nerve to try.”
Cam took Mason’s hand, threading his fingers in
between his lover’s, and they kept walking.

2: Lack of Control

Road rash hurt. Halfway healed road rash itched,

burned and was a general pain in the ass. Or in the arm
as the case might be. Dr. Mason Flynn rubbed at the
gauze and tape that covered the damage to his elbow and
a generous chunk of the back of his forearm. It was the
legacy of trying to ride Cameron Bradshaw’s
motorcycle. Badly.

Mason fiddled with the sleeve of his dress shirt where

he had rolled it up, trying to decrease the friction against
the wounds. Tyra, one of the practice’s nurses and a
good friend, caught him at it as she passed him in the
hallway between exam rooms. She had been on vacation
for the first few days of the week.

“What did you do to yourself?” she asked, pointing at

the bandages.

“Something stupid. I sacrificed about six to eight

square inches of skin to the gods of concrete,” he
replied.

“Yow. Out running? I thought you ran on the beach.”
“Not running. Riding a motorcycle, or more precisely

wrecking one.”

“Jeez! I didn’t know you owned a motorcycle.”
“I don’t. A buddy of mine convinced me to try his

out. Would you believe I was going about five miles an
hour pulling away from a stop sign and hit a curb?”
Mason made a face.

“Could’ve been worse. I hope you had a helmet on,”

she said.

“Absolutely. I may be a total klutz on two wheels but

I’m not that stupid.”

“Are you going to Steve’s party next week?” Dr.

Steven Villetti, one of the other partners in the
orthopedic practice, threw an annual fall party. It was a
relatively big event.

“Maybe.”
“You could bring your boyfriend...” she said.
Mason pressed his lips together. Tyra knew he was

gay and was eternally trying to pry details of his love

life out of him. “I don’t know. He’s...” Mason wasn’t
sure what to say. It was an awkward situation.

“Shy? In the closet? Married?”
“Navy,” said Mason, looking at the ceiling. He didn’t

want to destroy Cam’s career, but damn it was hard to
be someone’s dirty little secret.

“Oh. I heard that the whole 'don’t ask, don’t tell

thing' doesn’t work as well in practice as some people
hoped... Listen, Jason Ambers is waiting in exam three
with his mom. Are you going to trade him off to an
oncologist?” Tyra asked.

Mason drew a deep breath. Jason Ambers was four

years old. His mother had gotten a referral from the
family GP to the orthopedic practice when Jason’s
broken leg seemed to be healing excessively slowly.
Mason had known the first time he touched the little

boy, that it was bone cancer. Being a psychic healer
could be amazing. Sometimes, it absolutely sucked.

“Not yet. I have a consult with a pediatric oncologist

guy named Santos first. I want to pick his brain some
before I present options to the parents.”

***

Wan dusky evening light filtered through the kitchen

window of Mason’s house. He tossed his keys on the
counter and picked up a pencil. On the calendar on the
wall, he scrawled -- 1pm Oncology -- in the block for

Friday. Not an appointment he wanted to miss. He
sagged onto a chair, exhausted. Monday was the first
time he had seen Jason. He had poured a vast quantity of
energy into the boy that day. Today, two days later he
had done it again. Was there any improvement? Any
stalling of the deadly disease? Maybe. He needed an
assessment from the oncologist and then maybe one
from Peter Vithoulkas, senior healer for the top secret
organization known as Division P. If things were slack
at Division P, the other healer might even be willing to
work on the boy himself. However, Peter’s first
priorities were always the psi population of the agency.

***

Lt. Cameron Bradshaw swung his motorcycle toward

the ocean front of Virginia Beach. Riding through the
near darkness, he was thinking about dinner with
Mason. He hadn’t seen the man since the weekend.
Their schedules had been at odds. He pulled into the
driveway of the house that was a couple of blocks from
the beach.

He opened the front door with a key and walked

inside. There was a light on in the kitchen and Mason
was standing at the counter, chopping broccoli. His
dress shirt was untucked, sleeves were rolled up, and he
was barefoot. Cam thought he looked delicious, and
dead tired. Cam walked up behind Mason, wrapped an

arm around his lover’s waist, and slid his hand up under
the fabric of the shirt to lie flat on Mason’s stomach.

“Hey,” Cam said softly.
“Hey to you. I’m sorry I didn’t return your text this

afternoon. I got side tracked,” replied Mason.

Cam rested the side of his head against the nape of

his partner’s neck. “It’s fine. I figured you were busy.
You look wiped.”

“Long day. Is the bike running okay? Scuffed and

all.” Mason’s tone sounded guilty.

“No problem. The new turn signal’s on order. And

you know I worry more about the fact you scraped up
your arm than about the bike. I like the bike, but it’s just
hardware.”

***

Post dinner, Cam and Mason were slouched on the

sofa, while the pilot pointed out the features of a
motorcycle being reviewed in a magazine. Mason rested
his head on Cam’s shoulder, only halfway paying
attention.

“Steve Villetti’s throwing his annual football and

beer bash next weekend. Wanna go with me?” asked
Mason.

Cam looked up from the magazine and Mason could

sense a thread of apprehension. He knew the party was
an iffy proposition at best. Being an active duty Naval
Officer, Cam’s willingness to be seen in public together
was always dependent on how much risk he thought was
involved Yeah, people knew they were good friends and
made the assumption that it stemmed from Mason
saving Cam's life after a devastating motorcycle
accident. A few people in Division P knew the depth of
their bond, and a couple of Mason’s friends, but none of
Cam’s, so far as Mason knew.

“And just exactly what does this party entail?” asked

Cam.

“Tons of food, good beer and college football on the

TV. He usually invites fifty-some people. It’s a sort of
all day, come when you can thing. We could go for just
an hour or so,” replied Mason. He could almost see the
internal debate in Cam’s eyes, always wondering if his
secret would destroy his career. “Steve knows I have a
partner, and Tyra pries details out of me with the finesse
of a Spanish Inquisitor,” continued Mason, naming
people who were part of the orthopedic practice. “As
long as I don’t grope you over the beer cooler, nobody
else is liable to think twice about two single guys
hanging out together with a bunch of other people
watching football.”

“I guess I can let you drag me along for a little

while,” said Cam.

“Good.” Mason cupped a hand behind his lover’s

head and pulled Cam into a kiss. He was exquisitely
pleased that Cam had agreed to the party idea. “You
staying tonight? Or heading back toward the base?”

“I’ll stay. I’ve barely seen you this week,” replied

Cam.

Mason smiled. He’d only in the past week convinced

Cam to leave some clothes and other essentials at his

house to streamline things when Cam spent the night
with him.

“I’d promise to molest you except I think you’re too

tired to enjoy it.”

“Mmm, yeah,” admitted Mason. Sitting here against

the warmth of his partner’s body was lulling him toward
falling asleep.

***

Cam had to be at work earlier than Mason the

following morning. The doctor was still in the shower
when Cam went into the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee
before heading out. Leaning on the counter as he drank
the coffee, he stared idly across the room at the wall
calendar. There was something scribbled in the Friday

block. He walked closer, wondering if Mason had plans
for them to do something that night. He hadn’t been
exactly with it last night. Mason had fallen asleep in
Cam’s arms almost as soon as they went to bed. “1pm
Oncologist” was printed in the square. Cam’s heart
froze. Oh God. No, it couldn’t be. Oh, please God, no,
his brain pleaded. Maybe Mason didn’t know for sure.
Maybe that’s why his lover hadn’t said anything. Some
cancers were more treatable than others. It would be just
like Mason to say nothing until he had all the facts and
all the options.

Cam fought the urge to stalk back into the bathroom

and demand that Mason tell him everything right then.
But what would that say about his trust? He needed to
give his lover a little space, a little time. If Mason still
didn’t tell him anything by the weekend, then Cam
would drag the information out of him.

Walk into the bathroom and tell him you’ll see him

after work, Cam told himself. And it took every ounce
of self-control he thought he possessed to do just that.

“You sure? I thought you had that aerial fighting

thing going on this afternoon.” Mason looked at Cam in
the mirror as he shaved.

“ACM- 1v1.”

“Yeah that thing.”
“I do, but I’ll still be done by six or so. Last night you

were dead tired, so I figured maybe we could make up
for it tonight,” said Cam. Fuck, why hadn’t he realized
there was something wrong? Every time Mason had
talked to him this week, he had sounded distracted or
tired. Mason was standing in front of the sink, towel
wrapped around his waist, still looking somewhat
drained, even after a full night’s sleep. As Mason wiped
the remnants of shaving cream from his face, Cam put
his hands on his partner’s shoulders and spun him
around. He kissed Mason passionately. “See you later,”
he said and walked out of the room.

Riding toward the base for work, Cam had to blink

back the tears that threatened his vision.

***

Buttoning his shirt in the bedroom, Mason was

slightly mystified by Cam’s behavior. Generally if the
pilot spent the afternoon flying, followed by the usual
dissection and analysis of the maneuvers, he tended to
hang out with the other pilots and blow off steam or just
go back to his quarters. Not that Mason wanted to
complain about the promise to come by at the end of the
day. He had been pretty beat last night.

The kiss in the bathroom was confusing, too. He had

gotten used to the concept that if Cam was in uniform,
touching was off limits. Now the guy was changing the
rules in mid-stream. It seemed like a good change, but
there was something wrong. Mason couldn’t seem to put
a name on it. A hint of desperation? Maybe he could get

Cam to talk to him more openly tonight. Pillow talk if it
needed to be.

***

What did you call it when nothing went quite right,

but nothing went horribly wrong either? Cam stripped
out of his “speed jeans” and his flight suit. The dogfight

practice hadn’t been anywhere near his best. Even his
opponent had gone so far as to comment on Bradshaw
having an off day. Every time Cam thought he had his
focus down pat, the word oncologist flashed in his head
and suddenly his concentration was all but blown.

Cam sat down on the bench in the locker room,

elbows on his knees, hands dangling between. If Mason
was dying... Nobody died of cancer overnight. They had
to have at least a few weeks, maybe as much as years.
There was chemo, and radiation and surgery. Some
people lived for a lot of years after being diagnosed with
cancer. He just couldn’t quite wrap his head around the
idea of losing Mason. They’d had their bad moments...
the fight regarding Cam’s new motorcycle being the
most vicious, and most recent. But he loved the man. He
still had trouble with that concept at times. In the general

public, homosexual relationships were not particularly
well accepted. In the Navy... damn, why couldn’t they
be like the British and not care what the sex of your
partner was? If whatever Mason had was terminal,
would the military even let him take time off to care for
his partner?

***

“Damn, will you let me go long enough to put the

dishes in the sink?” said Mason. Cam had pulled a plate
from his hand, set it on the table and backed him against
the kitchen wall, kissing him. They had finished dinner
and Mason was making a really vain attempt to clean up.

“No. I won’t! The fucking dishes can wait. I don’t

know how much time we have left and right this minute
I want to spend it touching you!” snapped Cam.

Mason was startled by the intensity of hurt that

seemed to be blazing from his lover. “What happened?
Did somebody out you at work?” asked Mason
carefully. He relaxed back against the wall. Cam’s hands
were braced on either side of his shoulders.

“No. Why?”

“What you just said. Something about not knowing

how much time we had left. I thought that meant the
command was threatening you with transfer orders.”

“I meant how much time you have left to live. God

damn it!” shouted Cam. Mason raised an eyebrow. The
man was making no sense.

“Are you planning on killing me?”
“Fuck! Mason. The oncologist appointment. The

cancer. You being dead tired! Why didn’t you tell me!?”
Cam raged.

Mason took a deep breath. Man, talk about mixed

signals and jumping to conclusions. He took Cam’s face
in his hands. He wasn’t sure he had ever seen such raw
grief from his lover.

“Listen to me. I’m fine. Honestly. You made a wrong

assumption,” he said softly. “The oncologist thing, it has

to do with one of my patients.”

Cam gave him an uncomprehending look. “You

wrote it on your calendar. Here at home…” Cam
whispered.

“I know. This kid, my patient, he’s four years old,

and has osteosarcoma, bone cancer. I’m doing
everything I can to improve this kid’s chances. I’ve been
pouring energy into him, trying to stall the progression.
It wipes me out, in a different way than short term
emergency stuff does. I made a consultation
appointment with an oncologist so I could discuss the
case more objectively without the parents around. I
usually try not to get so involved, but God, something
about this kid just gets to me and I think his chances are
pretty slim.” Mason pulled Cam tight against his body
and wrapped both arms around him, drawing the pilot’s
head down on his shoulder. “So don’t worry, it’s not
about me. Not really anyway.”

They stood unmoving for a number of minutes.

Mason could feel Cam’s chest heaving as he sucked in
tense gulps of air. It had never occurred to him that a
hastily written reminder combined with the fatigue of
trying to heal the little boy would lead his lover to leap
to such a devastating conclusion.

“I’m sorry I scared you. When did you see my note

on the calendar?” Mason asked.

“This morning,” muttered Cam. His face was still

pressed against Mason's shoulder.

“Ah, so that’s why you kissed me before you left.”
Cam finally lifted his head and looked at Mason.

“What? I usually kiss you before I leave.”

“Only if you’re not in uniform.”
“Oh... um...” Cam looked away.
“It’s okay. I get it. That whole compartmentalization

thing. I don’t fit into that part of your life.”

“Shit, I don’t want it to be that way. I flew like

absolute crap today, ‘cause I couldn’t stop thinking
about how much I love you. And how I was so scared I
going to lose you.” Cam sucked in another agonized
breath. “I wasn’t going to say anything ‘til after the

appointment on Friday. Then all through dinner you
acted like nothing was wrong and I assumed...”

“Do you really think that if I had cancer that I

wouldn’t tell you?”

“I figured that you wanted to wait until you had all

the facts in a row. Then you’d try to present it as --
here’s the diagnosis and here’s all the options.”

“Am I really that much of a control freak?” asked

Mason.

“Yeah you are.” Cam kissed him softly. “But I sort of

understand why. It keeps you together.” Cam buried his
face against the side of Mason’s neck and leaned against
his body, pinning him gently to the wall. “God, this has
been a really shitty day. Can I have a nervous
breakdown now?”

Mason’s hands stroked down his lover’s back.

Despite finding out his horrible belief was wrong, Cam
was still wound tight enough to knot every muscle down
his spine. Mason nuzzled his mouth along his lover’s
temple. All he wanted to do right that moment was
soothe away the stress and the heartache.

“Come,” he whispered, and eased Cam away from

himself a few inches so he could turn and guide his
lover out of the kitchen.

***

The bedside lamp cast a warm light across the bed as

Cam stood in front of his lover. Mason’s hands were
slowly undressing him, pulling off his T-shirt,
unbuckling his belt, pushing his underwear and jeans
down over his hips. His cock jostled limply against the
inside of his thigh as he stepped out of his pants. Mason
pushed him down to sit on the bed and hooked a finger
in a sock to take it off, then did the other one.

“Lie down on your stomach,” said Mason softly.
Cam felt the bed dip as Mason straddled his thighs

and warm hands began to knead at his shoulders. Firm
fingers dug into the muscles along his backbone and he
could feel that subtle, familiar energy vibration that

came with Mason’s healing talent. His breath hitched a
little as too many thoughts churned through his head. If
Mason had had cancer, could his healing talent help to
defeat it? The doctor’s psychic healing skill was iffy at
best when it came to fixing himself.

Cam squirmed beneath Mason and rolled over to face

him. His lover had removed his shirt but still wore his
slacks. Cam took hold of Mason’s wrist and bent his
arm slightly to see the bandages that still covered the
road rash from the motorcycle fall. Mason sat back a
little against Cam's legs.

“It’s healing. Slowly. Normally. I haven’t had a lot of

energy to spare to hurry things along,” said Mason.

Cam stared up into those intense blue eyes, slowly

letting go of Mason’s wrist. “If...” he started and
couldn’t get the words past his lips.

“I don’t know. Cancer can be a big thing, or it can be

something tiny and localized. There are too many
variables,” said Mason.

“Mmm, spoken like a doctor.”
“Uh-huh.” Mason shuffled back a few inches on his

knees then lay down on top of Cam. He was a heavy,
welcome warmth. Mason’s hands pinned Cam’s on
either side of his head, fingers interlaced. Cam could

feel the calm concern emanating from his lover. Warm
lips grazed his chin, then roamed upward to his mouth.
Mason kissed him with care, tracing Cam's lower lip
with the tip of his tongue then softly pressing it against
his teeth. Cam’s mouth opened willingly to the gentle
invasion.

It was a long slow battle of tongues and teeth and lips

and Cam slowly noticed the rest of his body responding
to the assault. His hardening cock was being pressed
along the fly of Mason’s pants and butting against his
partner’s own arousal.

“You ha’ too many clothes on,” Cam mumbled

around Mason’s tongue.

Mason made a noise of agreement and finally let go

of Cam’s hands to struggle with his belt. It took another
minute for him to shuck his pants and briefs and toss

them off the end of the bed. Mason stretched out beside
him. His hand skimmed across Cam’s chest and brushed
along his nipple. It tightened in response and the tiny
motion sent threads of heat straight to his groin. Cam
rolled toward him. Mason crooked a leg behind Cam’s
and drew their bodies tight together. Mason's hand
cupped the back of Cam’s head and pulled him back into
a deep open mouth kiss.

“Better?” was the whisper in his head. Cam’s hands

slid around his partner’s body and reveled in the energy
thrum that tingled his body every place they touched.
His fingers had passed the uneven texture of scar tissue
that a bullet had left on Mason's side. A bitter reminder
of a narrow escape. Cam’s breath caught. That event had
been very real. Mason rocked his hips forward a little,
rubbing his own hard cock against Cam’s

“I’m here. I’m real and I’m safe,” his lover

whispered.

“Fuck me,” said Cam. His voice was husky and

uneven. “Hard.”

Mason gave him a long level look. “On your knees,”

replied Mason softly. As Cam rolled to his hands and
knees, he heard the slurpy sound of lube being squeezed

from the tube. A cool slick finger pushed against his ass
and slid carefully in.

“No! Just do it!” snapped Cam. He wanted it to hurt.

In the morning, he wanted every move to remind him
just how real and alive and healthy his lover was.
Mason’s hand on his hip was motionless and he could
feel the uncertainty his partner broadcast. Then came
that slurpy blat of lube again.

“The safe word is ow,” said Mason softly, and this

drew a convulsive snicker from Cam.

The cool press of something a lot bigger than a finger

cut off the laugh. Cam gulped in a sharp breath as the
burning stretch drew all his attention. Oh God, he hadn’t
realized just how careful the healer had been in the past
months to make sure he was ready the times he
bottomed. Mason held himself still, waiting.

“More,” Cam gasped. Mason drew back just a little

and when he thrust forward, Cam suddenly rocked back
impaling himself on the full length of his partner. The
mix of discomfort bordering on pain combined with the
impact against his prostate and he let out a keening
moan.

“God... shit...” Mason gasped, both hands clenching

around Cam’s hips holding him immobile. “Slow
down!” Neither of them moved for several seconds,
before Mason withdrew a little. When he pushed in
again, their bodies made a smacking sound as flesh hit
flesh. And it escalated. A hard aggressive fuck that
lasted only a couple minutes. Cam let out a choked cry
of ecstasy as he spurted semen across the sheets.
Mason’s orgasm was mere seconds later. As the echo of
his partner’s climax washed through his nervous system,
Cam collapsed shakily to the mattress, Mason on top of
him. They were both fighting to catch their breath,
hearts pounding hard.

Cam could feel Mason’s breath against the back of

his shoulder and the slow slither of Mason's softening
cock sliding from his body. It was too much trouble to
move right then.

“You okay?” Mason mumbled in his ear.

“Fab.”

***

Gotta come up with a good story, Cam decided as he

rode to work, because somebody was sure to notice that
he was being a little careful about how he sat down. He
was sore, with good and obvious reason. In the shower
that morning, Mason had given him a guilty look of
concern and offered to use his healing talent. Cam
refused.

True to form, somebody did notice halfway through

the morning.

“Hey Bradshaw, you break your butt or something?

You’re sitting down as careful as some old lady with
hemorrhoids,” said Curtis, one of Cam’s fellow pilots.

“I stepped backward off a curb last night. Fell flat on

my ass. I probably bruised my tailbone,” said Cam.

“Even if you broke it, it’s not like they could put a

cast on it,” snickered the other man. Cam just grinned.
Inside, his chest tightened. Mason was healthy and
whole and had practically pounded him into the
mattress. Every moment’s physical discomfort was a
welcome contrast to the heart-wrenching emotional
agony of the day before.

***

The wind that blew across The Hague bordered on

icy, as Mason stood with his elbows braced on the
concrete railing. This inlet of water ran only a few scant
blocks from Children’s Hospital of the King’s
Daughters. The oncologist he had gone to see had an
office close by. Evening traffic flooding off the Naval
base toward the midtown tunnel was starting to cause a
back up, and he wasn’t in the mood to sit in the bumper
to bumper crawl right then. The cancer specialist had
been helpful and sympathetic, but, ultimately, the
prognosis was poor. Choices seemed to lie between
aggressive chemotherapy with little chance of remission

and amputation followed by radiation with only slightly
better odds.

The sun was dipping toward the horizon, and Mason

had barely moved a muscle in past half hour. All the
information churned through his brain. Could he do
anything to alter the options? He hadn’t had time to talk
to Peter Vithoulkas yet, the senior healer at Division P.
Maybe there was some hope there.

A hard shiver ran through his body. Damn, maybe he

ought to go someplace a little warmer to drown himself
in his internal angst. He pushed away from the railing
and began to walk slowly back in the direction of the
parking garage near the hospital. Turning his cell phone
back on would probably be a good idea, too. As the
device played its little boot-up tune, he noticed there
were four text messages and two missed calls, all from

Cam. Mason thumbed his lover’s cell number. No
answer, it flipped over to voice mail. That could mean
anything from Cam was on his motorcycle to he was in
a meeting on base. Mason scrolled down through the
menu and started popping open the text messages.

- ONCO MTG OVR?
GNEWS? BNEWS?
IM THINKIN BAD
U K?
Mason heaved a sigh and guiltily tucked the phone

back in his pocket. Obviously Cam was worrying about
him. He decided to try calling again in fifteen minutes or
so, which then reminded him of the early evening traffic
snarl clogging the roads near the hospital. There was
really no point in even getting in his car. A cup of coffee
in the hospital cafeteria was probably as good as any
other ploy to kill some time.

***

Scanning the faces of the people in the hospital

cafeteria was really more a habit than a necessity. This
close, the tug on Cameron Bradshaw’s talent for finding
what he was after was an unmistakable pull. He saw his

lover sitting alone at a table, chin resting on a hand,
coffee cup before him, long graceful fingers wrapped
around it. His Blackberry lay in front of him. The idle
play of those fingers along the edge of the cup told a
story of tension.

Cam crossed the room and laid a hand on Mason’s

shoulder. The doctor looked up at him, with a slightly
startled expression, then relaxed.

“If it was anybody but you, I’d ask how you knew

where to find me,” said Mason. Cam set his helmet on
the table and sat down beside his partner.

“Better than Lo-Jack and GPS combined,” he said

with a smile, then sobered a bit. “I’m guessing the
meeting went badly?”

“The meeting was fine, but yeah, I know what you

meant,” replied Mason.

“I’m sorry.” Cam wanted to put his arms around his

lover and offer him comfort. He settled for brushing his
fingertips against Mason’s where they were curled
around the coffee cup.

“I’ll... figure something out,” said Mason. “I tried

calling you back a little while ago... I had my cell turned
off during the meeting.”

“Answering my phone while I’m riding...”
“Yeah, I wondered if you might be on your bike. Not

exactly a safe option,” Mason said as he sat back and
crossed his arms.

Cam recognized the maneuver. When they were in

public, Mason would often do something to remind
himself that careless touches were a bad idea. God,
when had he become so attuned to such tiny indicators
in Mason’s body language? Probably right about the
time he had finally admitted to himself that he was
hopelessly in love. “I wasn’t expecting to see you
today,” Mason said.

“I know, but you’ve been really bent out of shape

about this kid. I figured you could use some company.
And I didn’t want to tell you over the phone that I have
to go to Philadelphia for a couple of days. Division P
stuff.”

Mason grimaced faintly. “Is this going to involve you

getting shot at?”

“I think the risk is pretty low. I’m being loaned to the

FBI to help them find some money stolen from a bank
three days ago. Apparently they’re clueless.”

“When are you leaving?”
“Tonight at ten pm. You could come with me...”
“This involves an airplane right?”
“Um, yeah.”
“No, thanks. You know my opinion of flying.”
“Thought it wouldn’t hurt to ask. It’s only a couple

hours flight. We could go to the airport bar and get you
really drunk first,” Cam teased gently, knowing that
Mason’s fear of flying bordered on phobic.

“I’m sure that would go over well. Not to mention

showing up with a friend in tow probably wouldn’t

exactly wow the FBI I’m sure,” said Mason.

“You are Division P. An all-signed on the dotted line

and mostly trained agent.”

“Christ, that makes me sound like James Bond,

instead of some doctor who got roped into something I
haven’t decided whether I like or not.”

Cam looked at him for a long moment. “Do you

regret your contract with them?” he said slowly.

“No. Yes. Hell! I don’t know. I like having Peter to

openly compare notes with. I’m probably better than I
used to be at ‘that stuff’ for the training they’ve given
me. I like having a place where you and me doesn’t
matter. But it all comes with a price doesn’t it? Peter’s
been hinting about sending me on official business for a
couple weeks now. Did they ask you to tap me for this?”

“Danny suggested that sending you as a sort of

trainee might not be a bad thing. The FBI doesn’t even
have to know what you do for P. All they have to know
is that you’re one of us,” said Cam.

Mason braced his forehead against the heels of his

hands. “God, I hate flying,” he whispered.

“Is that a yes?”
“I guess so. Part of me wants to claim that I need to

stay close to my patient. But the other part knows that if

I do this, I might be able to get Peter to willingly help
me figure out a way to fix Jason Ambers. And a
weekend’s probably not going to make a difference in
the end result anyway.”

“That bad?”
“Yeah, probably... I keep trying to convince myself

that maybe what I can do, my gift, can save him. But I
just don’t know.”

“Come on. Traffic’s hopefully let up a little by now.”

***

They walked out of the hospital and across the street

to the parking deck. Mason was about two-thirds of the
way to where he had parked when it occurred to him,
that he had no idea where Cam’s bike was.

“You don’t have to walk me to my car. I can find it

by myself, honest, I’m a full fledged grown-up,” Mason
said, in a teasing tone.

“I’m parked one space away from your Mustang.

There was some Toyota thing parked between us when I
left it.”

Mason opened to mouth, shut it, then finally said,

“Hon, sometimes you are just plain scary with that
stuff.”

Cam let out a snort of laughter. “This from the guy

who can turn off pain like a light switch and seal up skin
like it’s never been torn?”

“Mmm, yeah,” muttered Mason. True to Cam’s word,

his motorcycle was one space away in the deck, one car
parked between them. Mason unlocked his car door.
“How do we do this?”

“Go pack enough stuff for a couple days. I have to

get my gear from my quarters on base. Danny
Valentine’s picking me up at eight, then we’ll swing by
your place. The game plan is to make sure we’re in
Philly and all ready to go by nine-ish tomorrow

morning,” said Cam.

“Suit and tie? Business casual? Jeans?”

“Uh, I usually opt for the middle unless I know it’s

going to be something really filthy.”

“You taking uniforms?”
“No. Unless it’s a job that’s a direct spin off of Navy

stuff, I’m officially Division P and not military.”

“Oh.” Thoughts of the flight combined with his last

somewhat involuntary “mission” involving Naval
Intelligence churned through Mason’s head. That had
been a real nightmare. As he opened the car door, his
fingers trembled a little at the memory of the woman he
had killed to save Cam’s life. Beside him, Cam must
have sensed his stress. Strong fingers curled around the
side of his neck and Cam’s thumb ran along his jaw.

“Nothing about this op is personal. This is what I

usually do. Out on assignment for a couple days, then
back to flying. Business as usual,” said Cam.

“I guess,” replied Mason. Feeling Cam's fingers

against his skin was a welcome touch.

“Are you okay with this?”
“I have to be, don’t I? I signed away my right to

refuse.”

“You could tell Peter you’re not ready.”
“No, I can’t. Not if I want him to help me with Jason

Ambers.”

***

In a garage in Philadelphia, a man set a can bearing a

label that declared it to be black rifle powder on a work
bench. He proceeded to pick up a length of copper pipe
and clamp it in a vise, then pound one end flat with a
large hammer. A drill, a battery, a model rocket engine
igniter, and several other items lay further down the
bench. He worked in silence except for the noises of the
tools.

***

Cam hadn’t been kidding when he mentioned getting

Mason drunk in the airport bar. Well, not exactly drunk,

but definitely a little less wound up. He had convinced
Mason to have two rum and cokes before they left, and
it was probably about the only thing that kept Mason
from outright hyperventilating when they took off.
Blissfully, the flight was smooth and relatively short.
They would be landing in about ten minutes.

The plane was relatively full, but judging from the

number of people who seemed to be snoozing, it
appeared to be mostly business travelers. As they began
their descent, Cam watched Mason fidget and twist in
his seat, fingers intermittently clenching around the arm
of the seat and balling into fists in his lap. In the
darkness of the cabin, Cam couldn’t tell if Mason was
really as pale as he looked in the dim lighting. Cam
pushed the arm rest between them up out of the way and
slid an arm behind his partner. He pulled Mason closer

to him.

“Chill, you’re safe,” he whispered in Mason’s ear. He

could feel the hard thud of the man’s pulse. Cam cupped
a hand against his lover’s cheek and turned Mason's face
toward his own. Cam kissed him softly. Soft lips were
bordered by the rasp of razor stubble. Cam could feel the
anxiety churning through his partner. “Focus on me,” he
murmured and curled his hand against the back of
Mason’s head, pulling his lover deeper into the kiss. He
nipped gently at the delicious mouth against his and
pressed his tongue against the doctor’s teeth. Mason’s
mouth opened to him and Cam put his best effort into
being a complete distraction. It worked until they hit a
pocket of turbulence.

“Shit!” gasped Mason, and his fingers dug into

Cam’s shoulder.

“It’s okay. It’s just bumpy getting down,” Cam tried

to soothe his lover. He hugged Mason’s head down
against his shoulder.

“I’m such a fucking wuss,” Mason mumbled as his

fingers tightened on Cam’s thigh.

“We’re almost down,” replied Cam.
In another five minutes, the plane landed.
***

Two people met Cam and Mason at the airport. A

stunning blond woman in a charcoal gray business suit
waited with a stocky man bearing a small placard with
Cam’s name written on it.

“I’m Cameron Bradshaw.”
“Madison Carthage, director of the FBI’s

Philadelphia office,” replied the woman holding out a
hand. Cam thought she had a sort of predatory look. He
guessed it took that sort to run with the big boys. “I was
under the assumption that you were coming alone,” she
continued. Her eyes raked down the length of Mason’s
body, where he stood a couple of feet away.

“This is Mason Flynn. He’s one of Division P’s

trainees,” said Cam.

“And what’s his specialty?” she asked.
“Sorry, that’s classified.”

“Oh. I’m afraid we only made arrangements for one

hotel room,” she said.

Cam could detect a hint of annoyance. This was a

woman who obviously didn’t like either surprises or
secrets.

“That’s fine. We’ll cope.” Cam glanced at Mason for

any sign of disagreement. Mason shrugged.

“Very well. Agent Buchner will be taking us to the

hotel. You’ll be collected at 8:30 and brought to the

federal building for a briefing.”

“Okay. Got it.” They all began to walk toward the

baggage claim area.

“Mr. Flynn, how long have you been with Division

P?” the Director fished. Her gaze had taken on a sort of
sultry look.

“About five months,” said Mason. He glanced at

Cam.

“And what did you do before?”
“I’m an orthopedic surgeon. I still have an active

practice.”

“Oh? I suppose I should have called you Dr. Flynn

then,” said Madison.

“It’s fine. I don’t mind.”

“If we’re going to work together, I hate to get started

off on the wrong foot,” she smiled.

***

The triage bag that Mason grabbed off the belt at

baggage claim weighed quite a bit. What the hell was in
it? Bricks? He grunted a little as he slung over his
shoulder. Peter had sent it to him via Danny Valentine
when he had been picked up prior to the flight. Mason
couldn’t really fathom why he was supposed to bring it,
but he wasn’t about to argue after the fiasco at the
Meridian Air Station back at the beginning of the
summer.

Mason already had his garment bag. They were

waiting for Cam’s to make an appearance. Cam gave

Mason a glance as Madison chattered away beside him.
Ten minutes later, they were all headed off to the hotel.

Standing in the hotel lobby, Ms. Carthage was

confirming that a room had been reserved for Cameron
Bradshaw and could the concierge please see if a second
room was available. Regrettably, the Concierge said the
hotel was full due to a convention occurring in the area.

“I’m so sorry,” Madison said, looking at Mason.
“It’s fine. We’ll manage,” Mason replied.
“At least the concierge assured me that there are two

beds,” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” She gave
Mason a warm smile, to Cam she nodded and left with
Buchner trailing after her.

In the elevator, heading toward the tenth floor,

Mason saw Cam look at him with a smirk on his face.
“That woman is just dying to get into your pants,” said
Cam.

“If only she knew how absolutely non-existent her

chances are,” said Mason. “Or that the second bed is
going to go sadly underused. Unless you really want to
sleep alone...”

“Not if I have another option. Although it is almost

one am. I’m not sure much more than sleeping’s likely
to occur.”

“You still sore?”
“A little.”
“I’ll fix it for you,” Mason promised.
The elevator made a soft chime and the doors slid

open. The two men walked down the hallway to the
room and Cam popped the key card into the lock.

The room was fairly generous in size and furnished

with two queen size beds. Mason set down the gear bag
and his garment bag then flopped on the bed. He still
wasn’t sure how he had gotten maneuvered into coming
to Philadelphia with Cam. It’s a bargaining chip, he told
himself. Cam crawled onto the bed and knelt over top of
him, looking down into his eyes.

“I’m sorry I’m such a total flake about flying,”

Mason apologized.

Cam just grinned at him and eased down to lie on top

of him. “We could pick up where we left off before we
landed...” Cam suggested softly. Mason tugged at the
back of Cam’s shirt, untucking it from his slacks. He
laid a hand against the hard muscles at the back of
Cam's waist and opened his shields. He could feel the
nagging ache of abused muscles and the faint burning
discomfort that was a result of the previous night.

“You should’ve told me you hurt,” Mason gently

chided his lover as he sent a warm flood of energy
cascading through his hand.

“Unh, not important,” whispered Cam, beginning to

kiss Mason.

***

Six people walked from the federal building into the

attached parking garage. Cam fingered the evidence bag
containing the lock from a money transport bag where it
was tucked into his pocket. The FBI had shown him
shell casings, an ink pen dropped by one of the men in
the robbery, a dubious shoe print, photos of the scene
and bags and locks that had been chopped off with bolt
cutters.

“Do you want me to find the people or the money?”

he had asked. The decision had been made that the
money took priority. Cam thought that fell in the
category of kind of weird. Didn’t finding the “bad guys”
generally trump just money? It wasn’t like the missile he
had located for the Navy. Money was just money,
wasn’t it? So Cam made the usual disclaimers that what
he did was not an exact science and results were not
guaranteed. So now he stood in the garage with Mason,
Madison Carthage, Agent Buchner, and two more FBI
men, whose names he had already forgotten.

“You do realize this is going to be slow and

excruciatingly boring?” Cam said to Ms. Carthage. “It
would probably be less frustrating for you and all your
people to let me wander around for an hour or so and
figure out what direction I’m going.”

“What exactly does wandering around entail?” Ms.

Carthage asked.

“Pretty much, just that. I usually have to sort of get

my bearings before I know which way to go. I’d prefer
to do it on foot.”

“Very well. Do you want to start from here or from

the scene?”

“Unless you have some overwhelming reason to

believe the money is closer to the original crime scene,
here’s just fine.”

***

A light drizzle was developing as Mason walked

along beside Cam. They were just ambling along a city
street. Cam had his earbuds in and his mp3 player
tucked in his pocket. The infamous Ms. Carthage was
trailing along, heels clacking on the sidewalk.
Periodically she would try to draw Mason into
conversation, asking him about his orthopedic practice,
the area where he lived and Division P. He kept his
answers as brief as he could manage. God, the woman
was irritating. He supposed he should be flattered that
she was so hot for him. She was obviously operating

under the premise that she just hadn’t found the right
way to tempt him yet.

Mason suddenly lunged forward and grabbed Cam

before he walked face first into a bus stop.

“Hey! Careful!” Mason shouted. Cam gave him a

startled look then laughed a little.

“This is why driving when I do this is usually such a

bad idea.”

“Making any progress?” asked Mason.
“Yeah, actually I just got a pull.”
“Should I request the rest of the team to meet us

here?” asked Madison.

“Not yet. Give me another half mile or so.”

***

Stor-It-Here was one of those self-storage places that

had sprung up like mushrooms. Cam had indicated that
Agent Buchner should stop along the high fence that
bordered the place. Mason was in the back seat with Ms.
Carthage. Cam glanced back at them. Carthage was
gazing at Mason with a look that made Cam think she
would consider jumping him if they were alone.

They were on the edge of the city, some seventeen

miles or so from where the robbery had taken place.

“Is this it?” asked Carthage.
“I’m about eighty percent sure. Things are harder to

track than people,” replied Cam.

“Okay, I need to make a phone call to verify a

warrant, then we’ll have a look,” she said, climbing out
of the car. Cam got out and leaned on the front fender to
wait. Mason walked around to stand in front of him.

“Do you think if I stuck my tongue down your throat

she’d back off?” whispered Mason.

Cam smiled a little. “Guess you don’t swish enough

to give her any clue you’re not het,” replied Cam. He
was hard pressed not to laugh. Mason rolled his eyes.

It took about ten minutes for the FBI to gain

permission to enter the storage facility. Cam began

walking the road that led between rows of locked doors.
He stopped in front of one numbered 3866.

“This one,” he said. It felt right. It had the magnetic-

style draw that he followed. Agent Buchner retrieved an
enormous pair of bolt cutters from the car. It took a
couple of tries to get the right angle for him to cut the
lock off. Inside the storage area was some old furniture
stacked along the wall, a large number of cardboard
boxes and some plastic ones also.

“Search everything,” ordered Madison. She walked

back toward the corner where two roadways through the
complex intersected, dialing her cell. Cam shrugged at
Mason and they went to stand by the doors on the
opposite side of the road.

“Think you hit pay dirt?” asked Mason.
“Yeah, I think so.” They were both watching the

three agents systematically begin to search the contents.

“I left my cup of coffee in the car. This looks like it

could take a while, I’ll be back in a couple of minutes”
said Mason. Cam nodded. Sheer curiosity kept him close
to the open storage space, and he lingered as close to the
door as he could without being in the way.

“Hey, I...” called Buchner to one of the other agents

as he began to open a cardboard box. The rest of his
words were ripped away by the roar of an explosion.

***

Mason had traveled only thirty feet or so from the

opened storage bay, when the “whump” and concussive
shudder of the blast startled Mason so much he
stumbled. He managed not to fall flat, thoughts spinning
wildly as his brain tried to process the sound. Bomb.
Explosion. Cam! He whirled back toward the direction
he had come from, and began to run.

He saw Cam lying against the door frame of the open

room. His gut clenched so hard he thought he was going
to vomit. Then Cam moved, slowly rolling to his knees,
one hand braced on the ground, the other holding the

side of his head. Charred and smoldering pieces of paper
littered the ground. Money. Burning money.

Mason fell to his knees beside Cam and wrapped an

arm around him, easing him back into a seated position.

“Easy, I’ve got you,” Mason said, his voice sounding

far calmer than he felt.

“Shit! I’m okay! I just got knocked down!” snapped

Cam, the words followed by a groan. “Help the other
guys.”

Mason threw open all his senses and cupped Cam’s

face in his hands. He let his mind rifle through Cam’s
nervous system with a brutal efficiency that left his
lover grimacing further. Pain. Ear, head, shoulder, knee.
No critical injuries.

“Go!” yelled Cam. Mason swallowed hard and forced

himself back to his feet, going into the storage bay.

Agent Buchner had been flung face down in a heap. His
clothes were singed and one hand was completely
missing, blood spurting with each beat of his pulse into
an ever widening puddle.

Madison Carthage teetered to a stop a couple of feet

from Mason, out of breath and eyes wide.

“Oh, fucking hell...” she whispered.
Mason was rolling the injured man over. He clenched

one hand around the severed wrist trying to exert as
much instant pressure as he could while he began to
yank off the man’s tie.

“Call 911! Tell them we have a traumatic

amputation! Go get my backpack from the car. It’s a
medical field kit! NOW!” ordered Mason.

The woman stumbled away.
Mason let all his senses blow wide open. He had

mere minutes to get the bleeding slowed enough to keep
the man alive. His grip around the wrist was slowing the
gush somewhat. Tie in his hand now, he improvised a
tourniquet, wrenching the narrow fabric as tight as
possible. The flow of blood was slowing to a pulsing
trickle.

Mason was dimly aware of the other two men

groaning and slowly trying to gather themselves up.

Like Cam, they had been nowhere as close to the blast
as Buchner. Mason ripped the agent’s shirt open and laid
one hand on his chest, the other went on the man’s arm
as Mason forced the blood vessels to constrict and
further slow the blood loss. Buchner was still breathing.

Mason began scanning down through the rest of the

agent’s body. Head trauma -- that seemed to be result of
the blast combined with the impact on the floor. Some
lung damage -- again probably due to a combination of
the blast and hot gases of whatever explosive was used.
There were hints of abdominal bleeding from the liver
and spleen. All over bits of debris were embedded in the
agent’s body. Mason poured a vast amount of energy in
the broken body, trying to buy time until the EMS
people could arrive.

Ms. Carthage dumped the heavy backpack on the

floor beside Mason, saying, “Fire, rescue and local PD
are on their way.”

“Good,” said Mason. One hand still on Buchner’s

chest, he fumbled the bag open and began digging for a
proper battle-field tourniquet. “Now look for his hand
and get a bag of ice to put it in,” he ordered. Re-
attachment was a dicey proposition, but there was
sometimes a chance it might work. Carthage gave him
wide-eyed sick look.

***

The agonizing ice-pick-in-the-ear-canal pain

combined with a raging headache left Cameron
Bradshaw moving very slowly. Nothing was broken so
far as he could tell, and except for a few shallow cuts
from flying debris, he didn’t seem to be bleeding much.
His steps were unsteady as he headed toward where
Mason knelt on the floor beside Agent Buchner, who
was lying in a huge pool of blood. The doctor was
inserting an IV port into the injured man’s undamaged
wrist. Madison was standing several feet away yelling
into her cell phone something about ice. Cam dropped
beside the open field kit.

“Tell me what to do,” he said.
“Find me a bag of saline,” snapped Mason. He was

checking the man’s pupils. Cam hunted through the
pockets of the kit and pulled out the fat bag of saline. It
was only then that he realized Buchner’s opposite hand
was... gone. Oh, shit. He gulped hard and held the bag
out to Mason. The sounds of sirens drew his attention.
EMS was heading their way. Thank God.

Cam gave himself a moment to look at Mason. The

doctor’s motions were all smooth and methodical, but he
was filmed in sweat. He had taken off his coat and laid it
over the lower part of Buchner’s torso. Sweat darkened
large spots on his shirt and his face was flushed with the
huge amount of energy he was pouring out. Cam’s mind
scrambled. Memories of a previous crisis situation
welled up. There was going to be hell to pay when this

was done. Cam dug through the bag until he found a
handful of the little foil pouches labeled glucose gel.

The paramedics arrived and there was a flurry of

activity as they began to take over. Cam grabbed
Mason’s shoulders and forcibly pulled him back out of
the way. The doctor struggled to return to his position.

“Quit it! You’re done! Let them do their job!” Cam

yelled at him. His lover’s body was fever hot beneath
the damp fabric of his shirt. Cam held him tightly.
“Mason! Break the connection.” He had Mason in a
virtual head lock trying to keep him back. Mason
suddenly stilled, half-lunged forward, then stilled again.

“Let. Go. Of. Him.” said Cam in terse measured

words. Mason finally relaxed in his grip. Cam pulled
him back to sit on the ground between his legs and tore
open one of the glucose packets. “Open up.” Mason
hesitated as if the instruction made no sense, then finally
opened his mouth. Cam squeezed the goop into Mason
mouth and jammed a thumb under his chin to coerce
him into swallowing it. He could see the color already
starting to drain from the doctor’s skin as his healing
talent began to shut down. A hard shiver ran through his

lover’s body and Cam brushed his hands down Mason’s
arms. His body temperature was plummeting and the

chill October air wasn’t helping. Cam slapped another
pouch of glucose gel in Mason’s hand. “This one too,”
he ordered and started taking off his jacket. He could see
his partner’s fingers trembling as he consumed the next
dose. Cam draped his jacket around Mason's shoulders.

“How much do you need?” asked Cam.
“Don’ know. Gotta give it a couple min’uhs,” Mason

slurred. Cam wrapped both arms around his lover and
pulled him back tight against his body.

“Every time you do this, it scares the fucking hell out

of me,” whispered Cam.

“An’ I’m sup’os a be okay with you getting’ almost

blown up?’ Mason mumbled. Mason's fingers curled
around Cam’s and he could feel a faint tingle of
Mason’s energy crawling along his skin.

“Don’t! You’re barely staying conscious as it is! Fix

me later!” snarled Cam.

Mason took a slow deep breath. “You have a

concussion and a ruptured ear drum and enough bruises
that tomorrow you’re hardly going to able to move!”
snapped Mason. Something about the way his teeth were
half-clenched made Cam realize just how hard his lover
was concentrating not to slur his words or chatter his
teeth.

“None of which is going to kill me!” A shadow fell

across them. Cam looked up to see Madison Carthage.

“Maybe the two of you can stop with the testosterone

poisoning long enough to tell me whether you need to
go to the hospital or just need a ride back to the hotel
while we sort out the rest of this cluster fuck,” she said.

“The hotel would be fine,” said Cam, slowly

climbing to his feet.

“Go back to the car. I’ll get somebody to drive you

there. Tomorrow sometime, there’ll be a full debriefing.
Right now I’ve just got too much on my plate,” she said.
Cam held out a hand to pull Mason to his feet.

“Can I get someone to call me and let me know if

Buchner’s going to make it?” asked Mason.

She nodded.

***

“Take a shower. I’ll order room service,” said Cam as

they walked into the hotel room.

Mason really wanted to lie face down on the bed and

fall instantly asleep, but one look at the amount of blood
that stained his clothes and skin made him realize just
how stupid an idea that was.

“Got any preferences?” asked Cam.
“Meat, carbs, and the biggest OJ they have,” said

Mason, as he struggled to shed his clothes.

Staying upright and awake in the shower was a

challenge. Mason resorted to turning the water
temperature down to lukewarm. He had to re-bandage
the abrasions on his arms. Life would be easier if he had
the time and energy to sit down and just heal them. He

walked out into the room, a towel wrapped around his
waist. Cam was slowly stripping himself. Mason could
see the blossoming bruises on Cam's shoulder and ribs
where he had impacted with the concrete wall. Mason
stretched out a hand and Cam grimaced and dodged
away.

“I am not letting you touch me until you’ve eaten. I

know that glucose stuff is only going to last a little
while,” said his lover.

Mason sighed and sank onto the bed. “I can tell

you’re in a hell of a lot of pain even without touching
you,” said Mason. The words came out more harshly
than he intended.

Cam opened his mouth as if to yell something back at

him, but was interrupted by a knock on the door. Cam
opened the door for room service and handed the
attendant some folded bills as he shut the door. The cart
was heavily laden with food.

“Christ, how much food did you order?” asked

Mason.

Cam smirked a little. “Probably too much, but I

figured you might get hungry again in a couple hours.
Sometimes you raid the fridge in the middle of the
night.” He handed Mason a tall glass of juice.

They ate in virtual silence for the next fifteen to

twenty minutes, before Mason began to actually feel
more human. However, bitter exhaustion was still
creeping around the edges.

“If I hadn’t pulled you away from Buchner... what

would have happened?” said Cam softly.

Mason gazed at him for a long moment. He had

screwed up, big time. He never should have let his
Talent get that far out of control. It was dangerous, way
dangerous. “I would have probably passed out.”

“Just how dangerous is that?”
“Depends.”
“Damn it! That’s not an answer!”
“I don’t have an answer. It’s not a yes or no

question.”

“Could it kill you?”

“Maybe. If I was alone and unconscious and my

blood sugar sank maybe down below twenty or
something. I don’t know. There’s so many variables.”

“I thought Peter was teaching you better control.”
“He is.” Mason replied, knowing the man referenced,

his mentor, was going to be mighty unhappy when he
found out.

“Doesn’t look like it from my point of view.”
“Trauma stuff is... unpredictable,” said Mason. He

thought he could see where Cam was heading with this
and he looked at the ceiling in guilt.

“Would you give your life for someone else?”

“For you, yes,” said Mason. He watched Cam

swallow hard.

“For just anyone?”
“No, not intentionally.
“Fuck, Mason,” said Cam. He got out of the chair and

came to kneel in front of Mason. “How many different
ways are you going to make me worry about losing
you?”

“I’m sorry. If it makes you feel any better, Peter’s

going to kick my ass for losing control,” replied Mason.
He ran his fingers through Cam’s short hair, detecting
pain. Headache from the probable concussion still

warring with the sharp ache in Cam’s ear. “I’ve eaten.
Now will you let me 'fix you' as you so ineloquently put
it earlier?”

“Yeah I guess,” said Cam with a sigh.
Mason dropped the towel he had been wearing to the

floor and slid between the sheets of the bed, while his
partner shucked his pants and crawled in beside him.
Mason's fingers carefully explored the skin surrounding
Cam’s right ear, letting his healing senses get a more
thorough look at the damage than his earlier hasty exam.

“You’re not going to be flying for at least a week,”

Mason said.

“It really did blow my eardrum?”
“Yes. Gave you a touch of a concussion, too.”
“Just effing great.”
“It can take up to a couple months for eardrums to

heal.”

“Thought you just said a week.”
“I’ll hurry things along.”
“You don’t have to do it tonight.”
“I’m not doing it tonight. I don’t know if I have

enough energy left to do more than get things started
anyway.” Mason slipped his arms around his lover and
pulled Cam against his body, hooking a leg behind
Cam’s so they were skin to skin from shoulder to thigh.
He let his energy flow gently across every connection,
soothing away the pain. Sleep was threatening to sweep
him under, but he knew his body wouldn’t let go even in
unconsciousness.

“It could’ve been you who lost a hand,” murmured

Mason. His own fingers stroked carefully along the back
of Cam’s head.

***

Who was knocking on the damn door? Cam squinted

at the clock on the hotel room nightstand. 9:37 pm.
Okay, it wasn’t anywhere near as late as he thought he
was. It had been a really shitty afternoon and evening.
Mason stirred slightly as Cam got out of bed. Oh, pants

would be a good idea, he thought as the cool air hit his
skin.

Cam dragged his slacks on and opened the door.

Madison Carthage stood in the hallway with Mason’s
med-kit backpack in her hand.

“Dr. Flynn left this at the scene. Things were pretty

chaotic there. I thought I should return it,” she said. “Is
he here?”

“He’s asleep,” said Cam.
“Oh,” she said and looked disappointed. “Could you

tell him that Agent Buchner made it through surgery?
He’s in ICU and they’re guardedly opti--” A noise
behind him made Cam turn and look. Mason was
standing several feet behind him, one hand braced on the
wall, looking very not awake and buck naked.

“Are you okay?” mumbled Mason.

“I’m fine. Go back to sleep,” said Cam. He glanced

back at Madison. If ever there was an expression of
absolute lust on a woman’s face... She actually licked
her lips. “Like I said, he was asleep,” said Cam. He
pulled the bag out of Madison’s grip. God, if he hadn’t
been standing in the doorway, he wondered if she would
have gotten in bed with Mason.

***

“She likes you even better without the clothes,” Cam

teased as Mason stood in front of the hotel bathroom
sink brushing his teeth. Mason glanced at his own
reflection. He looked like he’d been up for two straight
days instead of actually having gotten a full night’s
sleep.

“Who?”
“Ms. Carthage.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Mason asked,

spitting out a mouthful of toothpaste. He glanced at his
partner. The bruises on Cam’s shoulder and ribs were
livid stains under his skin.

“Last night when she dropped off the med-kit. You

don’t even remember, do you?’ Cam wore a silly teasing
grin.

“Remember what? You said she dropped off the kit

and told you Buchner had made it through surgery.”
Mason picked up a glass and rinsed out his mouth.

“Her knock on the door must have woken you up

about halfway. You got out of bed and came looking for
me... sans skivvies. I thought she was going to leave a
drool trail.”

“Oh, God...” Mason felt his face flush hot in

embarrassment. “And she was already looking for any
excuse to jump me.”

“I’ll protect you,” Cam said with a grin. He was

obviously expecting Mason to laugh.

Mason met his gaze in the mirror.

“No, you won’t...” said Mason softly, a note of

sorrow in his tone. Cam would never take that kind of
risk.

“Mas’ I...” Cam began, his voice choking.
“It’s okay. I don’t expect you to. It would just be

easier to say 'see this guy? He’s my partner. That means
I’m taken, so back off.'” He turned to look at Cam’s near
frozen expression. Damn. He’d said too much. Being
this exhausted made him fail to think twice about what
came out of his mouth. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t
mean it that way.”

Cam’s hand came up and curled around Mason’s

neck as his other arm wrapped around Mason's waist.

“I never seem to do the right thing,” Cam whispered,

drawing Mason into his arms.

Mason kissed him. A long lingering kiss to soothe

away the hurt. He wished he could ease the emotional
aches the way he dealt with the physical ones. “You’re
hurt and I’m tired and neither of us really wants to go
face the FBI this morning,” said Mason.

“Isn’t that supposed to read -- sick and tired?” asked

Cam, smiling just a little.

***

“Tim Buchner is in the ICU currently. He’s expected

to pull through. No one else was seriously injured,” said
Madison Carthage.

Cam and Mason sat a long conference table along

with a dozen other people while she conducted a
briefing.

“The storage locker is registered to one Thomas

Pethrick. He served time eight years ago for armed
robbery. He roughly fits the description of one of the
perps from the bank robbery. Forensic prelims say the
box that contained the money was rigged with a fairly
simple clothespin and battery trigger connected to a
copper pipe bomb. Pethrick has a reputation for
paranoia, but he is also very shrewd. Our profilers have
suggested that his intention was to leave the money

untouched for some amount of time while the
investigation stalled, then come back for it. Since we
know two other people were involved, the assumption is
being made that he expected one or both to consider
double crossing him, hence the booby trap. A BOLO has
been put out for Pethrick and some of our people are
looking for known associates. I want these people
found.” The woman leaned on the table with both hands
as she spoke the last few words. Cam watched her eyes
rove across the faces around the table. Iron-clad bitch
seemed like a good description to add to predatory and
temperamental.

One of the agents at the table spoke up. “There’s a

rumor going around that some psychic tipped us off as
to where Pethrick stashed the money,” the man said.

“We received assistance from another federal agency

and I’m not at liberty to divulge details. That’s all you
need to know,” Carthage replied.

“Okay, whatever you say. I was just going to say if it

was true, why didn’t this chick know about the bomb?”

Cam practically had to bite his tongue to keep from

getting in the guy’s face and telling him it didn’t work
that way. Dude! The psychic is a he! And God! He

wished it did work that way! If he had known about the

bomb, that would have been the first information out of
his mouth. This wasn’t the first time his identity as a
Division P member had been hidden away either. He
exchanged a glance with Mason, who merely gave him a
slight shrug.

Carthage continued, handing out assignments to

various agents. At the end of the meeting, she crooked a
finger at Cam and indicated that he and Mason should
follow her. They all walked down a corridor to a much
smaller room. Cam guessed it to be a lounge of some
sort judging from the pair of sofas that bordered a coffee
table and the tiny kitchenette in the corner. She shut the
door behind them and indicated that they should sit.

“I received explicit instructions from the Division P

liaison that in exchange for your assistance I was to
admit as little as possible to the rest of my branch,” she

said.

“That’s often one of the conditions placed by

Director Bottman,” replied Cam.

“Do they always send a doctor on an assignment?”

she asked with a smile at Mason.

“It varies,” said Cam.
“I’m sure Agent Buchner is amazingly thankful that

you were there to save his life, Dr. Flynn.”

“So am I. He could have bled out in a matter of

minutes,” replied Mason.

“He’s still in ICU, but I received information that

he’s slowly improving. He’ll be given retirement with
full disability pay. Your flight leaves in four hours. I’ll
have someone deliver you to the airport shortly.”

“We can’t do that. Flying is not an option.”
“Excuse me?”

“Cam has a perforated eardrum from the explosion

yesterday. Flying would stress the damage further. We
need a rental car or a pair of train tickets.

“Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you suffered any

damage other than maybe some bruises,” Madison
replied.

“Nothing serious, just painful and inconvenient,” said

Cam.

“I’ll have someone start making arrangements for a

car. It could take several hours, since non-case related
travel is a lower priority.”

“That’s fine. If we need to stay in the city another

night to smooth things out that would be fine,” said
Mason.

“I’ll get one of my people to start on the car

requisition, but yes, an extra night may be the easiest
way to get this changed, if there’s no immediate rush to
get back to Virginia. I’m sure I can find you a pair of
hotel rooms somewhere.” Madison stood up and walked
toward the door. “Maybe we could even find time to
appreciate last night’s view,” she said as she walked out.

Cam burst into a fit of giggles after she was gone.

“You jumped into that one with both feet. Now she
thinks that since our part of the case is done, you’re just

fine with a hop into the sack with her.”

“God. All I was thinking about was the fact that you

still have a mild concussion and I’m still fairly ragged
out. In all probability neither of us should be driving the
six hours to get home today. Just shoot me now,”
suggested Mason.

“Nah, no shooting. I’m kind of fond of you.” Cam

blew out a long breath and pulled his cell phone out of
his pocket. “I’ll call HQ and let them know we’re not
going to be on the flight this afternoon.”

Once the lengthy call to Division P was completed,

Cam slouched back against the sofa and closed his eyes.
The pain in his ear was killing him. He laid his hand
over his ear hoping the slight pressure and warmth
would decrease the sharp ache.

“You could stop being a martyr and ask me to help

you with that,” said Mason, sitting down beside him.

Cam nodded. They were in the federal building.

Despite the fact they were in a room by themselves, his
brain was stuck in 'don’t touch each other' mode. He
relaxed a little and rested his head against Mason’s
shoulder.

“It hurts,” he said.

“Uh-huh. And the fact you banged your head pretty

damn hard is probably not helping, said Mason.

The doctor turned partially sideways and stretched

his leg along the back of the sofa, so that Cam was
sitting between his legs and resting his head more fully
on Mason’s shoulder. Cam relaxed a little further, the
warmth of his lover’s body alone eased the ache a little.
The long talented fingers of his partner skimmed along
his jaw and spread around his ear, slightly cupping the
side of his face. A welcome tingle of energy flowed into
his skin and the pain faded into nothingness.

“I really didn’t get any healing done last night. Just

some stop gap stuff. Mostly making sure you weren’t in
any danger from the head trauma.”

Cam opened his shields so he could feel Mason’s

steady presence more fully. “You give a whole new

meaning to magic fingers,” whispered Cam.

Mason gave a faint snort of amusement. His free arm

was curved around Cam’s back, hand draped on Cam's
hip. Cam turned his face a little more toward Mason.
This put his mouth mere inches from the hollow at the
base of Mason’s throat and the wisp of dark chest hair
barely visible in the V of his shirt collar. Cam closed his
eyes and pressed his lips against that warm depression.
He felt a soft intake of breath from Mason. Cam tipped
his head back a little and Mason’s mouth trailed a line of
gentle kisses from his forehead down his nose to his
lips.

There was a faint clicking noise from the opposite

side of the room, and with shields blown wide open,
Cam knew it was Madison Carthage coming through the
door. His mind flashed back to a slice of the
conversation in the hotel bathroom that morning, and he
made a choice. His hand flew up and clenched in the
hair at the back of Mason’s skull and Cam pulled his
lover into a deep open-mouth kiss. Where his wrist was
pressed to the side of Mason's neck, Cam felt his lover’s
pulse spike in a weird combination of fear and lust.
From the doorway, there was a tiny sound bordering on

a squeak and the door closed again. Cam relaxed his grip
and Mason’s face pulled back from his.

“Was that...?” Mason said, breathlessly.
“Maybe she’ll think twice about your interest level

now,” replied Cam.

The look Mason gave him was apprehensive, and his

lover heaved a sigh. “This might solve my problem, but
will it cause problems for you?”

“I doubt it. Do you really think she’s the type of go

blabbing that the guy she wanted to jump into bed with
turned out to be gay? And she saw him in a liplock with
his partner?

“Maybe not. You gonna hold still now and let me

work on your ear?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

***

“The car assigned to you is in space forty-six in the

garage,” said a male agent, handing a set of keys to
Cam. “I believe it’s supposed to be returned to the
Norfolk FBI office.”

“Okay, thanks,” replied Cam. He picked up his

garment bag and briefcase and headed down the
hallway. Mason trailed behind him, carrying his own
gear. In the parking garage, they both slung their
luggage into the trunk.

“Considering it took exactly two hours for us to be

provided with a car and not the hotel room, I think
maybe we got the point across to Ms. Carthage,” said
Cam.

Mason noted the slight grin on his face. “Guess so.

She didn’t even come to kiss us goodbye. Give me the
keys.” Cam rolled his eyes and handed them over. “The
guy with the head trauma and ruptured eardrum does not
get to drive,” Mason said.

“Thought you fixed the concussion part?”

“Enough that you’re in no danger,” replied Mason,

sliding behind the wheel.

Cam got in the passenger seat. “Any idea how to get

home?”

“I think that’s what the GPS is for,” said Mason,

pointing at the dashboard.

“Are you really planning on driving all five or six

hours home today?” Cam asked.

“I’m not sure. Let’s get out of the city first.”
Mason drove for two hours. Cam slouched on the

opposite side of the car. The pilot had called Division P
and told HQ that they were heading south, but weren’t
sure exactly when they would make it back. Mason
glanced at his partner after the call. His hand was
cupped against his ear again and his eyes were
alternating between unfocused and drifting shut. Mason
stretched a hand across and touched Cam’s hand, where
it lay loosely curled against his leg. Mason didn’t dare

more than a cursory scan while he was driving, but he
could tell the sharp discomfort had returned and was
starting to generate a pounding headache in Cam.

“You’re eavesdropping on me,” said Cam.
“Yes. You have this really hard headed tendency to

deny how much pain you’re in until it all but
incapacitates you. Let’s stop and eat and I can at least
shut down the pain for a while,” Mason chided him.

***

It was after ten pm when the car reached the Division

P complex. Cam’s glance at Mason told him that the
doctor really could not have forced himself to drive
much further. At least not safely. Cam was certain that
they would be assigned a room for the night in the
residential wing as soon as the inevitable debriefing
occurred. Military, law enforcement, or federal, the
demand for information about how the mission went
never changed. Danny Valentine met them in the main

foyer to the complex.

“I heard things went sideways in Philly,” said the

head field agent.

“Yeah, you could say that,” replied Cam.

“I’m assigned to debrief you. Mason’s getting sent

off to see Vithoulkas. You okay with that?” Valentine
asked.

Mason nodded and headed in the direction of the

medical wing.

***

“You lost control.”
Mason glanced up at Peter Vithoulkas. The senior

healer was standing with his hands braced against the
table in front of him.

“Yes.”
“I received a report that you lost control so badly

your partner had to pull you away from the victim.”

“I think that’s a little bit overstated,” replied Mason,

his voice relatively level.

“Bullshit! You’ve always been lousy at disconnecting

when the job was done. We’ve been working on this for
months! I thought you were getting better at it.”

“His hand was blown off. He was in danger of

dying.”

“What’s rule number one?”
“Protect yourself.”
“You didn’t follow it. You put yourself at risk. Did

his heart stop?”

“No.”
“If it had, what would you have done?”

“CPR and...”
“And what?” Peter cut him off.
“Tried to get it going again.”
“How long do you think you could hold him on this

side of death? Would you have followed him into the
dark?”

“No! I...”
“Could you have not followed him? Damn it, what

we do is a risk. A big risk all by itself! When you lose
control, you skyrocket that risk! If Cam hadn’t been
there, if he hadn’t known the signs, you could’ve gone
into hypoglycemic shock. Been there, done that. It

sucks! Big time! It can do permanent damage. If it was
one of our people, if it had been Cam, I could
understand, just a little. You still fucked up, but I could
understand. You’re losing your objectivity. You’ve gone
from just barely using your gift in careful controlled
circumstances, to coming close to flaming out.”

“I saved his life,” replied Mason, fighting the anger

that welled within him.

“Good! You still fucked up! You should have been

using your healing skill as an adjunct to your medical
knowledge, not the other way around. I spent a tour on a
battlefield in Kosovo. The never ending flood of
casualties almost killed me, but I finally figured out I
couldn’t save everybody, and that sacrificing myself
wasn’t going to help the situation. We have to solve this
problem because I can’t be worrying that every time I

send you out in the field, you might come back in a
body bag. Our job is dangerous enough as it is. People
don’t call Division P because their car won’t start.”

“This was supposed to be a simple find the missing

money job. I was expecting nothing more than to watch
Cam do his thing.”

“Uh-huh. And shit went wrong. You can bet that

someone higher up on the food chain didn’t tell you the
whole story either. Hell, you’ll probably never know the
background details that might have prevented the whole
thing.”

Mason looked at him in stunned silence. He was

willing to admit that he had screwed up, badly, but it
had never occurred to him that the FBI might have
intentionally withheld information. Fuck. He should’ve
learned his lesson about that from the previous fiasco
with the traitor inside Naval Intelligence.

“You think they told you everything?" Peter

continued. “FBI, CIA, NSA, they all tell selective truths

as best suits their purpose. Returning to the problem,
your problem. I want you to run rescue for a couple of
months. I’ll make arrangements for you to ride along as
a trainee with one of the local EMS squads, once a
week. Doing the dry run and practice crap here at the

complex obviously is not doing the trick. I want you to
spend twelve hours a week using ten percent of your gift
and ninety percent of your knowledge. Got it?”

“Yes.”
“Get out of here. Eat. Get some sleep. See me in the

morning for details,” and with that Peter literally turned
his back on Mason and went to sit in front of his desk.
Mason walked slowly out of the room.

***

Outside an igloo in a raging blizzard or just sitting on

a concrete bench in the dark courtyard of the Division P
residential wing, Cam would always be able to find his
lover. His own debriefing had been fairly short, heavy
on facts and pretty much exactly what he expected from

Danny Valentine. An hour later, when Mason still
hadn’t made his way to their assigned quarters, Cam
decided maybe he should look for his partner. Not that
he had any belief that Mason was in danger, not here.

Walking across the chilly expanse in the dim outdoor

lighting, Cam saw his lover, sitting with his arms
crossed and long legs stretched out in front of him, fifty
foot stare in the ten foot space between him and the
nearest tree. Cam settled on the bench beside him.

“I kind of wondered where you’d got to,” said Cam.
“I needed a little down time after getting reamed a

new one by my boss,” Mason replied.

“That bad?”
“Yeah, that bad. I knew he’d be pissed but... I guess I

underestimated to what degree.”

“So I guess you never got around to talking to him

about the little kid with cancer.”

“Nope. It’s usually bad form to ask for favors when

you’re getting your ass chewed,” replied Mason.

“Mmm, yeah. It’s kind of cold out here. Can I

convince you to come inside? Like maybe before you
catch pneumonia?”

Mason nodded faintly and followed Cam inside.

The room they had been assigned was essentially no

different from any other they had used in the complex
on other occasions. Cam watched his lover sit on the bed
to untie his shoes. His movements were bone-tired slow,
but the brooding tension was apparent too. Cam could
sense the frustration level. Mad at himself, annoyed with
the situation, feeling overwhelmed by the layers of
responsibilities, it would be a toss-up over whether
exhaustion won out or if Mason tossed and turned all
night.

Cam pushed Mason backward on the bed. His partner

offered no resistance as Cam straddled his thighs and
folded forward to catch himself on his hands. He stared
down into the blue eyes of his lover. It was getting late,
pushing midnight. In theory, they both had to be at work
tomorrow, though maybe not first thing in the morning.

And it wasn’t like he was going to be doing any flying
for the next few days anyway.

“How much do you trust me?” Cam asked softly.
“What kind of a question is that?”
“Just a question. How much do you trust me?”
“I trust you with my heart,” Mason replied.
That was not the answer Cam had been expecting.
“You took a risk this morning for me, when you

kissed me in the FBI offices.” Mason’s fingers ghosted
lightly across Cam's mouth. “I know how hard it is for
you.”

“I think it was worth it. I was... I was going to

suggest something to take your mind off what went on
up there. The bad stuff, not the Branch Director’s sexual
intentions.”

Mason’s mouth quirked a little in a half smile. “What

did you have in mind? Something involving your body
and mine?” He scooted up toward the top of the bed, so

his legs were no longer hanging off the end.

“Yeah, sort of, it’s a little more complicated than

that. I, um, would you let me tie you up?”

“You’re kidding.”
“No, actually I wasn’t. Not anything that causes pain.

I’m not into that, and as far as I know, neither are you. I

just... I have a tie in my luggage. I thought maybe you
would let me bind your wrists to the headboard. I had a
girlfriend a while back who thought getting restrained
was really hot.” Cam could feel his face heating in
embarrassment, but he kept going. “I know you like to
be in control, but when you lose it, you tend to lose it in
big time dangerous ways. I thought we could play a
little, where you have basically no control. But
something relatively safe.” The look Mason gave him
was very uncertain. “No safe words. If you tell me to
untie you, I will.”

“Cam, I...” Mason trailed off, looking ashamed.
“It’s okay. If it’s not your thing, that’s fine.”
“You think I don’t trust you.”
“No. I think you don’t trust yourself, to lose it just a

little. It’s okay. Really.” Cam lowered himself down to

lie on top of his lover. He kissed Mason softly. “I do still
want to make love to you, any way I can get it.”

Mason’s arms wrapped around his body, pulling him

down tight.

“Need you,” was the husky murmur from his partner.

Cam could feel the want, the tension bordering on the
edge of tears and the iron fisted control choking them
down. Cam began to kiss his way down the side of his
lover’s neck. He pushed back upright, hands tugging on
Mason’s shirt, pulling it loose at the waist, unbuttoning
it. Cam’s fingers grazed across dark silky curls of chest
hair, tracing the muscles of his partner’s chest. Mason’s
body was fairly well defined, tall, relatively thin, a
runner’s physique, which was appropriate, considering
Cam knew Mason ran on the beach three to four times a
week. His ribs seemed to show a little more sharply than
usual. It was probably a result of the sheer quantity of
energy he had been putting out lately.

Cam leaned down and drew his tongue across the

dark rose of a nipple. Mason drew a slow uneven breath
in. It wasn't quite the response Cam was expecting. He
left a trail of kisses and soft nips down the center of his
lover’s chest. Although Mason’s hands were stroking
softly down Cam’s back, the rest of his body gave little

response. As Cam skimmed his hand down across
Mason’s crotch, there was no sign of arousal. All Cam
could feel was the stress radiating from his partner. The
man was just wound so excruciatingly tight, but only
some of it was in his body, the rest was in the churning
of his mind. Cam slid off his lover’s thighs and stretched
out on the bed beside him, leaving an arm draped across
Mason's body.

“Talk to me,” he prompted.
Mason was usually more easily verbal about

emotions than he was.

“I... My life has gone from calm and sane and

borderline boring, to... I’ve gotten shot. And I killed
somebody. And people are getting blown up. And my
talent has been unleashed. And so has my control. And,
and, and...” The words stopped. Cam could almost see

the dam disintegrating. Mason rolled away, burying his
face against the edge of the pillow. Mason's hands were
clenched under his arms as hard, barely suppressed sobs
were shaking his body.

Cam carefully grabbed his lover’s shoulder and tried

to turn him back toward him. Mason resisted, so Cam
tried a different tactic. He spooned up against his
partner’s back, sliding one arm under Mason's neck to
snake down across his chest and wrapped the other arm
around his waist. Cam held Mason tightly in silence and
let the storm rage.

After a number of minutes the sobs dwindled to

snuffling gulps. Only then did Mason let Cam turn him
to face into Cam's shoulder. Cam also grabbed a wad of
tissues out of the box on the nightstand and handed them
to his lover. Mason blew his nose.

“Shit,” Mason muttered. “Trust the gay guy to end up

crying when the going gets tough.”

“Hey, it’s okay. It beats the alternative. Half the guys

I work with think drinking themselves stupid and getting
in a fist fight is the best way to deal with major stress.
Either that or screw the nearest willing female.” Cam
brushed his thumb across Mason’s tear stained cheek.
He would do anything he could to comfort his lover.

“God, wasn’t that where this was supposed to be

heading? Before I decided to have a meltdown?”
whispered Mason. He looked acutely embarrassed.

“You better be talking about the screwing part and

not the fist fight,” Cam teased gently. “And there’s
nothing female about you.” He scraped a fingernail
across the dark beard stubble along Mason’s chin. This
was one of the times when it just astounded him that his
lover was a guy somewhat in need of a shave with blue
eyes, blood shot and red rimmed. Mason's breathing was
still broken by occasional hiccupping gulps. Cam kissed
Mason tenderly.

“Love you,” he whispered. Mason’s hand clenched

softly in the fabric of Cam’s shirt, his eyes squeezed
shut. “Mason, look at me.” Cam waited for his lover to
open his eyes and a long moment passed before Mason

did so. “You don’t have to pretend for me. If you’re
falling apart, I want to be the one to put you back
together. Never be afraid to cry on my shoulder. Okay?”

Mason gave him a minute nod and Cam kissed him

again. This one was not brief.

***

Mason could feel Cam’s hand cradling the back of

his head, the other hand between his shoulder blades,
holding him. Mason opened his mouth to the gentle
assault on his lips. His lover’s teeth nipped carefully at
his lower lip and Cam’s tongue swiped slowly along his
teeth before exploring the depths of his mouth. Oh God,
how Mason loved this man: strength and confidence;
fierce passion and gentle affection. His breath hitched.
Oh please, don’t let me start crying again, he cursed
himself. He must have tightened up, because Cam’s
hand began rubbing circles down his back.

“Relax,” murmured Cam.
Mason gave in to the sheer comfort of feeling his

lover’s hand on his back. Strong fingers traced down his
spine to his waist, then skimmed down over his belt and
drew a random pattern at the base of his spine. That spot

always made him feel like a cat, arching into the
sensation. Cam’s mouth moved to his throat, sucking
and licking at the skin there. He nuzzled into his lover’s
temple, the short military haircut prickling at his nose
and mouth. Hands kneaded into the muscles of his
buttocks, pulling his hips in tight to Cam’s. He could
feel the hard bulge of his lover's arousal pushing against
the inner edge of his hipbone. The care of Cam holding
him close, snuggling, kissing, loving him, was slowly
stoking his own desire.

Mason eased back slightly so he could loosen his

lover’s belt. He unzipped the fly and slid his hands
down inside Cam’s slacks and underwear so he could
feel skin. His thumb stroked along the top of his lover’s
hip and then further forward to slip across the damp tip
of Cam’s hard cock. Cam inhaled sharply and

swallowed. His face was buried against the side of
Mason’s throat, worrying a spot with his teeth.

“I think maybe we should ditch the clothes,” Cam

whispered. He pushed himself up to his knees and took
off his shirt, then shimmied out of his pants and briefs in
one go. Mason’s disrobing was a little slower. The long
drive had put a serious dent in whatever energy last
night’s sleep had given him.

Cam stretched out beside him and began kissing

down the length of his body: collar bone to nipple to the
center of his belly, tongue wetting the dark line of hair
leading down toward his groin. Nothing hurried. Mason
gasped slightly as his lover blew a warm breath across
his cock. It bobbed as his balls tightened a little. Cam
avoided the obvious destination and licked down the
long almost straight length of his hipbone then back up
the seam where his leg met his body. Mason bucked a
little into the wet heat. Cam made a small snort of
amusement and pushed Mason's legs apart. His hand
cupped around Mason’s balls, rolling them slowly as he
gazed down into Mason’s face.

“Am I driving?” he asked.

Mason nodded. He wanted to feel Cam inside him.

He saw his lover grab the tube of lube from the suitcase
near the bed.

A slick finger circled his entrance for a moment

before pushing in. In, out, deeper, hitting the spot that
made his cock jerk and his vision go a little starry. His
cock was starting to leak slippery warmth against his
belly. More fingers pushed in, stretching twisting,
drawing embarrassing moans from him. Cam was going
so slowly, Mason squirmed on the bed trying to increase
the pace. Then the fingers were gone and his eyes
popped open.

“This week, when you get the chance. Do our blood

tests, okay?” Cam said softly, on his hands and knees
above Mason. Mason could just glimpse the foil packet
tucked between Cam’s fingers.

“Yeah. Got it.” It took a moderate amount of

concentration to get those few words out.
Comprehension of language was not a high priority with
his brain right that moment. Knees hooked against
Cam’s biceps, he let out a completely involuntarily
moan as his lover pushed into him, slowly, almost
excruciatingly slowly.

“Cam... God... Faster...” he begged. His hand groped

for his own cock. Anything to hurry the release. He
ached. Surely most of the blood in his body was below
the beltline at this point. Cam grabbed his wrist and
licked the center of his palm. Oh lord, that whimper was
his own. His lover’s thrusts were almost leisurely.
“Please...” he pleaded, rocking his hips.

Cam’s gaze was locked on his face, watching him

come undone. Cam lifted one of Mason's legs to hook
over his shoulder and his hand folded around Mason’s
own and gripped his hard cock, stroking. The change
slammed Cam against Mason's prostate and it was all
over.

Mason was drowning in that pulsing rush of ecstasy

that blew through his nervous system, graying his sight,
contracting muscles, as jets of liquid warmth drenched
his hand and Cam’s.

A hard gut-wrenching groan came from Cam as he

followed heartbeats later, body hitting Mason’s in erratic
jerks as he spent himself.

***

Flopping onto the pillow beside Mason, Cam cupped

a hand against Mason’s cheek. His lover’s eyes were
still red-rimmed and blood-shot, but they had lost some
of that look of frustrated misery. He brushed his thumb
across his lover’s mouth and kissed Mason softly.

“Better?” he asked.
“Yeah. Anything that involves touching you,” his

lover whispered. His eyelids were already drooping with
the combination of release and exhaustion. Cam fished
his shirt up off the floor and wiped them off enough to

make do. Anything else could wait until morning.

***

The list of patients due for appointments that day

scrolled across the screen of Mason’s office computer.
Some were post-op, some were pre-op and long term
care arthritis patients were interspersed. After a moment
of staring at the list, it dawned on him that he was
searching for Jason Ambers’ name. It wasn’t there. He
leaned out into the hallway and called for Tyra.

“Hey, I thought I supposed to have an appointment

with Jason Ambers today, before I sent him to the
consult with the oncologist?” Mason said.

“Change in plans,” said Tyra. The solemn expression

on the nurse’s face told him that the news wasn’t good.
“On Saturday night he was in a lot of pain and his
parents took him the hospital. Steve was on call and he
admitted Jason. He also took care of contacting Santos. I
think they transferred him to CHKD while the parents
are trying to decide what route they want to go.”

Mason leaned against the walls, arms crossed, eyes

closed. Fuck. When the kid could really have benefited
from his talents, where was he? In Philadelphia, saving

someone else’s life... God, what a no win situation. If he
had been here, the FBI agent would probably have died.
So he was in Philly and Jason had been taken to the
hospital, A dying child in capable hands of a competent
orthopedic surgeon and a reputable oncologist. So why
did he feel like he had just so totally dropped the ball?

“You okay? You look like you had a pretty rough

weekend yourself,” Tyra commented.

“I... ended up doing some emergency triage duty for

DMAT in Philadelphia,” replied Mason. His explanation
for all the days he had spent away from the orthopedic
practice over the past few months were written off as
becoming involved with and trained by Department of
Health and Human Services to learn the skills for
working with a field hospital team for a Disaster
Medical Assistance Team. It wasn’t horribly far from

the truth after all. He knew full well the ultimate goal of
his lessons with Peter was to prepare him for field medic
work on Division P personnel. And he felt like he was
failing miserably on all fronts.

The rest of the day was scarcely better: grumpy

patients, misplaced records, arguments with insurance
companies about what should be covered and what
wasn’t. All the while, the half healed road rash on his
arm itched like hell at random intervals. By five o’clock
he was thoroughly ready for the day to be over. He was
standing at the reception desk scribbling notes on
paperwork, when a welcome voice broke his train of
thought.

“Hope somebody other than you can read that.”

Mason looked up from the patient file and saw Cam
leaning his elbows on the counter.

“That’s why they call them transcriptionists,” he

replied.

Tyra cruised by and started to scoop up a stack of

folders. “Sorry, can I help you?” she asked, apparently
thinking Cam to be a patient.

“Just here to give Mason a ride home,” Cam said,

gesturing toward him.

Mason swallowed hard. The last thing he needed at

the end of this crappy day was to get grilled by Tyra.

“You look awfully cute for taxi service,” she smiled.

“I take it you’re a friend?”

“Tyra MacCorkindale meet Lt. Cameron Bradshaw,”

said Mason. He wondered if his tone sounded as tight to
her, as it did to himself.

“Tibial plateau fracture,” she said. “Then you got

transferred back to military care.”

“Is that how you remember people? By their

injuries?” Cam asked with a slight grimace.

“Occupational habit. So Dr. Flynn, is this your

sailor?” Tyra teased and Mason felt his face flush in
embarrassment.

“Um, he doesn’t so much sail as fly,” muttered

Mason and then wished he had kept his mouth shut.

“Oh? So you’re a flyboy?” said Tyra.
“Guilty as charged,” replied Cam.
“Come on back to my office. I have to finish a couple

things,” Mason said, hoping to deflect more questions.
Cam followed. Mason pushed the door closed when they
got there, and was promptly pressed against the back of
the door by Cam’s hand on his chest.

“So what has you in such a pissy mood?” Cam

demanded. His voice was low and his gaze fixed on
Mason’s face.

“Jason, my osteosarcoma patient, is in the hospital,”

Mason said.

Cam’s expression was calm. His hand slid up

Mason’s chest and cupped against Mason' neck, and he
tilted his head slightly as he leaned in to kiss Mason. It
was gentle and warm and Mason could feel the
sympathy offered by his partner.

“I’m sorry,” Cam whispered. “But realistically,

would you being here have prevented it?”

“I don’t know.”
“Since I know you’re not going to stop tearing

yourself up about this, put the problem aside for now.
Time to suck my blood. It is half the reason I came to

pick you up.”

Mason blinked. It took a second for him to remember

that Cam had agreed to have his blood tested, to make
sure they were both clean and could do away with the
condoms. It was a serious step in their relationship. He
wrapped his arms loosely around his lover and hugged
Cam.

“Thank you,” Mason said. “Stay put I’ll go grab one

of the venipuncture buckets.”

“Ew. Could you not mention the puncture part?”
“Chicken.”
It only took a couple of minutes for Mason to draw

the sample. Cam gave him the hairy eyeball when he
drew his own.

“That’s just plain creepy watching you do it to

yourself,” commented Cam. “How long until we get
results?”

“End of the week probably. You worried?”
“No, not really. There’ve been a couple times I

wasn’t safe, couple of women. I suppose there’s always
a chance I picked up something. But honestly I think it’s
pretty low. You?”

“I get checked every year. Health professional and all

that. Last year was fine. I’m jumping the gun a little on
this year, but no biggie. Are you sure you’re okay with
this?” Mason asked.

Cam’s hand closed around Mason’s wrist and he

pulled Mason’s hand to his chest, placing it over his
heart. “I’m sure,” said Cam. Mason’s breath caught a
little. “Now how ‘bout we head for your place. I brought
your helmet.”

“I take it this means you’re planning on taking me

home down 264 going like sixty miles an hour.”

“Yep. All you have to do is sit still, snuggle up to my

back and put your arms around me,” Cam teased.

“Only you could make riding your motorcycle sound

like a proposition.”

3: Clutching

“At most, I might be able to prolong his life an extra

week or two. Beyond that... the cancer has Swiss
cheesed the bone in his leg and it’s spreading rapidly
through the rest of his body. But I think you probably
know that,” said Peter.

Dr. Mason Flynn paced restlessly across the floor of

the doctor’s lounge. His four year old osteosarcoma
patient was dying and there was nothing he could do
about it. All his healing talent, even that of his mentor
was for naught. He paused at the window in the doctor’s
lounge of the hospital and ran his hands back through
his short dark hair. The darkness outside cast his
reflection back at him and he felt like his heart was
sinking down into the pit of his stomach. Doctors

weren’t supposed to get bent out of shape about dying
patients. Usually he was pretty good at that sort of thing.
And the average orthopedic surgeon didn’t have the high
loss rate that, say a cardiologist had. Maybe it was the
age. Mason didn’t run across a lot of terminal children.
Maybe it was the stoic calm of the boy. As long as the
pain stayed under control, he complained very little.

Mason looked at the image of the other healer in the

glass. Peter Vithoulkas was the wunderkind of Division
P, a highly secretive government agency that recruited
and trained people with psychic talents. They primarily
acquired their pool of agents from other government
agencies and the military. As a civilian orthopedic

surgeon, Flynn was a notable exception.

“If you feel you have to do something, control his

pain some, so he’s less drugged out by the morphine
pump. Otherwise, leave it to the oncologist and the
hospice people,” said Peter.

Mason slowly turned to face his colleague, hands

shoved deep in his pockets. “I couldn’t be an
oncologist,” Mason said softly.

“Me neither.”
“I keep hoping... thinking there must be...

something.”

“I know. What you and I do is off the scale

impossible to start with,” replied Peter. The senior
healer stood up and walked toward Mason, stopping in
front of him. “I set up your assignment with the Virginia
Beach EMS. You’re scheduled for Station 14 next
Tuesday at six a.m. No Tuesdays out at the complex for
a while. I want you doing this for at least three months.
Remember, 10% of your Talent, 90% of your medical
knowledge. I expect a detailed report after each shift.”

Mason nodded. Peter laid a hand on his shoulder and

gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Some things just get to us all,” said Peter. “I know it

sounds callous, but go home, call Cam, stop thinking
about it for awhile.”

***

The vibration of his cell phone against his hip drew

Lt. Cameron Bradshaw’s attention. It was a blissful
distraction from the drudgery of standing duty because
he was “med down.”

After having his ear drum ruptured by the blast of a

bomb while he was in Philadelphia back over the
weekend, he had joylessly reported to the flight surgeon
on Monday.

"Oh yeah, it’s ruptured, but not too badly," the flight

surgeon had reported.

As if Cam hadn’t already known. There were certain

perks to having a man who was both an MD and a
psychic healer for a lover. The flight surgeon had
declared Cam “med down” for at least the remainder of
the week. All the responsibilities of his job and no

flying; it just sucked.

Cam flipped his phone open. There was a text from

Mason.

NO LUCK W/PETER. TERMINAL CONFIRMED.

CALL ME WHEN U CAN.

Cam let out a sigh. He knew Mason had been

counting on Peter being able to do something for the
tiny cancer patient. The doctor was usually fairly low

key about his patients. Something about this one was
obviously causing a great deal of heartache. Cam wished
he could call Mason and offer him words of comfort, but
they had agreed that communication needed to be kept
as casual as possible whenever Cam was at work.

SO SORRY. OFF DUTY @ 7.
Cam glanced at his watch as he pushed the button to

send the message. It read five fifteen. He still had close
to two hours. Back to organizing the maintenance
schedule for the jets for the following week.

***

Two sheets of paper equaled the only bright spot in

the whole day. Mason sat at his desk in the deserted
orthopedic practice office. He had swung back by his

office to check on some insurance information. Some of
the HMO’s were notoriously tight with authorization of
procedures and testing even of patients who truly needed
the services.

Two envelopes had been tossed on his desk while he

was on his futile quest at the hospital. He suspected
what was inside even before he opened them. Blood test
results for him and Cam. A brief scan confirmed that
both of them were clean, not that he really expected
otherwise. Now the biggest question would be if Cam
was really comfortable with the idea of abandoning
condom use. One more step in a path binding them
together.

Mason stared unseeing at the surface of his desk for a

long moment. Was he really hoping for forever? Yes.

How likely was it? That probably fell in the category of
maybe. Being a partner to a Navy man was hard enough
on a wife, an openly recognized relationship.
Acknowledgement of his and Cam's relationship would
never be “okay” except in a few specific places,
Division P being one of them.

God, he had a love/hate relationship with those

people. Having the backup, the protection, and the
training -- all that was just incredible. Then there was

the down side -- watching Cam at risk, and himself for
that matter, the flying thing, the fact that they wanted
Mason to become competent in the field, which could
translate to under fire -- that part just sucked. His brain
circled back around to the fact that even Peter, who he
tended to unrealistically think of as all-powerful,
couldn’t save the life of four year old Jason Ambers.
That made him just want to scream or hit something.
Yeah, right, like that would be productive.

Mason’s cell phone vibrated on his hip and he

answered it without bothering to look at the number,
“Dr. Flynn.”

“Hey Mason. How’re you holding up?” asked Cam.
Mason leaned back in his desk chair and ran his

fingers through his hair. “I’m okay,” Mason replied.
“You headed in my direction?”

“No... I have to be at a Hail and Farewell for

Commander Rochester at the officer’s club in half an
hour. I thought I told you.” Mason thought he could hear
guilty reticence in Cam’s voice. A Hail and Farewell
was a long standing traditional when an officer was
moved to a different duty station as it usually involved a
promotion as well.

“Crap,” Mason said with a sigh. It had totally slipped

his mind. “You did. You really did. I forgot. I’m being

brain dead.”

“It’s okay. It’s understandable. I’d come lend some

moral support, but this is a Navy politics sort of deal. I
need to put in some face time.”

“It’s fine. I forgot. I don’t need a babysitter. I’ve lost

patients before, and well, technically he’s not even dead
yet.”

“Mason...” Cam said. His tone was soft.
“Don’t sweat it. We made an agreement. Your job

and my job have to take precedence. That includes the
internal politics stuff. Me being in a shitty mood does
not constitute a crisis. “

“I have duty till four tomorrow. I’ll be there as soon

as I can afterward, so we can go to the party. Okay?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry, you know. I wish having Peter be able to

help had panned out.”

“It was a long shot,” Mason admitted.
After Mason hung up, he stared at the phone for a

while. Just how lame he could he possibly get? To wish,
if only for one illogical moment, that Cam would beg
off from the Navy event. Mason had gone through
literally years of his life with only occasionally having a
lover he felt safe enough with open up to even a little.
Now here he was having thoughts worthy of some
idealistic love-sick teenager. Suck it up, he told himself.
Go home. Eat. Do something not work-related for a
couple of hours.

***

Two beers, a sit down dinner, and an irreverent skit

about the Commander’s tour of duty at Oceana Naval
Air Station later, Cam was leaning back in his chair,
listening to Captain Martin spin a tale about
embarrassing the crap out of his teenager daughter.

“So we’re sitting in the mini-van waiting on Jen, and

Gwen is flopping around complaining about how if she
has to wait she wishes there was enough room to stretch
out and take a nap. It was just too good an opening. I
said -- there’s room enough for sex, implying that her
mother and I... And then there’s this dead silence and I
though she was gonna try and crawl under the seat. She
says -- I so did not need to know that.” Martin finished
his tale, and the people around the table went into gales
of laughter.

It was a funny story, but Cam’s thoughts were of his

partner. He was worried about Mason. The trip to Philly,
meant to bolster the doctor’s confidence in his field
skills, had been a stressful near disaster. Add the guilt
about this child cancer patient and Cam wondered just
how dark the depression eating at Mason’s psyche was
likely to be tonight. Not that Mason would let him know
more than a hint of his personal torture until he
practically disintegrated under the weight.

***

The chisel shaved loose a narrow sliver of wood as

he tapped it carefully with a mallet. It would probably
take another dozen passes before the area beside the pin
of the dove-tail was sufficiently clear of wood. Mason
adjusted the chisel to a horizontal position and levered
out the tiny slice. He could probably do this task in
about 30 seconds given the proper power tool, but that
would never draw the same sort of satisfaction. Mason
hated modern power tools. You didn’t feel the wood the
same way. The hot smell of friction would have
overpowered the scent of the maple. He stubbornly stuck
to the height of 18

th

century “technology” -- hand tools,

muscle power and patience. It would probably take him

at least another four months of painstaking work in
spare hours to finish this little table.

Mason had already spent two hours out here in the

garage tonight. The radio played softly in the
background as he tried to distract himself from an
internal monologue of what ifs. The little pile of wood
chips and shavings was growing on the floor. He
glanced at his watch. It was after ten; Mason had been
up since six. Maybe it was time to put up the tools and
give up for the night.

The inside of the house was nearly silent, only the

faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen disturbed the
quiet. Mason flipped on the light and set about filling
the coffee pot and pushing the button for “cruise
control” so it would come on in the morning. Heading
into the bedroom, he stripped and grabbed a pair of
pajama pants from a drawer. The night was chilly and
there wasn’t going to be a warm body to snuggle up to
tonight.

Damn, damn, just damn. Mason sat down on the edge

of the bed. When had he become so dependent on Cam
for comfort? Mason blew out a long breath as he pulled
on the pants. Be a grownup. What are you going to do
when he goes on deployment? Mason asked himself.

That was an idea he wasn’t ready to face at the moment.
He turned out the light and crawled into bed. He lay in
the darkness for a long time, staring at nothing.

Finally he got up and went to hunt through the

laundry basket. This is stupid; this is juvenile, he told
himself. He found a T-shirt that Cam had left there days
ago and Mason put it on. It smelled faintly of his lover.
This was freakin’ pathetic... and no one would ever
know. Sleep did come eventually.

***

As Cam walked through Mason’s house, he could

faintly hear the sound of the shower running. He made
his way to the bathroom and leaned into the open
doorway.

“Cat burglar,” called Cam.
“You’re out of luck. I don’t have a cat,” replied

Mason over the noise of the water.

“A bit late in the day to be taking a shower isn’t it?

Or did you pull an all nighter?”

“I went running. Didn’t think it’d be exactly PC to

show up for the party drenched in sweat,” said Mason.
The water shut off and Mason pushed the shower curtain
open. Cam drank in the sight of the long lean lines of his
lover’s body, dripping wet.

“Speaking of cats... I could give you a tongue bath?”

Cam teased.

“I think that would kind of defeat the purpose of the

shower.” He watched Mason grab a towel and begin to
dry off. “So how’d the shin-dig go last night?”

“Enh, the usual. Beer, food, bad jokes. You okay?”

Cam took hold of the ends of the towel where it was
draped over his lover’s head, as Mason dried his hair.
He pulled Mason toward him with the fabric and kissed
him softly. The faint taste of soap mixed with the
warmth of his lover’s mouth was a funky odd contrast
but still a turn on none the less. As Cam drew back his
face, he met Mason’s gaze.

“I’m surviving,” Mason whispered. The doctor gently

pulled away and finished drying off. Cam followed him
into the bedroom and parked himself on the bed while
Mason dressed in jeans and a dark green polo shirt.

***

Backing the Mustang out of his driveway, Mason

said, “Oh, the blood work came back.”

“And? Since you’re not bent out of shape, I’m

guessing we’re good.”

“Yeah. We’re both fine.”
“You would tell me this when we’re headed off to a

party. You’re just evil,” said Cam.

Mason just smiled.

***

Nearly two dozen cars lined both sides of the street

near Steve Villetti’s house. Mason frequently teased
Steve about the size of the “McMansion” located in the
upscale Courthouse Estates area. The nearest parking
space was nearly a block away.

“Guess Villetti must be a popular guy,” commented

Cam. Mason could hear the sarcasm in his lover’s voice.
Steve had been responsible for Cam nearly falling off an
exam table during an office visit for his shattered leg
months before.

“From a patient point of view, his bedside manner

improves markedly if you’re under anesthesia,” snarked
Mason.

Cam laughed. “Tell me again why you’re in a

practice with this guy?”

“He’s brilliant in the OR. And truthfully we get along

better than most ego-centric collections of surgeons.
Kyle’s our buffer, anyway,” said Mason referring to the
third member of the practice, Kyle Marrin. “Think about
it. If you put a couple dozen alpha male pilots together
without the whole chain of command and military regs
thing, wouldn’t there be a hell of a lot of head butting?”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”
They stood together at the front door as Mason

knocked. A medium height woman with sandy blond
curls opened it.

“Mason! It’s about time you made it,” she said with a

smile. “Steve swore to me that you were coming, but the
game started an hour ago.”

“Which game?” asked Mason.
“Like I would know.” She rolled her eyes. “Hi, I’m

Lisa Villetti.” She held out her hand. Mason introduced
Cam and they followed her toward the kitchen. “There’s
beer and tons of food. Pretty much all the men are in the
den watching the game on Steve’s new toy, the plasma
screen.”

“He hasn’t shut up about that thing for the past two

weeks,” said Mason. Two children came charging

through the kitchen. Mason recognized the toddler as
Tyra’s two year old daughter, Elizabeth. The older one
was Steve’s nine year old, Constantia. Mason scooped
the little one up off her feet as she scampered by, and
she let out an ear piercing squeal.
“Geez, Lizzie! Trying to make me deaf?” Mason asked.
He buried his face against her belly where her shirt had
pulled up, and blew a raspberry on her skin. She let out
squeals of laughter.

“Gain! Gain!” Lizzie yelled and Mason obliged. The

little girl laughed until she was out of breath.

“Go play, squirt. No running in the house,” said

Mason, setting her down.

Constantia gave him the hairy eyeball. “We were

playing tag,” the older child said with an imperious tone.
Constantia then hurried after the toddler.

“Oh Lord, nine years old, going on thirty,” said Lisa,

her mother.

Mason saw Cam giving him a funny look.
“You’re, um... quite the hit with the little one,” said

Cam. Mason walked around the counter to snag a soda
from the bucket of ice on the floor.

“Tyra brings Lizzie to work every once in awhile

when there’s daycare issues,” said Mason.

“No father?”
“He’s deployed for four more months. Ross is on the

Stennis. He’s enlisted.”

“Oh.” The slight nod from Cam let Mason know that

this was a very familiar concept.

***

Cam spent the next couple of hours at the party,

being introduced to people Mason knew, and generally
hanging out, intermittently watching football on TV. It
turned out there was a good handful of children at the
party, ranging in age from someone’s infant son to
Steve’s older child, a twelve year old boy, whose name
Cam promptly forgot. All but the infant seemed to know
Mason.

Mason was sitting cross-legged on the floor near

Cam’s feet, the doctor’s back leaned against the edge of
the upholstered chair where Cam was sitting. There was
a careful few inches between them that wouldn’t have
been there if they had been alone. Cam watched Lizzie
come wandering toward them. The toddler plopped into
Mason’s lap and curled up against his chest with a
thumb in her mouth. Mason’s arm curved around her
and he glanced momentarily down at the top of her head.

“Did momma turn you down?” Mason asked softly.

Lizzie looked up at him with wide teary eyes, and then
buried her face into his shirt.

“What’s that all about?” asked Cam.
“Tyra’s trying to wean her from nursing in public.

Obviously this is an unpopular decision.”

“So why’d she come to you?”
“For sympathy while she pouts. I think she’s pretty

tired, too.” Mason’s fingers trailed through the toddler’s
hair.

“I’m beginning to wonder why you didn’t go into

pediatrics,” said Cam. The look of anguish in Mason’s
eyes made Cam regret his words. Cam had momentarily
forgotten the little cancer patient. There was obviously
an enormous difference to Mason between enjoying

children, and caring for the sick and dying. Mason’s
gaze fell back to Lizzie in his lap. She was nearly asleep.

“I probably ought to go find out if Tyra wants me to

put her somewhere to nap,” said Mason. He shifted the
child to his shoulder and stood up. Cam watched him
leave. Children were not something the two of them
were ever likely to have.

***

After depositing Lizzie on a blanket in the far corner

of the kitchen floor for Tyra, Mason lingered to get
some food and a beer. A hand landed on his shoulder,
and Mason glanced back to see a familiar face. The man
behind him was several inches shorter and had short
blond curls.

“Nathan!” Mason said. “Why the hell didn’t you tell

me that you were coming to this coast?” he demanded,
giving Nathan a bone crushing hug.

“Last minute business thing. I wasn’t even sure it was

going to happen, then I up and forgot to email you.

“Still living the California dream I see.” Mason held

up his relatively pale hand against Nathan’s deeply
tanned one.

“Unh. Yeah, and the California mortgage to go with

it. Ed and I are looking to move someplace cheaper and
a little less earthquake prone.”

“Kansas?” grinned Mason.
“So I can trade earthquakes for tornados?”
“Sure why not?”
“Actually we were kind of thinking about moving

back here.”

“Wow. How come this is the first I’ve heard of this?”

asked Mason.

“It’s all just kind of hypothetical at this point. It

depends on job opportunities and a whole slew of other
iffy things.”

“Grab a beer and give me all the details. God, it’s

good to see you.”

***

Cam glanced in the direction that Mason had

disappeared. There was no sign of him. Maybe it was
time to get a drink and see where the man had gotten to.
Cam ambled into the kitchen. There were several people
eating and talking in the room. He could see Tyra’s
back. She was talking to Mason and... another man. A
man with blond curly hair about the same age as Mason
was standing with his arm hanging around Mason’s
neck. They were laughing and talking with the nurse.
Cam felt an uncomfortably hard knot in his chest.
Mason didn’t let people touch him casually, not often
anyway. Who was this guy hanging all over him?

***

“So tell me about this guy you’re seeing” prompted

Nathan as he took a sip from his beer bottle. “Last email
I got from you, it sounded serious.”

“It is. Or at least it seems to be,” Mason said. Mason

couldn’t help the little smile on his lips. He saw his
lover on the far side of the room. They met eyes, and
Mason was disconcerted. Cam seemed to be bordering
on angry. Not that anyone else would notice, but the
tense line of his crossed arms, the stance, and the hint of
a head tilt. What was bugging him? The look they
shared, on the other hand, suggested he’d like to fuck
Mason up against a wall. People moved in between them
and Mason’s view was cut off.

“Somebody I know?” asked Nathan.
“No, I doubt it. He’s... military.”
“Oooh, that’s gotta make things awkward.”
“Yeah, some parts of it are difficult.”
“You never did easy very well. That’s probably why

we never stuck as permanent thing.”

“Oh come on, we were in college and getting laid by

anybody was half the goal in life,” laughed Mason.

“You got that right.”

“How’s Ed?” asked Mason, referring to Nathan’s

partner.

“Fine. Home. I miss him like hell. I have two more

days in the area before I fly home.”

“You still looking into starting a family?”
“Sort of. Maybe. I don’t know. Doing a little

research. Trying to make up our minds. Wondering if
we’d be better off buying a dog,” said Nathan.

Mason snickered. “Pooper scooping versus diapers.”
“Yeah.”
“Come on. I’ll introduce you to my partner. Last time

I looked he was talking to Villetti. Probably about
motorcycles.” Mason pulled Nathan along.

Near the sliding glass door, he saw Cam leaning on

the wall listening to a conversation. Mason reached out
and laid a hand on Cam’s arm. The slow simmer of

anger was made even more apparent by the touch.
Mason was somewhat mystified. Cam turned toward
him.

“Hey I’d like you to meet an old friend of mine. We

went to college together,” said Mason. “Nathan, meet
Lt. Cameron Bradshaw, Cam, Nathan Carter.” The two
men shook hands.

“Lieutenant? In this area, does that make you Navy?”

asked Nathan.

“Yes.”
“I’m sales rep for a pharmaceutical company. Lots of

traveling.”

“Sounds interesting.”
“Only sometimes. Some weeks are hell. I spend too

much time alone,” lamented Nathan.

Mason felt a hard flash of annoyance from his

partner. What the hell was going on?

“Alone has its uses,” said Cam. Mason raised an

eyebrow at Cam. This really wasn’t like his partner at
all. “We really need to head out. I have duty tomorrow.”
Now Mason just stared at Cam, because unless
something had changed in the past hour, that was a
blatant lie.

“Um, yeah, okay. We should really try to grab a meal

together before you have to fly back. Maybe tomorrow?
I’ll give you a call around lunch,” said Mason.

“That should work,” replied Nathan. Mason slowly

followed Cam toward the door, stopping briefly to say
goodbye to several people.

Outside, Mason pushed Cam against the bricks of the

wall around the corner of the house, and stood with his
hands braced on either side of Cam’s head.

“Okay, give. What’s up with you?” demanded

Mason.

“Nothing.”
“Don’t give me that. One minute you’re looking at

me like you want to rip all my clothes off and the next
you’re looking like you’re thinking about decking me!”

“I... don’t want to talk about it. I thought we were

leaving.”

“Yeah I guess we are, at your insistence.” Mason

turned to walk away then turned back. What ever the
hell Cam was so pissed about must have a reason, and
that man was never easily upfront and verbal about his
emotions. Mason put a hand against Cam’s chest and
pushed him back harder against the wall and kissed him.
Cam relaxed a fraction. His arms went around Mason,
pulling him tight to his body. One hand clenched in the
hair at the back of Mason’s head and the kiss became
more aggressive.

Mine, was what Mason heard whispered inside his

head. Oh. Now he understood. How could he have been
so stupid not to realize his lover was jealous of his easy
familiarity with Nathan?

Mason let Cam take control. The pilot twisted him so

that Mason was the one pinned to the wall as Cam’s
hand pulled his T-shirt loose at the waist and ran a hand
up underneath the fabric. His hand was warm on
Mason’s skin, sliding up his ribs around to the back of
his waist. Cam’s hand wormed down inside his briefs
and cupped the curve of his butt as Cam ground himself
against Mason’s crotch. Cam had one foot braced on the
ground pushing. The force with which Mason was being

crushed against the bricks was uncomfortable, bordering
on the edge of pain. Suddenly Cam stepped back, letting
go.

“God... sorry... I didn’t...” huffed Cam. He stared at

the ground, breathing hard. “You would have... I could
have...” Cam stumbled away toward the line of cars
parked along the now darkened street. Mason followed,
at a slightly slower pace.

Cam had finally stopped. He leaned forward with

crossed arms braced on the roof of Mason’s Mustang.
He wrapped both arms gently around Cam’s body and
leaned against his back.

“You wouldn’t actually hurt me. Not on purpose. I’m

fine. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize Nathan would make you
jealous. I’ve known him for a long time,” Mason
whispered in Cam’s ear.

“Not jealous,” mumbled Cam, his face buried in the

crook of his arm.

“Yeah, you are. And I’m sorry I was slow on the

uptake. But I’m flattered, too.”

“Why?” muttered Cam.
Mason placed a line of kisses down the nape of

Cam’s neck. He felt his lover draw in a shuddering
breath.

“Because it’s part of the whole relationship thing. If

you care about me, then it makes you crazy to think
about me being with someone else. I’m yours. Body and
soul.”

“Still want to rip off your clothes and fuck you over

the car,” muttered Cam.

“Would you settle for in the back seat? We’d draw

less attention that way,” replied Mason.

“Oh geez, don’t tempt me.”
“I wasn’t kidding. There might even be a tube of Wet

Stuff in the glove compartment...” suggested Mason.

“I don’t have a condom with me, do you?”
“We don’t really need one, you know,” said Mason

softly. He waited for Cam to remember the brief
discussion of the blood tests from earlier in the evening.

Cam was still leaning on the roof of the car. He

turned slowly in the circle of Mason’s arms to face his
partner.

“I... you really sure about this? You and me in the

back seat like a couple of horny teenagers?” whispered
Cam. Mason nodded. He was very sure. Cam pulled
Mason into a careful kiss.

***

Two full grown men in the back seat of a Mustang

was pretty damn awkward. There had indeed been a
partially used tube of slick in the glove compartment.
Cam was sprawled on top of Mason along the seat. The
car wasn’t exactly warm, but neither of them wanted to
turn it on and draw more attention to their escapade.

Cam’s mouth was currently plastered against Mason’s
and he was kissing Mason slowly while his hand was
stuffed down the front of his lover’s partially unzipped
jeans stroking the hard cock inside.

Cam could feel the thrum of energy that came with

touching the healer. It was warm and addictive and
purely Mason. His body wanted to drive into his partner
and pound him into the seat and prove just how much
this man belonged to him, but Cam forced himself to
slow down. Cam eased Mason’s jeans down over his
hips, then it became something of a wrestling match to
get Mason’s long legs out of the pants in the confines of
the small space. They were both giggling like idiots by
the time it was accomplished.

“Next time, remind me just how damn small the back

seat of your car is,” snickered Cam.

“Shut up and concentrate,” said Mason.
Cam groped on the floor for the tube and squeezed

out a generous amount on to his fingers. Mason let out a
groan as Cam’s fingers pushed into him. After a couple
of minutes of careful preparation and some unbelievably
hot sounds from his lover, Cam ran his slippery hand
down the length of his own raging hard-on and

hesitated. This was a big deal. They’d never done it

without the condoms, and here they were going hot and
heavy in the back seat of a car like they were still in high
school. God, he’d never loved anyone like he loved
Mason, never believed he could feel like this about a
man.

He swallowed hard and pushed into Mason’s body. It

was almost over right then. It was always a deliciously
tight, all-encompassing heat but there was nothing
separating them this time. One of Mason’s legs was
braced against the edge of the window and the other on
Cam’s shoulder. Cam’s hands awkwardly supported
himself on either side of Mason’s head.

“Breathe,” said Mason. Neither one of them moved

for a number of seconds.

Slowly Cam eased back a little and thrust in. Mason

bit down on his own lip, face contorting. Cam could tell

he was struggling equally hard to postpone his climax,
the vibration of the energy pouring off of his body
everywhere they touched was at a fever pitch. Drawing
back again and slamming forward with very little
control left, he must have nailed Mason in exactly the
right spot. His partner’s body jerked and semen spurted
in a sticky spray across his stomach and the bottom edge
of his shirt. That was it. All he wrote. The pulsing
contractions sent him over the edge and Cam slammed
repeatedly against Mason’s body riding the rush of his
orgasm. Drained, he slumped weakly on top of his lover.

Love you. Mason’s thoughts whispered inside his head.

Love you, too. replied Cam. The intimacy of shared

emotions was as intense as the things their bodies had
done. Minutes ticked by before they peeled themselves
apart and struggled back into discarded pieces of
clothing.

***

“Ya know it’s a good thing we’re going home, ‘cause

I’m not sure anybody could miss noticing what we’ve

been up to,” said Mason. He knew there was a stupid
smile on his face.

“Uh-huh. You look well and truly fucked,” replied

Cam.

“And sticky.” Mason gestured toward the mess on his

shirt and a shiver ran through his body. Mid-October
was definitely heading toward chilly.

“You’re the one with the car keys.”
“Unh... this is going to require that I move isn’t it?”
“Yup,” replied Cam.
Mason groaned as he climbed out of the back seat.
The first part of the drive home was mostly quiet.

Mason finally broke the silence.

“I would like to meet Nathan for dinner tomorrow.

I’ve known him for more than a decade. Yeah, we kinda
sorta had something a long time ago. But it was never

serious. And he’s happily married to a nice guy named
Ed. They’re thinking about having children.”

“Do you know how weird it sounds to use the words

married and to a guy in the same sentence?”

“They live in California, so they made it legal. Well,

at least until the shit started flying.”

“Mmm, forgot about that. So the children part. Guess

that implies adoption, since it’s not like either one of
them can carry a baby.”

“There’s other options. Fostering and surrogacy.”
“You seem to know an awful lot about this guy who

lives on the opposite coast....”

“Little thing called email. We try to keep in touch at

least once a month or so.”

“Oh.” The flatness of Cam’s tone told Mason that his

lover still had jealous reservations about what Mason
might feel for Nathan.

“I went to college with him for four years. The pre-

med part. He was a good friend. My first openly gay
friend. Yes, we occasionally screwed each other stupid,

but he’s about as head blind as they come, and I could
never commit to anything permanent. We both knew
anything serious would never work between us. We do

much better as friends. And he’s taken. Just as much as I
am,” Mason tried to reassure Cam.

“Does he know you’re a healer?”
“Yeah, actually he does. One of the very, very few

people outside my family.”

“You never talk about your family.”
“And you do? I know you have a brother. That’s it.”
“My parents are dead. Yours?”
“Alive and well and would probably prefer that I was

the one that’s dead.”

“Ouch. You an only?”
“Nope. Got two older brothers and a younger sister.”
“Wow. So what’s the deal?”
“The healer thing was rough, but it’s not exactly like

I can run around telling the world about that. Being gay
though...”

“And they can’t handle that.”
“Nope. Doesn’t matter that their son is a respected

orthopedic surgeon. He fucks guys, so obviously he’s
not worth shit.” Even just saying the words brought up
bitter memories and emotions within Mason. And per
usual he tried to choke them back down. Cam reached
across and squeezed Mason’s leg. “What about your
brother?” asked Mason.

“Shea? He was always the wild child. He does bomb

disposal for the U.N. for a living. One of these days I’m
going to get a phone call asking where to send the pieces
of his body.”

“When you had the motorcycle accident, supposedly

someone called him...”

“He was out of the country for six weeks. He did

eventually get a hold of me. We’re really not that close.”

“Would he have a cow if he knew you were involved

with a guy?”

“I doubt it. Like I said, he was always the wild child.

I wouldn’t be surprised if he hasn’t at least tried the idea
on for size... He’d probably laugh at me.”

***

In Mason’s bedroom, Cam watched his lover strip out

of his shirt. The bedside light threw just enough
illumination to highlight the dips and planes of Mason’s
naked torso, the narrow furrow of his spine, the way the
muscles at the back of his waist flexed, the broad
shoulders. Cam wanted to run his mouth over every inch
of exposed skin. Oh, and the parts he couldn’t see at the
moment. too.

“You enjoying the show?” said Mason, a teasing tone

in his voice.

“Oh, yeah.”
“You don’t really have duty in the morning do you?”
“No,” Cam admitted. “I just... wanted to...” Cam

fished inside his brain for a phrase that wouldn’t sound
like he had been behaving like a jealous bastard.

“Get me to leave?” offered Mason.

“Yeah. I’m sorry.” Cam felt embarrassed.
Mason crossed the room and looped his arms loosely

around Cam’s neck. “I think maybe I like you being
jealous, just a little bit,” Mason said softly.

“Watching him with his arm around you... It’s not

like you usually let people touch much... and not like
that...” Cam’s voice trailed off. Trying to come up with
words to describe his sudden intense response to seeing
another man possibly trying to claim Mason’s affection
was damn difficult. “Get naked,” whispered Cam. “Lie
on your stomach on the bed, I’ll be back in a minute.”
Cam had a sudden insanely silly idea. Mason looked at
him with a raised eyebrow. Cam merely smiled and
headed in the direction of the kitchen. There was a black
Sharpie somewhere on the kitchen counter, he’d seen it.

When Cam came back into the bedroom, Mason was

obligingly stretched out on the bed, facing the door, chin
propped on his fists. Cam crawled onto the bed and
straddled Mason’s thighs. He popped the lid off the
marker. When the cool wetness of the Sharpie tip
touched the curve of Mason’s left butt cheek, Mason’s
head jerked up.

“Hey, what’re you doing?” Mason asked.

“Oh nothing. I’ll tell you in a minute. It’ll wash off in

a day or so anyway.” Cam carefully printed out --
Property of Cameron Bradshaw -- on his lover’s skin. It
was a block lettered label that followed the delectable
curve of the left side of Mason’s tush. “There. Now your
ass is officially mine,” said Cam.

Mason twisted enough to get a glimpse of the writing

and began to giggle.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” Mason said

between giggles. He squirmed beneath Cam’s spread
legs to roll over onto his back.

“Damn right.”
“Hope you’re not planning on having me show that to

anyone.”

“You sure as hell better not. Maybe I should add --

no looking and no touching?”

“That doesn’t include you, does it?” There was a

definite smirk on Mason’s face.

“Huh-uh.” Cam lowered himself down to lie on top

of his lover. His lips met Mason’s and the kiss started
out gentle. Somewhere along the way it changed to
hungry. Mason’s arms wound around Cam’s body
pulling him down tight. The subtle thrum of the healer’s
energy was crawling along Cam’s skin and it stirred
arousal somewhere low in his belly. His jeans were
getting uncomfortably tight as Cam’s body began to
respond to the idea. Mason’s hand curled around the
back of Cam’s head and Mason rolled them over so he
was on top.

“How come you still have clothes on? We need to fix

that,” said Mason as he began to push Cam’s shirt up.
The shirt got dumped off the side of the bed, followed in
another minute or so by Cam’s jeans and underwear.
“Now since we’re behaving like juvenile delinquents
tonight, where’s that marker?” asked Mason. Cam
jerked a thumb toward where it lay on the bed.

Now it was Mason straddling Cam’s thighs, but Cam

lay face up. His cock was bobbing, rigid against his
belly. Mason was pointedly ignoring it, as he began
writing letters down the front of Cam left hipbone. His

lover wrote MASON at a slight diagonal downward and
then CAM horizontally across so the names intersected
at the “A”. When Mason popped the cap back on the
marker, Cam took in what was written on him. Now it
was his turn to laugh.

“Guess it’s a good thing I’m not made of wood and

you’re the one with a penknife,” Cam said.

“You look like you have pretty good wood to me,”

teased Mason.

“Are you planning on helping me with that? Or

should I do it myself?” asked Cam. He made a gesture
as if to wrap his hand around his own hard cock. Mason
batted his hand away.

“Hands off.” Mason slid down Cam’s legs and blew a

warm breath across Cam’s erection. It twitched happily
at the attention. Mason started a trail of little nips and

licks up the inside of Cam’s thigh. Cam groaned softly.
The backseat adventure had taken the edge off enough
that this might actually last a while. Mason’s tongue
burned a slow path up the underside of Cam’s cock,
swirling around the head and lapping across the weeping
slit. Cam bucked into the sensation a little. Then his
lover’s mouth closed down over his length. Ungh.
Mason’s lips drew back up Cam’s cock at a snail’s pace
and were gone. Cam blinked. Huh? It took a second for
him to realize that Mason was groping in the nightstand
drawer for the lube.

On his hands and knees above him, Mason gazed

down at Cam. “Am I topping? Or you?”

Cam considered the question for a moment. Unlike

some male couples, they didn’t have a set pattern.
Neither of them consistently topped or bottomed, but it
wasn’t taking turns either, it was some random
combination that was somehow tied to situations and
emotions. “You,” said Cam. He wanted to feel Mason
without a rubber. Tonight was all about crossing that
line, ditching the protection. The deal in the back seat
had only been part one.

Mason squeezed out a generous amount of lube and

took his time preparing Cam. The divine slide of fingers

slipping in and out and stretching was taking Cam closer
to the edge a whole lot faster than he'd anticipated.

“Damn, quit with the fingers already and get on with

it,” Cam pleaded.

Mason gave him a wicked grin as his hand stilled. “I

think I like it when you beg,” murmured Mason.

The low husky tone from his partner went straight to

Cam’s cock which absolutely ached with the need for
release. Cam gnashed his teeth in a mock snarl.

“Then screw me, please, before I start humping your

leg,” Cam said.

“Roll over,” ordered Mason.
Cam groaned in frustration but complied. Stretched

flat on the bed, his cock was trapped between his body
and the blankets. He squirmed a little, seeking friction.
Mason’s thighs straddled the outside of Cam’s hips and

Cam moaned as his lover pushed his own erection
against Cam’s ass. Mmph... damn... He could feel the
head of Mason’s cock popping past his own tight ring of
muscle. Cam’s fingers clenched into the sheets. God, his
brain was just absolutely locking up with the sensation.
Mason’s hand kneaded at his shoulder as his lover thrust
deeper. Cam arched his back and their bodies slapped
together. Cam could hear Mason’s breathing get more
and more ragged as his lover was slowly losing the
struggle to postpone his climax. Low husky panting
groans became a violent gasp as Mason exploded within
him, and the bright energy wash from his lover tore
away the last shred of Cam’s control. They rode a
blinding torrent as their minds and bodies came together.

Gasping and gulping for air, Mason sagged to lie

sprawled on Cam’s back. Cam could feel the deliciously
damp heat weighing him down, pressing him against the
slippery wetness beneath him. They both lay unmoving
for minutes. Mason’s softening cock was sliding from
Cam’s body and his lover rolled a little to lie beside
Cam. Mason’s face pressed into the nape of Cam’s neck
and his arms circled around to wrap across Cam’s chest.

Sounding drowsy and spent, Mason whispered

against Cam’s ear, “I love you so much. Don’t ever
doubt that.”

Cam took Mason’s hand in his own and kissed the

center of his lover’s palm.

***

The buzzing sound woke Mason. It took several

seconds for him to realize the annoying little noise was
his cell phone. He groped on the floor for his pants and
dug the phone from the pocket. Squinting at the display,
he saw it was the hospital.

“Dr. Flynn,” he answered. He had nearly forgotten

that he was on call tonight. The voice on the other end
informed him that he was needed to deal with a pelvic

fracture case from a car accident.

Mason hauled himself out of bed and dressed. As he

was about to head out the door of the bedroom, it
occurred to him that Cam would wonder where the hell
he had gone. He shook Cam gently by the shoulder.

“Huh? Wha’?” the pilot mumbled.
“I have to go to the hospital. I’m probably going to

be gone a couple of hours,” said Mason.

“Uh, ‘kay. I’ll keep th’ bed warm,” Cam said, and

fell silent.

Mason smiled a little in the darkness. There was a

fifty-fifty chance the information had never actually

reached Cam’s brain.

***

The X-rays of the pelvic fracture didn’t look as bad

as Mason had feared. This might only take a couple of
hours to put the stabilizing hardware in. He stood in the
locker room, stripping to his underwear to put on scrubs.
Dorval, one of the anesthesia guys came in to perform a
similar task. When Mason glanced back over his
shoulder, the other man was standing still with his head
cocked at an angle.

“What’s up?” asked Mason.
“Did you get a tattoo across your butt? I swear it

looks like it says Republic of China or something,” said
Dorval. Mason suddenly felt his face flush with
embarrassment. He’d forgotten about the “label”.
Considering he was wearing white silk bikini briefs, it
was undoubtedly pretty damn visible.

“It’ll wash off eventually. My boyfriend got hold of a

permanent marker. I suppose I should be grateful he
didn’t write something obscene,” replied Mason with as
straight a face as possible.

Dorval merely chuckled and started putting on his

own scrubs.

Later, in the OR, when Mason was finishing up, the

tattoo idea flitted through his head again. The thought of
Cam’s name written forever on his skin had a certain

appeal to it. Not on his behind, however. Chances were
he’d never actually go through with getting something
like that done. Still... it was a thought.

***

The coffee pot was gurgling and glugging to a finish.

Cam stood in Mason’s kitchen fishing mugs from the
cupboard.

“Can we talk about dinner?” said Mason. Cam leaned

back a little as Mason’s arms circled his shoulders from
behind. There was a hint of tension in his partner.

“Yeah, sure,” replied Cam.
“I think it would be easier just to invite Nathan to

have dinner here. We won’t have to think twice about
what we say or who might hear.”

Cam was silent for a moment, knowing that thought

was mostly for his protection. God, there were times
when the constant need to think about how dangerous
his love for Mason was to his Navy career was just
agonizing.

“That’s probably a good idea,” Cam said.
Mason kissed him on the corner of his jaw just below

his ear, then continued down the side of his neck.

***

The breeze blew the heavy scent of the grilling steaks

across the patio behind Mason’s house. Mason leaned
against the wall keeping an eye on the meat. Cam’s arm
was draped around his shoulders and Mason had a
thumb hooked in one of the belt loops of his lover’s
jeans. Nathan was slouched in an Adirondack style
chair, beer bottle in his hand.

“So I hear you’ve been on the receiving end of

Mason’s magic fingers,” Nathan said to Cam.

Mason felt Cam flinch a little.
“More than once,” said Mason. “I’m still hurrying up

the healing on his ruptured eardrum, so he can get back
to flying.” He felt Cam’s fingers tighten against his

shoulder. “I told you Nath’ is one of the exceedingly few
people outside my family that ever knew before
Division P recruited me” Mason reminded him.

“Not sure I’d even be here if it wasn’t for him,”

commented Nathan.

“Okay, give, there’s obviously a story behind that,”

said Cam.

Mason exchanged a long glance with Nathan. This

was an uncomfortable memory for both of them.

“You tell it,” said Nathan.
“We were sophomores in college. We went out

clubbing. Didn’t even try the fake ID thing, so we were
actually both sober. We were being reasonably good, but
on the other hand two horny twenty year olds on a
Saturday night is probably tempting fate a little too
hard.” Mason began.

“Groping each other in the parking lot behind the

club seemed like a pretty harmless idea,” Nathan
inserted.

“We even had all our clothes on. Apparently two

guys in a lip lock, minding their own business, was
morally offensive to a handful of redneck assholes
looking for trouble. Next thing I know we’re being
hauled apart and three guys are beating the shit out of

us.” Mason hesitated. His gaze fell to the rest on the tips
of his shoes. Visions of blood and darkness, pain and
fear flitted through his head. Mason supposed that he
must be radiating a certain amount of unease, because
Cam’s arm slid down to curl around his body.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize...” Cam said softly.
“No, it’s okay. You ought to know. It’s a piece of my

history.” Mason blew out a breath and continued.
“Anyway, one of them picked up a broken beer bottle
and stabbed Nathan in the stomach with it. I think
maybe one of the bouncers from the club found out there
was a fight going on in the parking lot and called 911.
Of course, by that time we’d attracted a few spectators
and the three guys bailed. I held Nathan together until
the paramedics showed. That came back to bite me in
the ass, too, because between getting the crap beat out of

me and the stuff I’d done to save Nathan, I passed out.
Woke up in the hospital three hours later.”

“Not that I remember more than bits and pieces, but

he’s also not telling you that without his intervention I
probably would have bled out in the parking lot. It took
something like three hours of surgery to put me back in
one piece, and then I think it was two days in ICU and
another week in the hospital after that.” Nathan swigged
another gulp of beer as he added to the tale.

“I was wrecked. Between being in not so fabulous

shape myself and so torn up inside about how close
Nathan had come to dying, I told him everything. Every
last detail about what I did for him and what my
grandmother had taught me and how deep the secret was
because I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life locked
in a lab with a bunch of rats,” Mason finished. He
picked up his own beer from where it sat near the grill
and took a long pull.

All three men were silent for a long moment. Cam

cupped a hand against Mason’s jaw and pulled him into
a kiss.

“Somewhere you have racked up some serious karma

points in your favor,” said Cam. “The number of people
who owe their lives to you just goes up and up.”

A hint of an embarrassed smile tugged at Mason’s

mouth. “I’m a doctor. It’s in the job description.”

“He’s got a point,” commented Nathan. “You have

knack for being in the right place at the right time. If
ever anyone was born to be a healer, it’s you.”

The steaks were done and the three men moved

inside to eat, as the chill of the October evening was
becoming uncomfortable with the setting of the sun.

After dinner, dirty plates were dumped in the kitchen

sink to be dealt with later and the conversation had
turned to silly embarrassing reminiscing. Mason was
amused that Cam had practically dragged him onto the
sofa to sit between his legs and lean back against the
pilot’s chest. Both of Cam’s arms were loosely wrapped
around Mason’s body, and his fingers tracing aimless
patterns on Mason's chest. It was a totally blatant and

possessive position that practically screamed “mine.”
Mason was blissfully happy at the gesture. For Cam to
be willing to be seen showing obvious attraction and
affection by even just one other person was another inch
toward what Mason constantly hoped for. A lifetime
together.

***

Monday equaled surgery followed by office hours.

Mason saw twenty eight patients in five hours. By the
time the end of the day rolled around he was more than
ready to be done. Tomorrow was going to be a whole
different game. Instead of the weekly foray out to the
Division P complex, he was set up to ride with the
Virginia Beach EMS.

Leaning on the front reception counter to put his

signature on a stack of paperwork, Mason crooked a
finger at Tyra as she walked by.

“What’s up?” she asked.
“The DMAT people changed my training

assignment,” he said, referring to the cover story he had
been using to explain away the time he spent with
Division P. “They’re sending me to ride with the EMS

people on Tuesdays for the next few months. I left word
with the hospital to notify me if Jason Ambers takes a
serious down turn. But if they can’t get hold of me on
my cell, they might call here,” Mason told her.

“I know this is the wrong question, but how’s he

doing?” she said.

“Slowly but steadily creeping downhill. They have

him on morphine. Some days he’s more lucid than
others. I try to swing by every couple of days.” Mason
didn’t say that when he went to check on the boy, he did
what he could to block the pain and improve the quality
of the short time the child had left.

“I am so sorry for him. He’s such a sweet kid and he

deserved to have an actual life,” said Tyra wistfully.
“God, talking about him makes me want to go get Lizzie
from daycare and just hold her.” Tyra squeezed his hand

where it lay on the counter.

***

The wind was blowing across the parking lot behind

Station 14, a white cinderblock building with a green
roof. Mason hurried across the lot to the back door. The
street lights cast long shadows in the cold early morning
darkness. It wasn’t like he didn’t get up obscenely early
on a fairly regular basis, but somehow the white noise of
the wind and the lack of traffic was vaguely eerie.

Mason knocked on the back door. He could see lights

inside the long hallway that led away from the door, but
no people. There had to be personnel inside; the EMS
station was manned 24/7. He knocked again. Finally, a
short man with a crew cut came down the hallway and
opened the door.

“Can I help you?” the man said.

“My name’s Mason Flynn. I was sent here by DMAT

for field training. I think I’m looking for a guy named
Raj Malik. He’s a paramedic.”

“Oh, he’s in the kitchen. You an EMT?”
“Um, no,” said Mason. He knew full well there was

usually rancor between the EMS people and most

doctors. Mason followed the man up the hallway,
through a common room containing a TV and several
sofas, and into a large kitchen. There were a few people
drinking coffee and chit-chatting. A stocky dark haired
man of Indian descent was slouched in a chair at the
table with a cup in front of him.

“Hey Raj, this guy said DMAT sent him to you for

training,” said the man Mason had followed inside.

The dark haired man looked up. “Raj Malik,” he

introduced himself. “So enlighten me, what does a
surgeon want with EMS time?”

“Most of my experience is in a hospital setting. If I’m

going to be of value to DMAT in crisis situations, I need
more exposure to field scenarios.”

“You do realize you’re not in charge out here,” said

Raj. There was a distinctly dubious look on his face.

“Yes,” Mason replied as evenly as possibly.
“You might want to give the guy a chance before you

shoot him down in flames,” said a female voice. Mason
glanced over his shoulder to see a slender blond woman.
“Hi, I’m Ginny Burke.” She held out a hand to Mason
and he shook it.

“Mason Flynn,” he introduced himself.
The PA system let out a loud tone and spouted off

cryptic information about a call. In the span of a few
seconds, Mason was in an ambulance heading out.

***

The morning was spent transporting an asthma

patient, an elderly woman who had fallen and a teenager
in need of stitches in his elbow after a bike accident.
Nothing epic, nothing life threatening and Mason made
sure to keep his mouth shut and his head down, doing
exactly as he was told. Mason also didn’t use his healing
Talent, except to check for signs of broken bones in the
elderly woman.

An hour past lunch, things picked up with a shooting

incident. Mason sat uncertainly in the ambulance with
Raj and Ginny while they waited for the police to give

the all clear at the site of the shooting. Mason hadn’t
given much thought to the concept that incident scenes
might be hazardous. Considering the couple of situations
he had been involved in with Division P, he really ought
to know better.

As Mason hopped down from the side door of the

vehicle, he glanced at the victim lying in a pool of blood
on the sidewalk. A steady drizzle had started and it was
beginning to soak the pavement. The patient was a
young black man in a heavy winter weight jacket and
hugely oversized dark jeans. He was moaning faintly.
Ginny headed toward the police to get some
information.

“Let’s C-collar and backboard him and get him into

the ambulance. Letting him get soaked is only going to
make things worse,” said Raj. Mason nodded and circled

around to the back of the ambulance to pull out the
stretcher.

The victim was methodically secured and lifted onto

the stretcher. Inside the ambulance, Raj took the
victim’s pulse, while Mason got an oxygen mask over
the patient’s face.

“I see an entrance wound,” said Raj. “Start cutting off

his jacket. We need to find out if there’s an exit, too. I
think there’s too much blood for the one hole.” Mason
grabbed a pair of trauma shears and stuck the tip under
the edge of the sleeve at the wrist and pushed. The
material gave way with relative ease... releasing a large
puff of flying feathers which promptly started sticking to
anything damp. Mason froze for a moment. What the
fuck ? God, the guy would have to be wearing a down
coat.

“Keep cutting dude, we’ll clean up later,” said Raj,

with a snicker. The paramedic was busy listening for
breath sounds with his stethoscope. Mason kept cutting.
The back of ambulance was swiftly looking like a pillow
fight explosion had occurred. Mason used a mixture of
touch and his psi senses to locate the exit wound.

“Found it,” Mason said. “Just below the armpit. I’m

thinking he may have already been either falling or on

the ground when he got shot.” Mason began ripping
open dressings and pressing them to the wound to try to
slow the blood loss. Use ten percent of your Talent,
Peter had told him. Okay, here goes, Mason thought. He
let just a trickle of energy flow through his fingers,
constricting the blood vessels around each rib and
around the chest cavity as he pressed the layers of gauze
firmly to patient’s body. That should slow the bleeding.
Then he gave another little nudge in the direction of
sealing the wound in the lung.

“Okay, that’s a police problem, not ours. He’s

definitely got diminished breath sounds on the left side.
I’m thinking we’re going to have to do something about
the pneumothorax before you put that line in.” Raj
switched from listening to the man’s chest to taking the
patient’s blood pressure. This was definitely far closer to

Mason’s couple of experiences with trauma and disaster
via Division P than his usual mode of surgery or office
visits or even practice with Peter. “Got the chest seals
taped down?”

“Yes,” Mason answered
“Good,” replied the paramedic. “Find me a 14 gauge

needle so I can deal with this.”

Mason had to wipe damp goose down off the glass

front of the cabinet built into the inside of the ambulance
to see if he could find the box with the bigger needles in
it.

“I think I’m in the mood for Beach Bully. That sound

good to you? We missed lunch transporting the bike
accident guy. What are you in the mood for? We’ll take

a meal break after we’re done with this one,” said Raj.

Mason was startled. Okay, he was hungry, but they

were in the middle of a call. What the fuck? Why was
this guy worrying about food?

While Raj stabbed the large needle into the

appropriate spot on the patient’s chest, Mason grabbed a
16 gauge needle and concentrated on getting the IV
started.

“IV”s in,” said Mason. He heard the door slam as

Ginny got in the front to drive.

“We good to go?” she called.
“Yeah, tell ‘em we’re in transit and should be there in

about ten minutes,” said Raj. The ambulance rocked a
little as it pulled back onto the street. “His pressure’s
dropping. See if you can get a second line in.”

Mason nodded and started ripping open the packages

for another IV. He did however hesitate just a little as he
hunted for a useable vein. Gloved fingertips on skin,
Mason coaxed the blood vessels in the nearest gun shot
wound area to shut down and limit the blood flow. His
Talent suggested something more, the developing
connection between him and critically injured man was
strengthening. Mason blinked and swallowed hard.
Fight the connection, he told himself.

When they arrived at the hospital, they were met by

one of the ER doctors and a nurse, who guided them

swiftly into one of the nearest available trauma bay. Raj
lingered for a few minutes to hand off what information
they had on the patient. Mason glanced back in the
direction of the door, he saw a trail of blood, mud, rain,
and feathers. Raj grinned at him.

“I think we made quite an entrance,” the paramedic

laughed. Mason had to chuckle a little too at the sheer
magnitude of the mess. “Hey, I’m sorry if I weirded you
out with the food questions. It’s a paramedic thing,
you’ll get used to it.”

***

The hospice ward was a quiet place. Mason had just

finished checking on Jason Ambers. The “checking”
part involved pouring energy into Jason's failing body
and reinforcing the pain dampening effects of the
morphine IV so the child could have some hours of

relative alertness. Time was running out for Jason.

Mason went to the chapel, because it was a quiet

place and no one was likely to ask questions he didn’t
want to answer if he sat there with his head down for a
while. He was doing all he could, and it wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough. The child’s remaining
lifespan was down to being counted in days at this point.

***

Tonight, patience wasn’t his strong suit. Cam paced

the floor of Mason’s house for a while, tried to watch
TV, raided the refrigerator and checked his email on
Mason’s computer. He wanted to hear how the day with
the EMS people had gone. Multiple times he thought
about calling Mason and decided that was stupid. At
eight o’clock, he settled for a simple text message of

WHERE R U?
There had been no response. Cam was about ready to

go get on his bike and find his lover when he heard the
door open. Mason shuffled through the door, looking

dead exhausted. Cam met him two steps into the den,
and wrapped his arms around Mason.

“I was getting worried about you,” Cam said.
“Sorry, I was at the hospice unit.”
“You eat yet?”
“No.” Mason’s answered was muffled by the fact his

face was leaning down against Cam’s shoulder.

Cam could feel the bone weary misery seeping from

his partner. He placed a kiss against Mason’s temple.

“This’d be a good night for pizza and beer,” he

suggested. He pushed Mason in the direction of the sofa
and pulled out his cell to call for delivery. Mason sat on
the sofa unlacing his shoes. When he was done, he
slumped against Cam. “Do I dare ask how the paramedic
thing went?” said Cam. He stroked his fingers through
Mason’s hair.

“That? Oh, um, that went okay. I didn’t get as much

flack as I expected, but then again I tried really hard to
keep my mouth shut.”

Cam noticed several tiny downy feathers in Mason’s

hair. “You get in a pillow fight? You’re wearing
feathers.”

This drew a low chuckle from Mason. “It’s not really

funny, because it involves a guy who got shot. But it

was one of those ridiculous things you just can’t hardly
believe while it’s happening.” Mason told Cam the tale
of the victim with the down jacket.

After food, the two of them continued to sit on the

sofa. The TV was on, and Cam was sort of halfway
watching a rather lame action movie. Mason leaned
against him, head on Cam’s shoulder. It was
comfortable, and it felt like home. Mason’s head
weighed heavier as his lover began to doze off. Cam
eased him down, so Mason’s head lay on his lap, and let
his hands rub gently across his lover’s shoulders.

As gunfire blazed and cars raced across the TV

screen, Cam sat worrying about the man sleeping on his
legs. Mason pushed himself so hard and this thing with
the cancer patient was just tearing him up. It was an evil
bad karma thought, but Cam hoped that it would be over

soon. Watching Mason’s near constant self-torture
regarding his inability to save the little boy was hard.
Wasn’t there some prayer about changing the stuff you
could and accepting the stuff you couldn’t? Mason could
be bull headed about not wanting to accept some of
those impossible things. How did you convince someone
who already seemed to defy the laws of reality that they
couldn't save the world?

***

Waking up with your face buried against your lover’s

fly was disorienting. Funny but still slightly weird.
Mason rolled his head back and blinked. He had fallen
asleep with his head in Cam’s lap, while they watched
TV. Okay, to be more correct, while Cam watched TV.

There was some infomercial thing playing now and
Cam’s head was tipped against the back of the sofa, his
lover snoring slightly.

This was just the epitome of romance. Pizza, beer and

falling asleep on the sofa, he thought wryly. Except he
wasn’t exactly wrong. It was coming home to someone
who cared. Cam made sure that he ate, even if it wasn’t
the height of good nutrition, and got some rest, and

listened to what he had done all day. If they had been a
hetero couple, Mason was sure someone would have
accused them of acting like they were married.

***

For the next week, work and other responsibilities

were so overwhelming, Cam and Mason barely saw each
other.

***

Tuesday’s EMS shift began with three cardiac

patients, and a child with an asthma attack. It was
nothing life threatening, just time consuming, but Mason
felt distracted and out of sorts without knowing why.

There was a blissful gap of dead time for nearly three
hours before traffic, stupidity and bad luck intervened.
The call from the dispatcher said MVC with injuries,
involving two vehicles and an entrapment. MVC
translated to motor vehicle collision. The next portion of
information then informed them that a police car was
involved.

An ambulance, a zone car and a rescue truck were

dispatched with a moderate amount of scrambling by the
personnel. At the scene, Mason was impressed by the
amount of damage. A small pickup truck lay on its side

in the middle of the roadway. A police car was almost
literally wrapped around a telephone pole. The entire
front of the car scrunched around the post, light bar
shattered, glass, parts and various debris flung out a
dozen feet around the vehicle. One police officer was
standing a few feet way from the wrecked car, hands
shoved in his pockets, as another officer talked to him, a
steadying hand on the man’s shoulder.

The throaty grumble of the large rescue truck drew

Mason’s attention. People in turnout gear were
examining the overturned pickup, trying to ascertain the
best way to get the driver out.

“Hey Flynn, go talk to the cop. I see he’s out of the

car and up walking around. Make sure he’s okay,”
ordered Raj. Mason noticed chocks and stabilizers being
put under the edges of the pickup. A couple of the
rescue guys were making some preliminary pries at the
windshield area.

Mason walked toward the pair of policemen. “Hi, I’m

Mason. Did you get out of the car by yourself?” he
asked the one with the dusty uniform, and flecks of
broken glass in his hair.

“Yeah. Well more or less. The door was kind of

jammed and Justin helped me get it open,” the officer
answered. Mason looked at the name plate on his
uniform. It said Donnelly. Looking past the two cops,
Mason could see the limp remains of the airbag draped
down over the steering wheel.

“Did you lose consciousness when you hit the pole?”

Mason asked.

“I don’t think so. I just... I guess I was dazed for a

minute,” Donnelly replied. ”I called it in myself.
Radioed for EMS and backup.”

“Considering just what a mess that car is, I think it

would be a good idea for you to let me have a look at
you,” suggested Mason. He gently took hold of
Donnelly’s arm and guided him over toward the
ambulance. There was something not quite right about
the officer’s movements. He gestured for the man to sit
on the bumper of the open back of the ambulance.

“Got a first name, Officer Donnelly?”
“Mark.”
Mason pulled out a penlight and checked the cop’s

pupils. No obvious problems. “Anything hurt?”

“My wrist, just a little. I think I slammed it into the

computer.” Mason unbuttoned the cuff of Mark’s
uniform and examined his arm. There was the blue-
purple shadow of a fresh bruise along the outside edge
of his wrist. Mason also used the contact to drop his
shields and do a hasty scan of the man with his Talent.
There was something subtly wrong and Mason couldn’t
quite figure out what without dropping his shields

entirely, not something he really wanted to do on a street
now full of police, EMS and fire department personnel.

“Can you wiggle your fingers?”
“Yeah.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Only a little, I don’t think I broke it or anything like

that.”

Mason squatted down in front of the cop and checked

his blood pressure. 150/90. A touch high but considering
the accident had been about fifteen minutes ago, it
wasn’t unreasonable. Mason mentally fished again. The
guy was a little nervous and fidgety. Nothing surprising
about that either. Mason stood up and gazed down at
Donnelly, thinking about some discussions he had had
with Peter about body language. The man’s shoulders
were slightly hunched, curling him just slightly forward.

How much was an unconscious reflex based on the crash
and how much was indication that something hurt and
Mark hadn’t noticed it yet?

Mason dropped to one knee and felt along the man’s

chest and stomach. No help there. All those layers of
Kevlar that made up the bullet-proof vest were a semi
rigid obstruction to anything his fingers might notice.
Oh. Corset effect. Mason suddenly realized that the
inflexibility of the vest was probably preventing
Donnelly from bending further.

“I need to get your vest off, okay? If anything I do

hurts, tell me,” said Mason. He pulled the officer’s shirt
loose at the waist and unbuttoned it. Donnelly shrugged
out of the uniform shirt. He had a dark long sleeved T-
shirt under his vest. The Velcro on the side of the vest

made the characteristic tearing sound as Mason opened
it. He continued, undoing the shoulder strap also before
slipping it up over Mark’s head. Mason skimmed his
hand carefully across the cop’s chest and stomach,
pressing gently as he went. Mason knew what was
coming before he got there. Crossing below the rib cage,
Donnelly flinched.

“Ow,” he said flatly. Mason sensed the damage now,

even with his psychic shielding still half active. Bruises

to the liver, and some bleeding, probably not life
threatening, but Mason would treat it with caution
anyway. Damn, now he was going to have to justify why
he “suspected” internal injuries.

“I think it would be a good idea to have you come lie

down,” said Mason. “I’d like to see if you have any
visible bruising.” Donnelly nodded and let Mason help
him up into the back of ambulance. He lay down on the
backboard that was on top of the stretcher and flinched
again when Mason tugged the T-shirt loose and up to
expose his belly. There were definitely the beginnings of
discoloration beneath the skin.

“Guess I’m banged up a little worse than I thought,”

said Donnelly.

“It might have been from the seat belt or maybe from

the bottom edge of the steering wheel. I did point out

that your car is seriously totaled,” replied Mason.
Donnelly started to sit up, but Mason put a hand on his
chest preventing him.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Mason said.
“So I’m going to be sore tomorrow. No big deal.”
“It could be more serious than that. You need an

ultrasound at the hospital to check for internal bleeding.”
Donnelly’s eyes widened a little. “It could be nothing,”
Mason continued, trying not to spook his patient too
badly. “But I’d rather play it safe.” Mason began to do
up the straps to fasten Donnelly to the backboard. He
needed to get an IV going fairly soon, too.

“I thought ultrasounds were for pregnant women...”

the cop said uncertainly.

“They have a lot of uses. Checking blood flow and

internal organs is just one more thing they get used for.
Stay put, I need to check and see what’s going on with
the driver of the pickup.” Mason walked to the back of
the ambulance and jumped down so he could see what
was going on with the extrication. Apparently things had
gone pretty swiftly, and he could see the driver being
carefully C-collared and strapped to another backboard.

Mason crooked a finger at Raj and the senior paramedic
walked over.

“What’s up?” asked Raj. Mason spent a moment

explaining what he suspected. “Is he stable?” said Raj.

“Seems to be... You think I’m over-reacting.” Mason

said as evenly as possibly. Okay, here’s where the whole
‘I’m a doctor and you’re not’ problem was going to get
nasty, he thought.

“I didn’t say that. Overcautious is better than under.

If the squad car wasn’t such a fucking disaster, I might
say you were blowing it out of proportion. But standing
here looking at it, it’s almost unbelievable to know that
the guy got out and walked away under his own power.
That said, it’s probably going to be a couple of minutes
until we can leave.”

“Okay, I’ll get the IV going and keep a close eye on

him.”

“I need to go see what’s going on with the other guy

for a minute. Hang tight with your patient.” Raj hurried
off back toward the second ambulance.

Mason climbed back into the ambulance where

Donnelly was waiting. He was lying relatively still, not
that he had a lot of choice, strapped down as he was, but
his fingers were nervous fiddling with fabric of his
slacks

“You doing okay?” asked Mason.
Donnelly gave him a slightly doubtful look. “I... um...

I keep shaking,” he admitted.

“The whole adrenaline rush thing is wearing off. I’ll

grab a blanket for you.” Mason took one out of the
myriad of cabinets and, unfolding it, draped it over
Mark’s legs and torso. “Are you in pain?” Mason sat on

the bench next to the stretcher and took hold of his
patient’s wrist under the auspices of checking his pulse.
It was up a little. Mason could tell by touch that Mark
was definitely less comfortable now than a few minutes
ago.

“I’m fine.” That was a knee-jerk response, Mason

decided.

“I’m going to start an IV on you. It’s a precaution. It

might hurt a little,” said Mason. Mason glanced up
toward Mark’s head as he started the IV. The man’s face

had paled and his free hand had clenched against his leg.
Mason grabbed the blood pressure cuff and used it. He
knew Mark’s blood pressure had dropped a little, but he
needed numbers to support his “theory.” 110/60. Not
critically low, but lower than before. Mason laid a hand
against Mark’s belly. Bleeding, slowly, but still
bleeding. Mason went to the foot on the stretcher and
lifted the backboard so he could wedge a blanket
underneath. Tilting the backboard would help a little
with hypovolemic shock.

“Tell me what you were doing when the guy hit you,”

Mason suggested as he returned back toward the top of
the stretcher. He needed to distract Mark a little while he
did some light healing.

Donnelly started telling him about how he was just

cruising through the area looking at registration stickers

so he could tick off that he had written a ticket that day.
Mason nodded and stopped actually listening. He sent a
small flood of energy through his fingers and palm,
slowing the bleeding, constricting a few blood vessels
and boosting his patient’s pressure a little. Once again
he was fighting the connection his Talent wanted to
make. This one was harder than the gunshot victim from
last week. Donnelly was awake and talking and it was
just the two of them in the back of the ambulance right
at that moment. Yeah, avoiding the connection was
harder.

Raj poked his head in. “Everything okay?”
“Fair. We should go.” Mason replied. Raj climbed

into the driver’s seat and they pulled away. The driver of
the other vehicle had already been loaded into a second
ambulance and transported.

***

Six p.m. and it was the end of shift. Mason was tired,

hungry and trying to decide what he was going to put in
his report back to Peter. He might swing by Beach
General and check on the cop from earlier in the day.
Mason had privileges at that hospital, despite the fact he

preferred to use Norfolk for his own surgeries. His cell
phone vibrated against his hip and he pulled it off. The
screen indicated it was his office.

“Flynn,” he answered the phone.
“Hey Mason, it’s Tyra.”
“What’s up?”
“I was about to walk out the door. The hospice unit

called.” Mason’s heart sank. He knew what was coming
next. “Jason Ambers died a couple of hours ago.”
Mason was silent long enough that Tyra asked, “You
still there?”

“Yeah. I am. Thanks for calling me.”
“I’m sorry. I know you did everything you could.”
“Mmm ... yeah.”
“If you want somebody to dump on...” she offered.
“I’ll be fine.” He hung up and sat on the hood of his

car, staring at the ground. Knowing that it was coming
didn’t make it any easier. He thought about something
Peter had said to him, well, actually screamed at him. If
he had been there with Jason, could he have not
followed the child across that metaphoric veil to
whatever waited beyond? Jesus, he didn’t have an
answer for that.

“Hey Mas’, you look like somebody killed your

dog,” said a familiar voice. Mason looked up to see Raj
walking toward his own car in the parking lot behind the
station.

“One of my patients died,” said Mason.
“Oh, fuck. I’m sorry. Open mouth insert foot.”
“Four year old, he had osteosarcoma. He’s been in

the hospice unit for a couple of weeks.” Mason stared at
his hands for a moment before looking back up at Raj.

“Sounds rough...”
“Yeah.”
“This might lift your spirits a little. The cop from this

afternoon, you were apparently spot on about the
internal injuries. I was talking to one of the second shift
cops. He said they were planning on keeping Donnelly
overnight in ICU. He had a bleed in his liver. Not
serious enough for surgery probably, but bad enough.”

“I’m glad something went right today.”
“Wanna go grab some dinner?”
“No. I... really need to head home.”
“See you next week.”

***

The garage light was on, Cam noticed when he got to

Mason’s house. Somehow that just didn’t seem to bode
well. He let himself in and cut through the kitchen to the
door that led out into the garage. Mason was doing his
woodworking thing. Cam suspected it was as close to a
form of therapy as the healer would allow himself to get.
The scritching sound of sandpaper was the only noise in
the room.

“Talk to me,” said Cam. Mason glanced up at him.

Cam could sense his lover’s churning painful emotions.

“Jason died,” Mason said.
Cam heaved a sigh, he had suspected it might be

something like that. He knelt down beside where his
lover sat on a stool and laid a hand on Mason’s leg.

“I’m sorry.”
Mason merely nodded.
Oh, it was going to be one of those days when Cam

had to work at it, to get his lover to unwind at all.
“Come on, no more sawdust. Get up.”

“Cam...” Mason protested weakly as Cam hauled him

to his feet.

“We’re going down to the school parking lot and

getting you back on my bike. It’s not gonna be dark for
another half hour or so,” said Cam. He felt like he was
pleading, but then realized his tone probably sounded
more like an order. Mason stood immobile for a long
moment. Cam gave him a push in the direction of the
door.

***

In the parking lot of the elementary school where he

had wrecked Cam’s bike several weeks before, Mason

pulled on his helmet. He wasn’t sure why he was letting
Cam coerce him into this again.

“Let out the clutch slow and give it just a little gas,”

said Cam, standing off to one side.

Mason managed to stall it three times in row. God, he

just so absolutely sucked at this.

“Okay, stop, get off. I have an idea,” said Cam.
Mason put down the kick stand and got off. “Maybe

this is a bad idea.”

“Chill. Get on behind me, but don’t put your arms

around me. Just snug up tight and put your hands around
mine. Drop your shields,” said Cam.

“And the purpose of this is?” Mason asked. It

somehow seemed reminiscent of some of the early psi
exercises he had done with Peter.

“Mimic me. I think it’ll help,” Cam replied. Mason

swung a leg over and slid forward until his chest was
pressed against Cam’s back. He stretched his arms out
and loosely clasped his hands over top of his partner’s.
Cam thumbed the starter. Mason blew out a breath and
let his psi shielding fall open. He could feel the
concerned brush of Cam’s mind against his. Cam turned
his hand palm up and threaded his fingers through those
of Mason’s right hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Pay attention.” Cam leaned his head back to bang

his own helmet very lightly against Mason’s. “Release
slowly with your left, roll the throttle just a little with
your right,” shouted Cam over the sound of the engine.
The bike eased forward into a gentle roll. Then Cam
stopped the bike and set it rolling twice more. Mason
had to admit, feeling the motion of the flexors and
extensors along with Cam’s intention made a certain
amount of sense. “Let me off, and you try.”

Alone on the motorcycle, Mason glanced at Cam. He

knew damn well this was a distraction maneuver as
much as any desire to get him riding again. And yet,
maybe Cam had a point. Mason managed to get the bike
moving this time without stalling and took it on a
slightly wobbly circuit around the parking lot, heart
pounding and palms sweating inside his gloves. He kept

flashing back to the sudden jarring thud and impact with
the pavement from before. On the other hand, he had
actually gotten back on the motorcycle again and driven
it around the parking lot. He braked to a jerky stop near
Cam, toeing it into neutral.

“Can I have my nervous breakdown now?” Mason

said.

Cam grinned at him. “See, it helped.”
“Yeah, I guess it did.”
“Now, drive back to your house. I’ll walk.”
“You’re assuming I’m not going to have a wreck this

time.”

“Yep.”
“My, you’re a trusting soul,” replied Mason.
“You’d better live up to that trust, ‘cause I don’t want

to see you bleeding again.”

Cam gave him a thumbs up sign, and Mason put it in

gear. He drove out of the parking lot and the few blocks
up the street, parking it in his driveway. As he peeled off
his gloves and took off his helmet, Cam came walking
across the yard.

“You did fine,” said Cam.
“Uh-huh, I think I clenched my stomach muscles so

hard, it feels like I just did fifty sit-ups.”

“Lot of people do that in the beginning. Don’t put

your helmet away. I’m hungry. Let’s go down to
boardwalk and find someplace to eat. Or did you eat
already when you got done with the EMS thing?” Cam
asked. Mason guiltily hung his head. “Mason... I just so
need to kick your ass. What is it with you and the not
bothering to eat thing lately!?”

Mason heaved a sigh. It wasn’t intentional, it wasn’t

even a conscious thing. “I meant to go grab some food
as soon as I got off shift. And then Tyra called to tell me
about Jason and... I forgot,” Mason finished.

***

It was just so tempting to haul off and smack that

man, Cam cursed internally. “Did you heal anybody
today?” he demanded of Mason

“Yeah, a little.”
“Ergo, you need to eat!” snapped Cam. Mason stood

silently, staring at the ground. He didn’t appear to have a
better excuse or a sarcastic comeback either. Cam set his
helmet on the ground and took hold of Mason by both
shoulders. “I worry. You’re not taking care of yourself...
Mason, I can’t stand to lose you. Do you know you’re
the first person in my life I’ve ever actually worried
about? I love you. The whole concept of you being hurt
or sick or in danger, basically scares the shit out me!”
He wrapped both arms around Mason and held him
tight, pulling his lover’s head down against his shoulder.
“Come on, let’s get you fed. And I want to hear exactly

what you did with the EMS people today.”

***

Lying in bed with Cam’s body spooned tightly up

against his back, Mason let his thumb rub along his
lover’s wrist, trying to lull himself into sleep with the
beat of Cam’s heart. All through dinner, Cam had pried
the details of the day out of him, and vehemently
reassured him that his Talent had helped make sure the
police officer from the accident made it through.
Logically, Mason knew it was true, and the fact that he
had limited the use of his healing Talent to
approximately the minimum necessary would make
Peter happy. So why did he feel like he was slowly
coming unglued? How could things be going so close to
right in his relationship with Cam and in his career and
this new set of responsibilities with Division P... and this
child’s death be just tearing him inside out?

“It’s okay to cry,” whispered Cam in the darkness.
Mason could feel the soft comforting brush of Cam’s

mind against his own. He threaded his fingers through
Cam’s and hugged his lover’s hand to his chest. “I’m
okay.”

“Liar.”

***

The temperature of the air was almost freezing and

the sky was heavily overcast the day of Jason Amber’s
funeral. Mason stood a ways back from the graveside
behind a cluster of people. The pastor was saying
something that was probably profound and meant to be
comforting, but Mason wasn’t actually listening. He was
watching the parents and trying very hard to ignore the
heavy grief of the people around him. Jason’s parents
were still and composed. They had had a few weeks to
come to some kind of terms with their son’s death, some
days in which to say goodbye. It couldn’t have been
easy, but in a twisted way Mason supposed perhaps it

was gentler than a sudden and violent death.

As the brief graveside part of the service ended,

people began to move away. Mason had an over
whelming urge to turn and run, or maybe that was just
disintegrate, instead he stood motionless, frozen. There
was a hard knot of anguish on his chest. It was over.
There was nothing he could have done to save Jason’s
young life. He’d tried, tried everything he could think of
and failed. This was why doctors were supposed to stay
detached, because the alternatives were just too damn
devastating. Tears would have be a welcome release but
Mason’s body refused to cooperate. Finally he managed
to force himself to turn and walk away.

It probably ranked as some small miracle that Mason

made it home without incident, because he had
absolutely no memory of the drive. Cemetery. Home.
Whatever occurred in between was a blank. He let
himself into the silence of his house and methodically
stripped out of his suit. He grabbed Under Armor
leggings and a turtleneck out of a drawer and viciously
yanked them on, followed by sneakers and a hoodie. In
another couple of minutes, he was back out the door and
crossing the road to the beach side of the street.

He ran. Oblivious to the cold and escalating wind, he

ran. When the rain began to fall, he ignored it. He ran
until his lungs burned and his muscles ached. He ran
because if he stopped he was going to fall completely
apart. When Mason reached Rudee Inlet at the far end of
the beach he turned around and headed back. There were
nearly five miles between here and home.

When his foot hit an unusually uneven dip in the

sand, he stumbled and fell, skidding across damp sand.
Shit. Mason dragged himself back to his feet and kept
on. His fingers were going numb and the rain was
slowly drenching him in icy misery. It was a welcome
torture because it was physical and he could force
himself to cope with that kind of pain and win. It was
something he could control.

Ten brutal miles. Mason was exhausted, soaked, and

half frozen. He staggered into his den and sank into a
chair to drag off his sneakers. His sole focus was a hot
shower and bed. It didn’t matter that it was only three
thirty in the afternoon.

***

The last hour of the day dragged on into an eternity

as Cam’s eyes kept straying to his watch. He knew that
Mason had gone to Jason Ambers’ funeral in the
afternoon. Cam kept expecting a phone call or at least a
text message. Nothing. That worried him. Mason’s grief
over the death of the child had weighed heavily on the
healer during the past few days, and Cam hoped the
funeral would bring some form of closure to his lover.
Funerals were never for the dead; they were all about the
people left behind.

Cold drizzling rain blew hard against the visor of

Cam’s helmet. He'd left work as soon as was feasible
and headed straight in the direction of Mason’s place.
As nasty as the weather had turned, Cam wondered, not
for the first time, if he really ought to consider buying a
car, too. As much time as he spent riding between the

base and the oceanfront, it was only going to get colder

as winter set in. And if he did that, maybe he should just
move in with Mason. That thought brought a chill that
almost competed with the rain that slashed against his
foul weather gear.

He’d had a roommate before. Many single Naval

Officers had roommates. That part would draw little
attention, but there was the ever present fear that
someone would figure out that his relationship with
Mason was far deeper than just two buddies sharing
living space. He loved Mason, more than he had ever
loved anyone. Did he love Mason enough to risk his
career that much? They talked about the issue a little,
now and then. There was no easy solution.

Cam parked the motorcycle beside the Mustang and

let himself into the house, ditching his dripping rain gear
in the kitchen. The house was unusually quiet and Cam

let his talent lead him in the direction of the bedroom.

The room was dimly lit as the October evening

darkness was settling in. Mason was curled beneath the
blankets on the bed, knees flexed and head bowed
forward, arms tucked in to his chest. A sharp flicker of
worry clenched Cam’s hands. Was Mason sick? He’d
been pushing himself so very hard.

Cam sat down on the edge of the bed and stroked his

fingers lightly through the hair along Mason’s temple.
Mason opened his eyes slowly, blinked and squinted up
at Cam.

“You okay?” asked Cam. “You’re not usually in bed

at five o’clock.”

Mason heaved a slow sigh. “I’m fine. Just... I went

running, up to Rudee Inlet and back and I got rained on
and half frozen and really beat... I sound like an idiot...”
Mason’s voice trailed off.

“Rudee Inlet and back... That’s close to ten miles

Mas’. And it’s something like thirty eight degrees and
raining. Are you trying to give yourself pneumonia?”

snapped Cam, then promptly regretted it when he saw
Mason flinch. Cam mentally kicked himself. What his
lover really needed was comfort, not a reprimand. Cam
knew exactly why Mason had gone running in the

freezing fucking cold and wet, but that actually didn’t
make it any less stupid. “Yeah, you do sound like a
fucking idiot. I know you’re grieving, but you did
everything you possibly could. Every week, there are
other people who you save. Buchner in Philadelphia, the
guy with the exploding down coat, the cop in the car
accident, all people who quite possibly wouldn’t have
made it if not for you! Start counting the successes for a
change. I want to come home and have you tell me what
an awesome magnificent job you did and how many
lives you saved.”

Mason gave him a funny, uncertain look. “You said

come home...”

“Yeah, I did. My quarters on base are a place to stow

my stuff, this is home. Home is where you are, and I
need to fix the part where I spend way too many nights

sleeping somewhere else. If you’re up for it, I’d like to
move in with you,” said Cam.

The slow smile that curved Mason’s lips was a bit

like watching the sun rise, as it lit up his face. “I wasn’t
sure you’d ever...” Mason said quietly.

“I know. I worry about the Navy thing a lot, but I

think I need to push my boundaries a little. You’re worth
the risk.” Cam pulled Mason into a kiss. It was
escalating toward something more intense when
Mason’s cell phone rang.

Mason gave a small growl at the interruption.
“Flynn... Oh, hey... I guess I could be... God, yeah,

okay. I’ll stay by the phone.” When Mason hung up,
Cam gave him a questioning look. “That was Peter. One
of Division P’s people got injured in Caracas. He’s
being airlifted to Pensacola. Peter’s trying to get details
on just how bad it is, but I might get sent down there to
well... do my thing.”

“You might get to save another life,” said Cam. He

pulled Mason back into the kiss.

End.

If you liked this book you might like: Hell Dogs

Squadron, Braided Lives