T I T L E           A LIFE EXTRAORDINARY F A N D O M           Hewligan (The Triangle/Profiler) P A I R I N G           Gus Gruber/Tom Arquette R A T I NG           NC-17 W O R D   C O U N T           78,759 words S U M M A R Y Gus Gruber has his life mysteriously gifted back to him only to have fate hand him a devastating blow that knocks him sideways and changes everything he thought he knew about himself. Thrown from one tragedy to another and riddled with guilt and self-doubt, Gus finds himself relying on Dr. Tom Arquette: handsome, understanding, supportive, and always there right when Gus needs him the most. Tom Arquette left professional and personal turmoil far behind him in San Francisco and is ready to make a new start in Chicago to get his life back on track. Once he meets Gus, he can't stop thinking about the attractive man who is willing to give up everything for the sake of his son. Tom finds himself more than willing to be drawn into their lives but he knows that, at some point, in order to have the future that is beckoning to him, he must lay his past to rest once and for all. A Life Extraordinary is a story about love and loss, of lives left behind and of new beginnings, and of the struggles two men are willing to overcome in order to make an extraordinary life...together. W A R N I N G S Language and adult situations (Highlight to read) The events of this story are fictional but certain portions may be offensive, triggering or disturbing. This story depicts or mentions the following: mentions of mental illness, past OC death and dealing with death of a loved one, minor depiction of depression/dementia, minor mention of past ethical violations (canon and otherwise), POC as secondary and minor characters, feelings of anger and guilt, coming out to a child, and mentions of past/present alcoholism. This story also depicts love and sex between two male characters. Some of these elements are integral to the plot and some are used strategically in backstory and setting. N O T E S Many thanks to forcryinoutloud for her indulgence and for her awesome work in organizing this Big Bang. Thanks also to my betas, Mischief5 and Mezzo_cammin for their expert work, hand-holding and support – finishing this story wouldn't have been possible without them. Also some revisions were made without a final beta due to time – any remaining mistakes are mine alone. I also want to thank my online and RL friends for their patience with me. This story has literally consumed my life over the past few months and I'm grateful my friends are still speaking to me. The title and subtitle for the story are from songs by Carbon Leaf.

~*~

Dance 'til you fall; Love 'til you die.

Prologue

Regaining consciousness had not been a literary interpretive dance with veils and allusion. Nor had it been a cinematic montage of sentimental images or, as some imagined it, the lifting of a pall. It had been a quick gasp of breath, the sound and feel of his heart in his throat, and the weight of the entire ocean on his chest.

Gus Gruber's first thought into that new consciousness was that he couldn't be dead. If one were dead, one didn't experience pain, or so it was said. Besides, surely his afterlife wasn't meant to be the same stateroom where he'd followed the kid. And he'd awakened in that same stateroom… but not the same.

An eerie silence covered the ship as he walked through the corridors, picking his way back to the ballroom where he hoped he'd find his friends. The Ship. A most improbable refuge for him and his friends during their annual vacation of pleasure fishing and beer swilling, especially since the luxury liner had gone missing in 1939 and had reappeared in the same waters amidst a disorienting yellow haze.

His friends. Visions, like old photos pressed and fading in an album, phased in and out in front of him along the way. Stu, Tommy, Julia, and Charley and the Captain. Each name felt like a knife to his chest as he called them out. Only the air was so empty, his voice seemed to drop at his feet. When he reached his destination, the ballroom looked the same, but it was different… and desolate.

The only proof of recent habitation was the wine bottles and the logbooks that lay on a low table surrounded by dated lounges and chairs. That's when the edges of the room began to close in on him. He struggled to get the books into his pack. He'd need them. He was going to tell this story. If he survived. Armed with photographic evidence and the logs, he might have the first conclusive proof. Unsteady, an odd buzz and pressure filling his skull, he still managed to get to the central stairway.

As he climbed the steps, he continued to call out but everything around him had turned into a vacuum, closing off all his senses like the valves of the big ship; all that remained was the in and out of his breath, and the frenetic whirring of his own thoughts.

There was a wide expanse of marble at the top of the stairs; he crossed it and tried one of the doors in front of him. When it gave way, it felt as if he'd broken a veil. Light, warmth, the sound and smell of the ocean. Blue sky, no haze, normal. Except that it didn't seem to be the same side of the ship where they'd boarded. There'd been no lifeboats when they'd come aboard.

He may have drifted for days. It felt like longer. There was no way to tell and he vaguely recalled strong hands hauling him from the small craft and a chaos of voices. Tommy turned white when the San Sebastian Coast Guard crewmen brought Gus below deck, and then Gus was in Tommy's arms, muffled words of disbelief and apology. Incomprehensible words of loss and grief uttered back and forth between them.

Words that brought it all crashing back in on Gus: the phantom kid, the palpitations, feeling as well as hearing his own pulse, the odd beats taking his breath, and popping yet another nitro before everything had gone black.

He tried not to think of Stu or Julia or Morgan. A wave of guilt rolled over him for not trying harder to find them, even though Tommy assured him they were gone. Gus stared a moment, his mind toying with reminding Tommy that he and Charley had thought the same about him, before he let it go. There were so many things Gus never wanted to think of again.

Clutching the pack to his side, the sharp corner of one of the logbooks dug into him. But he'd have to, wouldn't he? He'd have to think of all of it over and over. The seeds of an idea only half formed while aboard the ship germinated in that cramped space that smelled of dried salt and brine, odors bred in the dim light below deck. He saw the whole story in his head, like a lifetime flashing before him – it was a story that needed telling.

Dealing with the San Sebastian authorities had been a blur. Tommy had done most of the talking and rightfully so. Gus had tried to sleep a bit on the flight home, but every time he closed his eyes, Stu or Julia would swim forward in his mind.

Back home, dead on his feet in the customs line at JFK, all Gus could think about was getting to his apartment and sleeping until he had to go back to work. His tiny apartment would probably resemble a meat locker, but it would be home. He turned to tell Tommy he probably wouldn't wait with them for their flight, but Tommy had his cell to his ear, fixing Gus with a glassy stare. Gus had seen his friend's face cloud over that way too many times to know whatever he was hearing was anything but trouble. Tommy slipped the phone in his pocket and took Gus' arm. "You need to check your messages," he said. Now he was frightening Gus. His grip was forceful, much tighter than Gus thought necessary to get his attention.

Chapter One

Curses were the stuff of legends. They went hand in hand with Egyptian mummies and big, blue diamonds. They were mythical incantations uttered by magical beings or a bad mojo cast by some voodoo priestess.

Forty-eight hours ago, Gus Gruber might have thought the same. If someone had told him then that he'd helped himself to a steaming plate of Haitian bête noire, he would have regarded them with both skepticism and concern, but he would still have asked for proof.

But that was forty-eight hours ago. He wasn't in some tent in the middle of a1920s Egyptian desert; it was 2003, and he was sitting with Tommy and Charley in a Chicago hospital. No longer thinking of lost ships, wormholes or other breaches of known time and space. No more thoughts of writing about the unbelievable. It wasn't proof he was looking for. He didn't need proof anymore.

"Jesus Christ, Tommy! What's taking so long?" Tommy Devane was one of Gus' oldest friends and looked as numb as Gus felt. They'd taken the first available flight after getting the news. Gus blew out an exasperated breath, bending his head to rest in his hands. He shouldn't put this off on Tommy. Coming right on the heels of losing Stu and Julia, it was a miracle either of them could string a coherent sentence together. Besides, Tommy wasn't a parent; he didn't know that gut-ripping feeling of not being able to be with your child when they needed you most or, for that matter, away from anyone when they needed you.

"It's the weekend, Gus. I had to call my secretary at home. She's got to go into the office to fax the paperwork."

"But he's my son," he said looking up. "I've given them everything but a stool sample to prove it—I don't understand." The burn hit his chest before the pressure. In a move as natural as breathing, Gus slipped the small bottle from his shirt pocket, flipped the cap, and extracted a tiny white pill. Sticking it under his tongue, he took a deep breath and waited for the relief.

"C'mon, don't get yourself all worked up. It's a custody thing now because… It's these new laws. The hospital has to cover its ass – they have to verify everything six ways from Sunday. Just as soon as my girl faxes the decree, someone will be around."

The tension eased a bit. He watched Tommy take Charley's hand and hold on, and that made him think about the last thirty-six hours. Looking at the two of them – Charley's nervous smile and the way she so easily leaned into Tommy – it all seemed like a protracted, shared nightmare from which they might never wake up. But even that held a back seat to the desperation thrumming through his veins now. It made him think of Dede. Oh, god, that was another nightmare, but one more real, more immediate. Dede was dead.

Gus bit back the sudden ache in his head as a door opened somewhere behind him. All that mattered now was… He recognized voices in the bit of commotion.

He turned to look behind him. "Dot?"

The tall man at her side dwarfed the woman who turned his way. Both were tanned with a dry desert glow that made them stand out like aliens amid the Chicago winter. "Oh, Gus!"

A transplanted southern belle, Dorothea Cleveland Stone had never lost her ability to glide his name through a full three syllables, only one of the endearing things about her. She laughed at Gus' jokes even if nobody else did – because she got them not because she was being nice. When her strong arms encircled him, Gus was sure he caught the distinct stuttered breath of someone regaining their composure. Dot rivaled the literary O'Haras in her stoicism and Gus had come to rely on the same from her daughter. Like Dede, she was of delicate stature; the top of her head came only to his collarbone. He rested his cheek there a moment before extending his hand to the tall man accompanying her.

"Richard," he said, taking the man's hand.

"We tried to reach you." Dot's eyes were bright and rimmed in red. "We wanted to wait for you, but Sandra thought… well, I don't have to tell you what Deidra's wishes were."

"No. It's okay." Of course, it really wasn't. When he'd gotten the news, one thing he feared was not getting back in time to say a proper goodbye. That was important, because when you missed that chance, it was something you'd never quite be able to reconcile.

"Glad we got to see you, Gus," Richard said. "Thought we'd do a little memorial service here at the hospital so Danny could be with us. It's a big relief knowing you're here – we're going to be heading back home in a few hours."

To Dr. Richard Stone, noted Chicago area dermatologist, home was now New Mexico where he was semi-retired. Gus used to joke that he certainly picked the right part of the county for retirement. But he'd also gone for his health. The new life had transformed Dot, taken her from bridge clubs and a jammed social life to volunteer work and jewelry making. Gus had designed her first website a few years back and she was doing quite well for herself.

He wasn't their choice for a husband for Dede. Gus knew that, but they'd always treated him with respect, like family, and really, that's all he could have asked for. Even through the divorce, Dot had been surprisingly supportive.

"Sandra brought us," Richard was saying. "She'll be up in a minute. This is quite a shock to all of us, son."

Gus nodded, pulled out of Dot's embrace, and let go of his father-in-law's hand. "Yes, sir. I'm so sorry. Sorry I was away—I couldn't…"

Gus was interrupted by someone calling his name from the desk.

~~~~~

The hallways in the Pediatrics wing were brightly painted and crowded with nurses, doctors, and students. The faint scent of hand lotion lay in the nurse's wake as he followed her past several waiting areas on the way to Danny's room. Families sat hoping for news or waiting their turn at visitation. Some read, others slept, and children were occupied by television and toys.

Gus only half listened to his determined, strawberry-blond escort as she felt compelled to run through salient bullet-point facts, as if she were pitching at a fundraiser for the Pediatrics division of University Hospital. His stomach knotted tighter as they walked. She stopped at a bright yellow door adorned with the giant face of a blue monkey, stepped aside, and seemed to be waiting for him to go first.

"Listen, his grandparents are here and they, we, want to take him down to the Chapel for a short memorial service."

"I'm afraid you can't do that," she said flatly.

"What? Why not?"

"Sir, Pediatrics is a locked ward. Patients can't be removed without a doctor's approval."

Gus had the door partially opened. "You're serious. But I'm his father. He and his mother were…" He lowered his voice. "The service is for—"

"Mr. Gruber, I'm aware of the situation and I'm very sorry." The nurse stepped up to the door. "You can stay with your son, walk around the floor, you can even sleep in his room if you want, but you cannot take him off this ward without a doctor's permission."

"Dad?" They both turned toward the voice inside.

"Then get me a doctor," Gus said, pushing past the nurse into his son's room.

Forced to face his worst fears and demons in those few feet to his son's bedside, Gus was nevertheless determined. Memories and nightmares would not win this time as he bent to hug his son.

The acidic sting of disinfectant blended with sweat-soaked innocence as Gus planted a kiss atop his son's head. His movements and the odors became phantoms threatening Gus with the past, but the trembling body in his arms was his shield against them. That and the relief that pushed through every vein, unblocking the dam that had prevented him from coherent thought since hearing Richard's voice mail message back at the baggage claim. He thought of Dot and Richard, not able to feel the same relief, and that made him think of Dede and…

"Hey, Sport," he said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. Mindful of Danny's cast, he kept contact by laying a hand on the small, warm chest. Danny lay back on his pillows; his little heart beat healthy and strong. The smile looked a little lost and did nothing to hide the sadness in those big, blue eyes even as the boy's lips formed the word, "Dad."

Being a parent trumped a lot of things in life. It forced mere mortal troubles to take a back seat, could kick hell out of fear's ass (unless fear was being a particularly surly bastard by using the child), and imbued one with a certain cadre of super powers – none of which seemed to be at Gus' disposal at the moment.

"Mom's dead." Danny said, his expression not changing. "Gamma and Poppy said she was gone, but I feel like she's still here."

Gus blinked. Helplessness was parental enemy number one and that son of a bitch always carried an ace up its sleeve.

"I tried to wake her up, but I couldn't. My arm hurt, but I still tried to make her wake up."

"I know, but Mom—"

"I got her phone and called 911 'cause she was bleeding."

He made impotent attempts to console his son, but Danny seemed intent, suddenly animated.

"We got hit by another car and that's when I hit my head, and then a man was trying to get inside, but I wouldn't open the doors."

"That was—he just wanted to help you and—" The heavy slide of the door caused the air around them to swirl, stirring up the hospital odors again. There was a presence in the disturbance that forced Gus to turn toward it.

The tall man in the starched white lab coat nodded first to Gus then looked at Danny. "How's my buddy?"

"Hey, Dr. Tom. This is my dad."

Gus didn't get up when the doctor offered his hand. He was still working on 'buddy' and his son calling a doctor by his first name. "Mr. Gruber."

"Gus, please," he mumbled, taking the hand. His family had always stood on such ceremony, but not him. His father was Mr. Gruber. Gus had never felt like a Mister. It may have been proper, but it made him feel creepy, like someone walking over his grave or something just as ominous.

Dr. Tom Arquette introduced himself. Not baby faced exactly, but nothing like the doctors Gus was used to either. His grip was firm but Gus noticed the eyes first. Hazel, changing, endless eyes.

"The nurse said you wanted to see me."

It took Gus a moment to remember why. He looked down at his son. Those eyes were Gus', but the red hair went back generations, last seen with Gus' Grandpa Lindermann. A rich auburn that somehow deepened the blue irises. The rest of Danny's features were Dede's, her mouth, chin, the bridge of that delicate nose.

Now he remembered. Maybe it wasn't the best idea, the service, but Gus didn't want to deny his son a chance to say goodbye. Gus could only imagine the picture of his mother already fastened to Danny's psyche forever. Was it one of her bloody and unresponsive or something a child's mind would have fashioned and forced in its stead?

For Gus, it had been the over-pinked cheeks and the lipstick smeared crazily outside the lines as his mother readied herself for Gus' father. A surreal portrait painted against the backdrop of grey walls and the sulfur-sick smell of medicine and day upon day of spilled or hidden food.

"Maybe we could talk outside," Gus offered.

He looked down at the small hand gripping his shirt. "I'll be right back, okay, Sport. I just need to talk to the doctor for a minute." The look on his son's face and the bright, but dry, eyes formed a lump in Gus' throat that took him a few moments to swallow down. He hugged the boy again, feeling Danny go limp in his arms. Gus glanced back at the doctor, who nodded.

Once outside the room, Dr. Arquette spoke first. "The nurse mentioned something about a memorial service."

"Right. His grandparents have to leave, the family's all here… we were just thinking of something small, very—"

"I don't think it's the best thing for Danny right now."

Gus narrowed his eyes.

"To satisfy you, I'd be glad to speak to the admitting physician, but I'm pretty sure she'll agree with me."

"You're not Danny's doctor? Then why'd they get you?"

"Technically, I'm one of his doctors. Dr. Sadler admitted your son, Dr. Varayanan is his treating therapist, I was just—"

Gus waved his hand. "Then get me his doctor, someone who can overrule you."

Dr. Arquette smirked and looked pointedly at his watch. "Dr. Sadler has her hands full at the moment and, even if she were here, I'm talking about the state of Danny's mental—"

"This Dr. Varayanan, then."

"She's not on duty. I'm the staff Psych on duty. That's the reason they called me. It just so happens, I was on the night they came in. Due to Danny's concussion and initial unresponsiveness, I was called in to take a look at him and asked to give the initial evaluation." The doctor shrugged. "We're kinda buddies. I keep an eye on him so, technically, Danny's still my patient."

"Technically." Gus exhaled a frustrated breath. "And you say no?"

"Do we need an Otologist down here?"

"Ha ha, medical humor, just what I need." Gus shook his head, reached for the door, then turned back. "It just so happens, I've had experience with practically every 'ologist' you can name, and none of them pleasant. Congratulations on keeping the streak intact."

"Okay, listen; think of it this way…" Dr. Arquette caught Gus' arm. "When your wife suffered the aneurysm…"

"Ex-wife," Gus said, glancing down at the doctor's hand.

"…your son was stuck inside the vehicle with his mother. He suffered a head injury and multiple fractures to his arm." Gus' stomach dropped thinking of Danny in that situation. "He wouldn't open the doors until the EMTs arrived. He's been here two days without seeing his father and then you show up and want to take him to a service where reality is going to come down on him hard."

"I don't need to think about it. All I know is you're not going to let him say goodbye to his mother. Have you considered the ramifications of that?"

The doctor seemed a little surprised. "Dr. Varayanan and I have tried to take every factor into consideration in our treatment of Danny."

Actually, Gus wasn't sure which was worse for his son, that final picture or thinking that his mom was trapped inside a jar for all eternity. Still, it was a chance… something. Something Gus had never really gotten with anyone, except maybe his brother Kyle, and then, it hadn't been so much a goodbye as it had a 'see you tomorrow.' A tomorrow that hadn't come.

"Okay, any idea when I can take him out of here?" The sooner the better as far as Gus was concerned.

"Depending on his orthopedist, a day or two. I want Rose, Dr. Varayanan, to work with him a little more, get him used to the idea of going home."

Gus nodded. "Excuse me," he said.

"If it makes you feel any better, you're doing the right thing."

Gus gave the young doctor a look. "Well, it doesn't and I guess time will tell about that," he said and pushed the door open.

Danny had turned his TV on while they'd been outside. Dr. Arquette followed Gus inside. He walked around to the other side of the bed, picked up the remote, and muted the sound.

Danny looked up at Gus.

"Hey, the doctor here thinks you might be able to go home in a couple of days." Thinking the idea of just where home might be right now may be confusing for Danny, Gus quickly added, "And Gamma and Poppy have to get back home, too. But they're here to see you before they leave, so I'm going to go get them, okay…" Danny reached for him again. "I'll be back though. Anything you want me to bring you? Comic books? Change of PJs?"

Danny didn't answer but shook his head slightly.

"Ice cream?"

The boy looked to Dr. Arquette. "I think that would be okay," the doctor replied with a smile.

Danny turned back to his dad; his voice was quiet and sleepy. "Chocolate chip."

Gus patted the boy's tummy. "You got it." Danny looked so small lying there. Gus brushed his son's hair back from his forehead, hand lingering on Danny's cheek a few seconds. "I'm so sorry… I would have been here sooner if I could, but—"

"You're here now and that's what counts," the doctor interrupted, raising an eyebrow, which Gus took to mean he should probably shut up.

"He's not very responsive." Gus said when they walked back into the hallway. “I guess I understand why, but I thought—"

"It's common and nothing we didn't expect. Nothing I think we need to worry about."

Gus bristled at the use of the word we and gave the doctor a thoughtful look. "Yeah, well, a doctor telling me not to worry is like the weatherman telling Noah there's a chance of showers."

Dr. Arquette drew his mouth into a tight line, glanced at the floor, then back to Gus. "I was sure that seeing you would help matters a great deal and meeting you hasn't changed my mind. I think the more he sees of you, the quicker he'll progress."

Gus nodded, not sure exactly how to take that remark. He shook the doctor's hand this time, said goodbye, and watched him walk away until he took a turn into another hallway.

~~~~~

Tommy and Charley were still sitting there when Gus returned to the waiting area. He was just going to tell them to take the rental car and go home when there was a commotion from the other side of the hallway.

Dede's sister Sandra liked to tell everyone that, of the two girls, she'd received all the social graces but, at times, one would be hard pressed to agree. Used to getting what she wanted, Sandy got cranky when things didn't go according to plan and, apparently, something had rained on Little Miss Special Snowflake's parade.

Barreling her way into the waiting room, she was followed by her children and her husband. If Dede was her mother's daughter, Sandy was her father's: unflinching and always painfully direct. Seeing Gus, though, she stopped in the midst of her rant and met Gus halfway.

"Well, I see you finally made it."

"Good to see you, too, Sandy." He always took pleasure in the sour look on her face at the use of the nickname she hated. She was a Sandra, always drawing out the first syllable, not a Sandy. Much to his delight, Gus had even managed to get Danny calling her Aunt Sandy. At her orders and a wave of her hand, her family dutifully went off to find a place to sit, the husband sticking his large ham of a hand in the air as a greeting to Gus, who returned the gesture.

"Gus, dear, where are you staying?" Dot patted his hand. She'd stepped in, presumably as peacekeeper, attempting to disarm any animosity at the outset.

Gus blinked at her. Amazingly, he hadn't thought of that outside of staying at the hospital until he could take Danny home. Home? Home where? Home New York? "I really haven't thought that far ahead."

"Why is that not surprising?" Her mother turned to give Sandy a look.

"I guess I'll stay here until I take Danny home," he answered.

Undeterred by her mother's warning, Sandy kept on. "You don't think you're taking him to New York, do you?"

"Well, no, of course not."

"You'd better give him Deidra's keys," Dot told her daughter.

"Why? When it's time, I'll be here and I'll take them." Sandy spoke with all the authority of handing down a decree. Clearly, she expected no one to argue.

Dot turned to her. "He can't stay here at the hospital. He needs somewhere to put his things."

"There are plenty of motels around the hospital, mother."

"Nonsense." Richard interrupted with his own air of proclamation and took his wife's hand. "It's Gus' house, too. Sandra, give him the keys."

"No."

Gus blinked at her defiance, intrigued since that kind of thing never worked with Richard.

"Fine. I've only got a little more time to spend with my grandson. Straighten this out yourselves; just do it by the time we leave."

Gus watched them go to the desk to be buzzed back onto the ward.

When they'd gone back, Gus turned to Sandy and cocked his head.

She looked as if she might laugh in his face. "I'm past the point of asking how high when my father says jump. As far as I'm concerned, you'll never get back in that house."

Gus dropped the backpack he'd been lugging around in a nearby chair. It had always been this way with Sandy. If someone could find a way to tap the energy created by the resistance between the two of them, they could probably power a small village for the foreseeable future.

He broke the standoff first. There was no use thinking he'd get what he wanted and there was nothing to be gained from poking the bear, so to speak. "Look, not that you care, but I've had a really tough week." Gus counted it off with his fingers. "I lost my best friend on some ghost ship in the Bermuda Triangle, I've been cursed by a Bakalou, I've spent the last twenty-four hours on airplanes, and last but certainly not least, I finally get home to find Dede dead and my son in the hospital. Besides that, I need a bath and a good, stiff drink, so give me the goddamn key to my goddamn house." So much for not poking.

Sandy's brow wrinkled; she looked at him sideways, as if she was trying to decide if was serious. "I've always said you were a strange man, Gus Gruber." She then turned her back on him.

"Legally, the house belongs to Gus." Tommy was up like a shot and at Gus' elbow before she could retreat. "He still pays half the mortgage and has title by joint tenancy. You have no right to—"

"I don't have Deidra's keys with me," she said, addressing both but glaring at Tommy. "You can come by and get them tomorrow." She then turned her eyes on Gus. "You do remember where we live, don't you? Now, if you'll excuse me." She walked over to the far side of the room and took a seat with her family – after first wiping it off.

"Bitch," Tommy swore under his breath. "Listen, Gus, I know it may not seem like the time or the place, but did Dede have a will?"

"Yeah, we made 'em after Danny was born. Don't you remember?"

Tommy stared daggers in Sandy's direction. "I've got a bad feeling. We need to get a look at it."

"Sure. Listen, we're all tired and I really want to stay here with Danny. You take the car and get Charley home. Come back by in the morning and pick me up. We'll go to the house then."

Tommy cocked his head Sandy's way. "You trust her to give you the keys?"

Gus shouldered his pack again. "No, but I have my ways. It's my house, remember? I don't need her keys; just can't help screwing with her."

~~~~~

Sleeper was a gross misnomer for the monstrosity he was sitting in. Sure, it reclined, but it was all or nothing and Gus was attempting to modify 'all' with the extra pillow the nurse had given him. She'd felt sorry for him and had also ordered him a dinner tray – the contents of which were still rumbling around his small intestines.

Since he'd give Tommy the car, he'd had to settle for what ice cream he could get in the shops around the facility, but Danny had seemed to be satisfied all the same. He and Danny had eaten in relative silence and watched some television before they'd brought Danny's meds. Gus had put up a half-assed argument, but found the nurses adamant. After that, it hadn't taken Danny long to drift off to sleep, head tucked into Gus' side and holding his hand.

He knew he should be sleeping, but he was still a bit wired. He should probably have gone on to the house, but Danny needed him, and even though he hadn't said much, he'd clung to Gus whenever he was near enough. His tiny corner of the world illuminated by light from the bathroom, he watched the tiny colored firefly lights of the monitors on the wall twinkle off and on. Gus didn't care much for hospitals, especially at night. Things were too still and too quiet. Even with the reassurance of Danny's tiny, if not a bit wheezy, breathing, Gus had never felt so empty. Well, except maybe that first night on his own after he'd moved to that little apartment in the city. He looked over at his sleeping child. How would he live with not saying goodbye to his mother? Gus could only hope that Danny being young meant that particular wound would heal easier.

Gus had been much older.

He eyed the backpack slung across the back of the chair at the end of the bed and struggled to push the word 'curse' into the background. A hot thread of misdoubt wound itself around his heart. This was not his fault. One thing had nothing to do with the other. He pulled the flimsy blanket up around him to keep from shivering.

Not that it mattered why or how. Saying goodbye wouldn't have changed the facts. Gamma and Poppy were right; Dede was gone, and that was a hole that wouldn't fill over easily or quickly. For anyone.

Chapter Two

Tom Arquette had just finished one spectacularly boring shift – save for the schizophrenic in the ER who, convinced he was the Human Torch, kept trying to set himself alight to no avail. But not for lack of trying. Had the can of kerosene the man was using been as real as the matches, he would certainly have succeeded. That had been his only evaluation of the night, which had allowed a little more follow up time with the patient and for some demographic research and a few extra winks of sleep.

Now, a few minutes shy of his eight o'clock class, he decided to look in on a few of his younger patients. Seeing Gus asleep in Danny's room, Tom ducked back out to find a helpful nurse willing to let him have two cups of their morning brew. Pediatrics had the best nurses.

Going back inside, Tom set one of the cups down and paged through the chart. Gus stirred, groaned, then stretched, flashing a bit of hip and belly as he did so. Tom stared and then cleared his throat. Gus sat up, dug sleep out of his eyes, and attempted casually to wipe the corners of his mouth.

"Sorry," Tom said, then pointed to the chair. "But that looked kinda painful."

"It wasn't, but it is now." Gus grimaced and blinked at the cup Tom held out. "Oh, my god, you must be psychic." He took the small Styrofoam cup and blew across the rim before taking a sip.

"You looked like a coffee man to me. I'm usually a pretty good judge of things like that."

"Guess that comes with the territory," Gus replied absently, favoring the cup of hot coffee he held almost reverently.

Tom eyed the canvas bag on the floor and the pack hanging off the chair back. "You know, you could go home. He's really fine here."

Gus shook his head and took another sip. "Nope. I live in New York; well, I lived in New York. I'd been on vacation, just got back into JFK when we got the news, hopped the first flight we could get."

Tom nodded. "Still, there's plenty of places to stay around the campus, all with nice beds, showers…"

That brought a scowl to Gus' face and a little blush around the cheeks. "Yeah, okay. I know I'm a little ripe—I just didn't want to leave him, you know? I'm going to try to get into my house, my old house, this morning. My friend's coming by for me later."

Tom drained his cup. "Well, I see Danny's in good hands here and I've got a class to teach, so… I'm sure I'll see you before he's released, which could be today."

Gus stood. "Oh, well, maybe I should wait."

"Nah, the orthopedists never show up before eleven. I think you're good."

Gus thanked him for the coffee and smiled, a sort of crazy, slanted half-smile. Tom thought about it and those sleepy eyes all the way across campus.

~~~~~

The drive to the house left Gus with an odd stream of memories. The closer they got to Riverside, the stronger those memories rushed at him.

It had been an unusually hot day in late July when he and Dede had first set eyes on the house at 209 Kenmore Avenue. They'd been looking for a house and he'd been all for calling it quits and renting the apartment a little longer, but at the last minute had let himself be dragged out "one more time" that Saturday afternoon. They'd spent weeks with realtors looking at DIY disasters and lots of more-houses-than-they-could-afford. The house on Kenmore was just out of reach financially, but he and Dede had fallen in love on sight. Oak floors, vaulted and beveled ceilings, the promise of an attic room, and fresh paint had all screamed 'home' to them.

Gus glanced over. Tommy was checking his messages from the office. "Hey, I never thanked you for taking care of things, arranging for the rental car, helping out at the hospital… I mean, you were just as freaked out about everything as I was, but if you hadn't been there…"

"Don't sweat it. That's what best friends are for." Tommy glanced up from his phone. Devane was handsome; truthfully, he walked a thin line with pretty. Fortunately for Gus, he'd seen his best friend snot-nosed, bloody, and puking all over himself, times he'd recall whenever he was tempted to say just how handsome. "Besides, Dede was like my own sister…"

Gus turned his eyes back to the road.

Neither Gus nor Tommy spoke again until they drove past the park and Gus turned the utilitarian sedan onto Kenmore. Normally when Gus had visited, he'd met Dede and Danny in a neutral place – the parking lot of a restaurant or a shopping mall – or Dede had delivered their son to Gus' motel. "Wow, it's really grown up," he said not really expecting a response.

The roofline of number 209 rose like a peak out of the mist from the skeletal sentinels and evergreens surrounding it. A modified bungalow, the addition of the attic room made it two and a half levels with the basement. It had been more than they'd needed at the time, but the neighborhood was a good one and the schools were decent, not to mention the park right at the end of the street. The asking price had been a little more than they'd planned, but with both of them working, they'd figured they'd have no problems.

"Gus?" Tommy's hand on his shoulder brought Gus crashing back into the present, where the cold, grey day seemed the perfect backdrop for reality. "You okay?"

Gus nodded and shut off the car. It looked like the house had recently been repainted. Getting out, he crunched his way to one of the side windows, which was almost completely hidden by blown snow and an overgrown Viburnam shrub. As long as Dede hadn't done away with his stash… Brushing snow from the top frame, he located the spare key inside a small compartment he'd crafted using a piano hinge. Living in a city that had a few months of good weather at best, you never wanted to be locked outside.

Inside, it smelled of unused air and the sour hint of rotting garbage. "Jesus. I don't think Sandy's even been here. That's a shocker," Gus remarked.

Tommy followed him into the kitchen.

"What do you mean?"

"Sandy has this thing about Deeds, something ever since they were kids. Jealousy, dominance, I don't know, but she's always had some weird need to control her sister."

"That must have made for an interesting life."

"Tell me about it. She'd take Dede's clothes. Every book Dede read and put in the pile for library donations would end up with Sandy. She even married one of Dede's old boyfriends."

"Yeah, okay, now that is weird."

Gus flipped on the light, though they really didn't need it. "You remember Ed Scharfenstein – ran cross country."

"The tall guy who used to stand on his head in the quad?"

Gus laughed. "The very same." He lifted the lid on the garbage can and drew back sharply.

"His dad was Scharfenstein's Auto Parts. I remember now."

"But auto parts wasn't good enough for Ed." Gus pulled a trash liner from the roll under the sink. "Apparently, he was smarter than the old man, majored in engineering; that's how I got to know him. You've heard of Apex Homes?" he asked, fluffing out the bag and handing it to Tommy.

"Those modular houses-in-a-box?"

"That's Ed. Made a so-so living until he decided to add vacation homes – those log home kits?"

"Quite the industrious fellow."

Gus pulled the green plastic bag free from the can, held his breath, and quickly tied it off. "Wouldn't you be if you were married to Sandy? Industrious and loaded. I swear, the guy shits gold." He motioned for Tommy to put the new bag in.

"And Dede passed all that up for you?"

"Screw you, Devane." Gus headed for the back door. "We used to keep a fireproof box in that hall closet, you can start there."

Tommy was standing in the kitchen when Gus came back in the house. "Nothing."

Gus left the back door open. It'd be cold as hell, but maybe the frosty air would neutralize the odor. "Let's try downstairs," he said. The only other place to look would be his – the – office in the basement or their – Dede's – bedroom.

The air was even mustier than upstairs, and it was well-digger's-ass cold. Dede probably had only come down here to do the laundry. He used to have his office there. A place where he could be alone, bring his work home, pay bills, tinker with his tech toys and think. He looked around at the bare walls, the half-empty bookshelf, and the dusty shell of an old computer sitting like a vandalized car in the corner. Tommy checked the closet while Gus rifled through the filing cabinet beside his old desk. A gift from his former father-in-law (one of his cast-offs), Gus loved that desk. It had turned wooden legs the size of umbrella stands and a vast burled-maple top big enough to hold his computers and monitors. Too big to take to New York, it was also too damn big to move upstairs. He wouldn't even think of it until summer. As it was, he'd be lucky to afford to heat the upstairs.

Thumbing through the file folders, Gus could see that not much had been put in the cabinet since he'd left. Knowing Dede, she probably didn't bother with keeping records. "I got nothing here. You?"

"Just a couple boxes stuffed with computer parts and trade magazines."

That left only one other place to look.

Giving himself a mental push, Gus stepped into Dede's bedroom. It was a different color, and the bed linens and curtains had been changed, but otherwise, the same furniture was arranged the same way and the same pictures hung on the wall and sat on the dresser top. He swallowed hard seeing the candid shot of the three of them still sitting where it always had. Taken on vacation by some kind soul, it was one of only a few pictures of herself that Dede had liked. Gus lifted the silver-plate frame and wiped a finger through the dust covering their faces. Some things were always harder than you anticipated.

In the reflection from the mirror, Gus' eye snagged on a bouquet of dying flowers, the sorrowful green and brown-edged color curling over the rim of a small round cut crystal vase, which was a wedding gift from some doctor friend of her parents. The stems were dry and tired from stretching for the receding waterline, some of them missing by just enough. Fresh flowers was one vice Dede would freely admit to. He was sure he was the only one among their friends who had a florist as a regular household bill. He never minded, though; they'd always made Dede so happy. Something he couldn't always take credit for, and for that, he was glad to pay whatever the cost. He replaced the photo and turned to find Tommy already inside the closet. It was a walk-in, something very unusual for houses of that style; Dede thought it was the greatest thing. "Maybe she changed her will," Tommy offered.

The scent of her perfume tackled Gus as he stepped into the small space, and something else… the way Dede's hair would smell on warm days, the fragrance of her shampoo mixed with the dampness of her sweat.

He cleared his throat and pushed those thoughts away, along with a couple of her sunhats, shuffling them on the shelf. "Nah, knowing Deeds, she probably never gave it a second thought. In fact, I'm pretty sure I left my own will here. Hey, I think I've got something." Underneath the hats, he found the gray metal box.

"That could actually be a problem then, Gus. If she never changed her will… with the divorce, you're ineligible as a devisee and any appointments are invalid."

Gus handed Tommy the box. "English, please." He waited for his answer until Tommy had the wills in hand.

"Well, it means you can't inherit under this will. The entry of the divorce decree after the date of this document treats you as if you had predeceased Dede. It's not exactly intestacy, but all legacies would then fall under the residuary clause."

"That was English?" Gus watched as Tommy skimmed over the pages.

"It also means that you can't be named to any appointments." Tommy looked up. "Like Executor, Trustee, or Testamentary Guardian."

"Okay, now that I understand. Are you telling me I might lose custody of my son?"

"Not at all. Guardian appointments only come into play when there's no surviving parent. It's just… Sandy's named as the alternate on all these appointments."

Gus took the will and glanced at it. "And that means?"

Tommy fished several more official looking documents from the box. "There's two life insurance policies here. You're listed as the beneficiary on the one she had from the state, but it looks like she took out another policy after the divorce. Danny's listed as the beneficiary, with Sandy as Custodian. It's for $250,000. It means this plus whatever Dede had in the bank, savings, 401Ks, will likely be held in trust and administered by Sandy."

Gus stared at him until it sank in. "Oh, you're telling me I have to raise my son with Sandy holding the purse-strings? Tommy, you know that's not going to work." He tried to gather himself against the sinking feeling in his stomach. "At least she can't hold the house over my head; the deed should be there somewhere."

Tommy nodded. "Maybe it won't be as bad as all that. Listen, Gus, do you mind if I take this stuff to the office? There might be something we can do to countermand this."

"Like what?"

Tommy shrugged. "Just off the top of my head, we could go ahead and probate the will, petition for appointment. We could contest Sandy's appointment, and hope for the best."

Christ, he was almost afraid to ask 'what next?' He took a deep breath and waved his hand at the Tommy and the box. Better to let Tommy deal with it; he had enough on his own plate. What was he going to do about his job? His apartment?

"And we need to take care of changing your will ASAP. You don't need to let that go."

"I don't even want to think about that right now. I hear what you're saying but, please, let me get some of this other shit out of the way first."

Tommy lowered his eyes and began putting the papers back in the box. "Yeah, well, I'm gonna stay on your ass until you do," he mumbled. Gus turned to go, but Tommy didn't move with him. "Listen… I never said how… Gus... "

He thought of the backpack outside in the car and felt a pang of guilt for not telling Tommy about the contents. "I know." Gus said, not turning around. "Don't give it another thought. Now, let's get you home. I'm going to stop back by the hospital."

~~~~~

"Am I gonna go live with Aunt Sandy?"

Gus came out of the bathroom. Danny had his bed raised and was engrossed in the hand-held game Gus had brought for him. "No. Did she say that?"

"She said I couldn't go with you to New York and that—"

"I'm not going back to New York. I'm staying right here with you."

Danny stopped playing and looked up. "You're going to take care of me?"

Not sure what he detected in that question, incredulity or sheer terror, Gus sat down on the edge of the bed. "Of course." Now was probably not the best time to ask how Danny felt about that. He hadn't seen his son at Christmas – a work-related thing, which he was sure Danny wouldn't understand – in fact, September had been the last time they'd been together and Gus was pretty sure that in the daily life of an eight-year-old, seven months was just shy of an eternity. A positive male influence was important and it wasn't as if he hadn't tried. Some things couldn't be done long distance.

"Is Mom in heaven?"

"Where did you hear that?"

"My friend, Megan Kate. Her grandpa died and she said he went to Heaven to be with her grandma. She said you go to Heaven if you're good."

Gus felt his palms begin to sweat and thought about his answer. Dede had very strict views on religion and what would they say to Danny when he started asking the difficult questions. "Well, your mom was a very good person, and I'm sure if there's a Heaven and good people go there when they die, then she's there."

"Will I ever get to see her again, like Megan Kate's grandma and grandpa?"

For himself, Gus wasn't sure what he believed anymore. Hadn't been for a long time. "I really can't answer that, but if there's any possible way, I’m sure you will."

"Then I want to go to Heaven when I die."

"Hey, now… that's a long time away, so—"

"Will she wait for me?"

Gus closed his eyes and wished like hell she was there now. She was so much better at this kind of stuff.

"Or something could happen to me like your little brother."

Gus turned to him and stared. Danny was busily working the controls on the handheld game, apparently unaware of the impact of what he'd said.

"Did your mom tell you about Kyle?"

Danny nodded. "She said he had something wrong with his heart and that sometime people die even if they're kids."

"That's right." Somehow the words came, but not easily. He moved so that he was sitting on the bed beside the boy, legs stretched out in front, arm around Danny's shoulder. He held him close for a moment. "But you don't need to worry about that. I'm here and everything's going to be all right." How many times would he have to say that before he believed it himself? He'd only scratched the surface thinking about all the things Dede did, especially the little things like comforting a child and knowing just what to say. She'd always known just what to say.

"Dad? How come I only have Gamma and Poppy? My friend at school has three grandmas and two grandpas."

"Let me guess, Megan Kate?"

"Thomas. On his birthday, he gets money from all of them. Why do I only have one?"

"Because my dad died before you were born and then my mom about a year later."

Danny appeared to consider that, then asked, "Were you there when I was born?"

"I sure was. Your mom? The first time she saw you, it was like having the sun in the same room. We were both so happy. And you were so cute; you had a pointy little head because... anyway, it took a long time for you to be born, so that made your head all pointy, because you were kind of stuck, but your mom and I were so proud of you. And Gamma and Poppy, they thought you hung the moon."

"Huh?"

Gus thought for a moment. "They thought you were all that."

Danny smiled, then opened his mouth in a big yawn.

"Someone's getting sleepy."

"Not me." Danny returned to his game. After another moment, he asked, "Was your mom in an accident, too?"

Gus swallowed hard and stared at the tiny screen. Would Danny accept a simple no? Probably not.

"What happened?" Danny asked, as if on cue when Gus tried.

Dying of a broken heart sounded so melodramatic, however true. Explaining mental illness was beyond his abilities but perhaps if he put it in its simplest form… "After my brother died, my mother was very sad." More to the truth, Gus suspected, she felt responsible. The heart disease both he and Kyle inherited was from her side of the family. His brother's genetic dice just happened to be more loaded, with Gus getting a heavier dose of Gruber – a fact that stealthily haunted him. Kyle had been a Lindermann, beautiful and delicate just like their mother.

"There was nothing my dad and I could do to make her happy again and, after a while, she got very sick and had to go to a hospital, to live there. Which is one reason your dad hates them, by the way."

Was that the understatement of the year. He'd braved it so far for Danny's sake, but he couldn't shake that haunted feeling sitting there alone when Danny was asleep. The machines, the sounds and smells, even the colors of the tiled floors, buffed to a slick, shiny façade by the same men in the same faded green uniforms; they were all more specters and incarnations of Gus' past.

He shuddered with a sudden urge to grab Danny up and take him home. One so strong it was only broken by the small, warm body curling up beside him, the game relegated to his lap for now. "Is Mom going to miss me?" Danny asked, his voice painfully thoughtful. "I don't want her to be sad."

Those few tiny words were powerful, pumping to the surface everything welling up inside Gus. A warm knot gathered in his throat and it took several long seconds before he could swallow it down. "I'm sure she'll miss you, but it won't be the same as us here missing her. Wherever she is, she'll know you're okay, so she won't worry."

Danny picked at Gus' shirt. "Would you be sad? If I got sick like Kyle? Would you have to come and live at the hospital?"

Gus' mouth had never been so dry, nor his brain so unprepared to deal with such raw thoughts spoken out loud. He furtively wiped his eyes. "I—of course, I'd be sad, but I don't think… Hey, Dr. Arquette says you'll be seeing Dr. Rose when you get out of here. What do you think about that?"

"Why can't he be my doctor?"

"Because you're going to be going home soon, and he has to stay here and take care of other little boys and the rest of his patients who need him. You'll have Dr. Rose all to yourself."

"What will I need her for?"

"Well, she's just—she's going to be there if you need to talk about things."

Danny looked up. "Can't I talk to you?"

"Sure, Sport, but, you know…"

The door swished open and Gus mouthed a silent thank you to whatever deity responsible for a chance to collect his thoughts.

"How does it feel to be the healthiest kid in the whole hospital?" Dr. Arquette stood at the foot of the bed. He shot a glance at Gus before beaming at Danny. "In fact… the docs tell me you're so healthy, they want to kick you out of here. How's tomorrow sound?"

"You mean go home?" Danny looked up at his dad and smiled. It was the first real smile Gus had seen and it sent a warm tide rolling over him. Danny had never been a particularly emotional child, but his lack of it the past few days had just seemed so wrong. It seemed so easy for this doctor to get through and, on some level, that bugged Gus.

"I don't know what time exactly but I won't be around tomorrow so I thought I'd grab a chance to say goodbye. So, you ready to go?"

"My arm still hurts," Danny said. "It's like I've got a heartbeat in my arm."

"That's normal, I think," Gus said. "Does it ache? I broke my leg once; man, did it ache, and itch? Oh, wait until you get to the itching."

The doctor gave him a look that pretty much said "way to help out, dad" before addressing Danny. "It's going to do that now and then. How about we get you a little something to help you sleep? While you're busy dreaming, the throbbing will go away. I promise."

Gus glared at him.

"And listen, you take good care of your dad, now. I think he's gonna need it." Danny smiled and the doctor reached out and cuffed his foot, then glanced back at Gus.

"I'll be right back," Gus told Danny and followed the doctor.

"Thanks for the rescue," Gus said once they were outside. "Boy, I am really unprepared for this."

"Nah, you were doing great." The doctor smiled. "It's gonna be a non-stop thrill ride."

"Tell me about it. And I always get sick on those things." Gus pointed over his shoulder to the door. "Uh, exactly how much of that did you get?"

"Enough. He's going to need some time to work all this out. You're going to do fine."

"He's been more responsive today… not the same, but better. Look, Dr. Arquette, I want—"

"You can drop the Dr. Arquette."

"Well, I'm sure as hell not calling you Dr. Tom."

The little smirk suggested that the doc might be a tiny bit disappointed at that. "Tom is fine."

Gus nodded. "Anyway, I wanted to, uh…"

Tom waved him off. "Listen, I've got a break in a few… give you a chance to say goodnight to Danny. You want to get something to eat? Coffee?"

Did he? He was a bit surprised by the offer, still not sure what he thought of this buddy thing between the two. He was even more surprised to hear the word "sure" come out of his mouth.

Chapter Three

Utilitarian and serviceable. Gus expected nothing less from a large medical center cafeteria, though efforts to modernize the space had resulted in several self-service stations. He knew he should be, but he wasn't really hungry. On the other hand, coffee would never go amiss, so he fixed a cup from one of the stations and took a table while he waited for Dr. Arquette.

The space was large, bright, and noisy. If Gus let it, if he dropped the hold he'd slammed on his heart when he'd gotten the news, a room like this could have him in a sweating heap and on the outside edge of a panic attack in ten minutes flat. It might still unless he could find something to focus on. His eyes wandered over to the dark-haired doctor in jeans headed his way. Tom was an inch or so taller than he was with a long, lean torso that seemed to put his legs out of proportion, though that really didn't seem to matter. If anything, the imperfection made Tom more attractive.

Tom offered his condolences again – for past and present Gus thought, now that he knew things Gus never talked about. He was much more comfortable when the conversation finally went the more traditional way, like what Gus did for a living.

"I'm a graphic artist." That was the simple answer; that was his profession, yes, and he loved it, but everyone had that niggling sense of unfulfillment in their job, right? Certainly some more than others. "I studied to be an engineer. My old man worked for DuPont his whole life. I think he was disappointed that I found the creative aspects of engineering more attractive than its practicality." He took a break for a sip of coffee, feeling his face redden and wondering why the hell he felt so chatty all of a sudden. "The company I work for provides a variety of services; we work with print ads and mixed media."

"Cool." Gus had already figured his companion was rather stingy with words.

"Oh yeah? You wouldn't think so if you spent months at a time trying to figure out how to make power tools sexy."

Tom laughed at that.

"Swear to God, that's all the clients want. I mean, you could really go over the top – impact wrenches, custom grips, exceptional drilling power… or just be brutally obvious."

"Half-naked women with big boobs?"

"Ah, here's the thing: men are going to buy tools no matter what, right? Apparently, it's in our DNA or something. Besides, we're creatures of supply, demand, and instant gratification... a tool is a tool is a tool. No, it's the women you have to appeal to. So, hunky, half-naked guys, big muscles, big tool belts... getting the picture here? It works somehow in the female psyche – but you'd know all about that – they can turn their man into a hunky DIY stud, simply by buying XYZ. Brilliant." He took a sip of his coffee. "Roto-Rooter – now, there's a much tougher sell."

The doctor's laugh was as beguiling as his smile. It was warm, thick, and slid inside Gus like syrup, leaving him staring. It was open and maybe a little lustful in its fullness but, more to the point, it managed to coax even more words from someone usually loathe to talk about themselves.

"Then, in a pinch, I was tapped to do the illustrations for a children's book. Our company had been hired by one of those self-publishing outfits to do illustrations and covers. I really enjoyed doing the work and the client was pleased. A few gigs came from that and I was thinking things were really starting to look up, and then… well, that's when the trouble started with Dede and me." Gus looked down at his cup; the cream had gathered on the cooled surface like a film and he pushed it away.

"How come the move to New York?"

Gus shrugged. "My company had an office there and offered me more money to move, which I needed; I was paying for half the mortgage plus support. Bad thing was, I had to go back to the land of power tools and pooper pumpers, worse actually, if you can imagine that. What about you?" he asked, glad to be handing over the reins of the conversation. "You from the area?"

"Nope. I'm from Sacramento originally. Before this, I was Chief of Staff for a non-profit rehab clinic in San Francisco."

"And you left all that to come here? You'd obviously never spent a winter in the Midwest."

"No, but I've been through more than my share of Nor'easters. I went to med school in the east. Seriously, University Hospital was an outstanding opportunity for me, instructing as well as practicing. They're doing all sorts of cutting edge research and trials, which I'm hoping to take advantage of – a real feather in my cap."

Gus propped his chin in his hand and cocked his head. "Hmm, somehow I wouldn't figure you for a feather collector."

Tom gave Gus the shy side of his smile before dropping his eyes and spinning his coffee cup. "I never really thought of it that way but, yeah. Growing up in my family, I guess it rubbed off." He looked across the table at Gus. "In my family, you're judged by your successes and measured by your failures. Funny, I thought I'd left all that behind… I guess not."

"No, hey, I think it's great. Most doctors these days only care about the cash and their golf handicap. It's cool that you want to teach. Dede was a teacher. Talk about judging, her family actually… well, she used to joke that she'd been adopted because she was so different, and that difference led to defiance and rebellion…"

"I heard that."

"Which all led to me, I think, but…" Gus trailed off and went quiet before turning away. His stomach froze with the thought of Dede's students. Did the school know? Then it hit him that Sandy would have taken care of everything.

It was more than a moment before Tom interrupted his thoughts and said his break was almost up.

Gus studied the flecks in the Formica tabletop and felt a bit foolish. "Yeah, I kinda totally lost where I was going with that, didn't I?"

"Rose should be around to talk to you tomorrow about seeing Danny after he leaves the hospital."

"I guess you heard he isn't too keen on not seeing you anymore."

Tom stood up. "He'll like Rose. She's got a unique way with kids. Hell, he'll probably forget all about me after their first session." Gus looked up. "He's a great kid, Gus. He's gonna be fine. You're gonna be fine. I won't lie though; it's going to be tough going home."

"Yeah, for both of us."

"Don't worry about it. Why don't you get out of here? Go home and sleep in a bed. I'll look in on Danny 'til my shift's over."

Walking out to the rental car, Gus felt guilty for leaving Danny, but he really needed a good night's sleep in something that did not resemble a contortionist's wet dream. The air was brutal. He passed several people in the parking lot. Some had come out with him and some, puffing along like mobile miniature smokestacks, were headed inside. That was the thing about hospitals. No matter the hour, there were always people. Going and coming, happiness and tears, boredom and relentless paces. Always people in and out.

~~~~~

The house had never been this quiet. Ever. Music, TV, Danny, Dede's famously bad, but endearing, singing or just the sound of her voice. They'd all been alive in the spaces within the walls. In some areas, the energy of them as a family was still there and in others, Gus felt like a stranger. Outside of the whole dad thing, living here might prove more difficult than he thought. Like a battlefield, it could be cleared but not purged.

Years later, the likelihood of stumbling across pieces of the past was great. He knew no matter how long he stayed, no matter how many years should pass, there'd always be something of Dede to find.

Whether it was being "home" or just sheer and total exhaustion, he struggled to hold up his own body weight. It wasn't going to do him a bit of good to roam through the house tonight anyway; his mind was in the wrong place for that now.

He eyed the couch; it was the closest place he could crash. Dede's bedroom was out of the question. He might get as far as the guest room – he'd need a pillow and blanket anyway. When he entered the hallway, he noticed a light under the door to Danny's bedroom. Had he even gone in there before? The lamp on Danny's dresser burned bright when Gus opened the door. As he walked over to shut it off, several things around the room caught his eye.

Danny still hadn't gotten the hang of making his bed – he'd always argued there was no use, he was only going to sleep in it again. Strewn over the rumpled sheets and comforter were papers and an over-stuffed, army-green bookbag. He scooped it all up and deposited everything on Danny's little worktable that served as his homework desk.

He almost stepped on the baseball glove he'd given Danny, on the floor surrounded by game controllers and empty video game boxes. Pinned to his bulletin board were a few of the comics he'd drawn for his son depicting a few of their more interesting weekend adventures (or what they'd imagined their weekends would be like if they were superheroes). The picture he'd sent Danny from Alaska – Gus, Tommy, and Stu frozen on a golf course. He stared at Stu's playful smile, stomach churning as he tapped his finger against the photograph. Stu had met Julia a few months after they'd returned home from that vacation.

A noise startled him and, in a way, he was grateful. He turned away from the board and realized it was only the bump of the heater coming on. His old apartment had never been quiet, but it seemed even all that noise couldn't keep him from sleep tonight. He made Danny's bed and grabbed a couple of spare blankets from the hall linen closet. The pillow smelled like Danny, the room dark but for little slivers of light peeking out through the curtains.

Did Danny need him? Should he go back to the hospital? He finally closed his eyes, blankets tucked under his chin, mind reeling with all the things that needed doing in the days ahead.

He'd counted off two or three, the last few dissolving into that space between wakefulness and dreams, when he was startled awake by an alarm buzzing somewhere. The room was still dark, but more of a hazy grey. Gus turned his head and listened. Home – morning – Dede's alarm. It was sad to think of it performing dutifully in the empty house. He dragged himself up and stumbled across the hall to give it a much-needed rest.

Chapter Four

Gus wheeled Danny through the automatic doors. He'd brought a change of clothes for him, even shoes. The nurses had packed Danny's things for him – the clothes he'd had on that day – but Gus had taken them and thrown them in a dumpster at the hospital. Not that doing so would negate the memories, but it was a small price to pay, Gus thought.

Danny had insisted on full use of the wheelchair, including curbside delivery. Tommy had come to help and pulled the car up to the area provided for the loading and unloading of patients. Danny was bundled up in a Chicago Bears quilted jacket Gus had found in Danny's closet, a stocking cap, and gloves. Luckily, Gus had managed to find an old heavy coat of his own in one of the basement closets.

Dr. Varayanan had come out with them. Gus liked her, and Danny seemed to, though Gus was convinced he was disappointed at not seeing Dr. Arquette. Gus wasn't sure how long Danny would need to see Dr. V – they had agreed on Dr. V as a shortcut – but he was glad it had all been arranged through the hospital. The way Dede kept records, it would take forever to find all the health insurance information.

"Okay, this is it," Gus said and opened the front passenger door. Danny just stood there. Tommy grabbed the hospital bag and opened the rear door.

"In back," Danny said. He climbed in, slid to the middle of the seat, and put his head down. Gus turned to the doctor.

"Perhaps you should ride in back with him. Try to ease him back into riding in a car again. It may take a while, but he'll be fine."

Gus nodded and Tommy had already rounded the car, getting into the driver's seat. His teeth chattering, Gus thanked the doctor and patted his pocket, indicating the schedule she'd given him along with her contact numbers. "We'll see you soon," he said, then climbed in beside his son. He and Tommy exchanged glances as Gus got himself and Danny strapped in.

~~~~~

Pulling up in the driveway, Gus couldn't help but recall his own thoughts about being in the house again. How much harder was it going to be for Danny? Tommy had offered to stay and now Gus was a little angry with himself for not accepting. He thought it best to jump right into it – he and Danny were going to have to deal with things they way they were and the best way Gus knew to do that was to just... deal.

Danny hadn't wanted to go near his mom's room and Gus had made sure to close the doors to her bedroom and the bathroom. He had been very quiet though, wanting to spend a lot of time in his room. Gus could hear the sound of video games, and once when he looked in, Danny had been asleep, for which Gus had been grateful. Not that he didn't want to do more to make his son feel at home, he just wasn't sure what to do. Their meetings had always been about fun, laughing, and playing. This was a new role for Gus and he wasn't ready to use the word "afraid" yet, but the pervasive rolling in his gut wasn't unlike those first few weeks after Danny was born. Dede had been so much better at things like this.

Supper was pizza delivery and a movie Danny wanted to watch; there was even a smile or two before Danny began to complain about his arm. The tableau was eerily reminiscent of another of their "guy weekends;" the time Sandy and Dede had gone on a shopping trip and left the two of them home together.

Gus yawned and took it in. Danny stretched out on the sofa, feet in Gus' lap, the glow from the television and the pizza box on the coffee table all a strange déjà vu. He slipped one of the cushions beneath Danny's sling and settled back into his corner of the sofa. DVDs, eating in the den, watching Danny sleep. It was comfortable and familiar.

Maybe this full-time father thing wouldn't be so bad after all.

~~~~~

"Dad, you're burning it!"

Gus flipped the pancake in the smoking pan. It was hardly distinguishable from the bottom of the pan, save for two brown tie-dyed circles at the outer rim. "Great," Gus huffed, flipping the flat cinder into the sink. "When did your mom get a new stove?" he asked, not particularly wanting or needing an answer. He turned down the flame and spooned more batter in the pan.

"I'm hungry."

Gus looked up. Whining wasn't going to do either of them any good. "Well, guess what, so am I. I'm just not used to these settings." It was hard to tell; excuses probably didn't carry a lot of weight with hungry eight year olds. "How about some juice?" He flipped the new pancake first, scowling at the light tan surface. After adjusting once more, he turned around to get the juice.

"Can't you make eggs?"

"In a manner of speaking, but there aren't any." He poured the orange juice. Out of the corner of his eye, Danny was pulling a box of cereal out of the cupboard. "I hate to tell you this, but I used the last of the milk for the batter," he said handing Danny the glass. Then the smell hit his nose. He looked over at the smoking pan then back at Danny. "Why didn't you say something?"

Danny shrugged and turned up his glass.

Sighing, Gus scraped the half-a-pancake into the sink with the other failures. There was enough batter for one more try, but then what was the point? "I've got an outstanding idea… let's go out. Run get dressed." He tossed the pan into the sink as well and walked over to open the back door.

Going down the hall, on his way to get dressed himself, he noticed Danny sitting at the little work table in his room. He had his head down

"Hey, Sport. Are we going?" A clean shirt and jeans lay on the table beside his son. Gus started to say something more, then caught sight of the sling; the weight of it physically pressed on his chest. He helped Danny off with his pajamas, mentally booting himself in the ass. "Why didn't you just yell at me or something?" he asked. Of course, he shouldn't have had to.

Their destination was the nearest IHOP because, even after the horrid start to the day, neither one was willing to forego pancakes. They could barely get their coats back on; Gus felt like he needed to be wheeled out, and Danny was holding his stomach as if he was trying to hold it all together. Now, while it hadn't been too hard to get his starving son into the car at the house, it was proving difficult now that he was sated. Gus shivered as Danny opened the back door, got inside, slid to the middle, and fastened his seat belt.

Maybe it was the car, Gus thought. At the airport, they hadn't really cared as long as it got them to the hospital. Actually, the sheer size of the thing should have been enough to make Danny feel like he was riding in a tank. It was something Gus was going to have to be conscious of and deal with. Obviously, the things he needed to be conscious of were an ever-growing category in the fatherhood guidebook – if only such a thing existed. As for the rental, it wasn't as if he could keep it forever; he really needed to start thinking about buying a car. Whether Dede's car could be repaired was immaterial. He'd never ask Danny to go anywhere near it again.

Strapping in, he glanced in the rearview mirror. Danny sat there, head down, holding one hand near his eyes like a shield. Gus shook his head and cast around for anything at all. "Thought we'd stop by the market on the way back. Think we can live off pizza, hot pockets, and cereal until I can figure out the kitchen?"

"Popcorn," Danny said flatly.

Gus started the car. "Yeah, well, that goes without saying."

~~~~~

They were taking the groceries out of the trunk when a small red car pulled in behind them. Gus couldn't see the driver until he got out of the car.

"Hey, Dr. Tom!"

"I hope you don't mind," Tom said, the words billowing out in great white puffs as he grabbed the last bag and closed the trunk. "I got your address from Admitting." He looked at Danny. "Since I wasn't on when they let you go, I wanted to make sure everything was okay. How was your first night back home?" Gus noticed Tom didn't make it sound morose but more like an adventure.

"Good. We had to go out for breakfast 'cause Dad burned everything, but we got to go to IHOP for pancakes."

Gus smiled weakly. "A tiny snafu with breakfast. No biggie."

Tom nodded, then looked at Danny. "You also managed to escape without letting me sign your cast." He took the bag Danny was carrying and Gus led them all to the door.

In the kitchen, Gus put away the groceries and let Tom unbundle his son. He and Danny sat down at the table and Tom drew a passable caduceus onto the neon green cast then signed beneath it with a flourish. Danny thanked him in a very quiet voice, then asked the doctor if he knew how to cook.

"Would you get over the cooking thing, already? So I burned a few pancakes. I promise you're not going to starve. Now, I think you've got room picking up to do."

"Dad?" Danny brandished his newly-adorned cast.

Gus raised his own arm. "You've still got one that works well enough to at least put all the dirty clothes in the hamper. And that cast didn't seem to be a problem when you wanted to play video games last night."

As Danny marched out of the kitchen, Tom walked over to the sink, peered inside, then looked at Gus, wrinkling his nose. "You must really suck."

"Yes, thank you. The Iron Chef I'm not. I'm not used to the stove yet, and I hardly ever cooked in New York; at least, I don't think opening a can or nuking something in the microwave counts."

Tom smiled. "And here I was hoping you'd invite me to dinner sometime." Gus found himself at a loss for a snappy comeback, or any comeback at all. "Of course, I could always bring something."

That caught Gus off guard. "Uh, sure." Right. That was all he needed, the man his son seemed to idolize sweeping in to save the day.

Tom said he needed to run. He'd had a class that morning and he still had a few errands before going home to catch a few Zs before the night shift. "I'm glad he's doing so well," he told Gus as they walked to the door. Before opening it, Tom fished a card from his jacket pocket. "Listen," he said, writing on the back of the card. "It looks like you've got everything under control here, but call me if you need to. You know, if you get stuck with anything… baking times, recipes, boiling water…"

Gus couldn't help his laughter, even if it was at his own expense. "I wouldn't want to bother you with—"

"And I wouldn't want you to bother me. If I thought that'd be the case, I wouldn't give this to you." Tom wasn't really smiling anymore, holding the card extended between his fingers. "Got it?"

Gus nodded.

Back in the kitchen, he took the card over to the fridge. He stood there and gave it a long, thoughtful look. The numbers on the back were bold and dark, written with the marker Tom had used on Danny's cast. Gus fastened it securely with the big circular magnet there – a blue circle with a big red block "C". Dede and her Cubs. He traced the letter with the tip of his finger and let his fond smile tug at his heart a bit.

Chapter Five

Gus had spent the morning marking things off his list. He'd called his landlady in New York – thank god, she'd been understanding. She was willing to let Gus out of the lease and was even going to return his security deposit, which he hadn't expected, but was also thankful for. Next, he'd tackled cleaning out the refrigerator, a job that was right up there with scrubbing toilets on the joy meter.

He lifted the tin-foiled corner of Mrs. Kolaski's casserole and headed straight for the garbage can. Man, and Danny thought he was a terrible cook. She was a sweet old lady who had been their neighbor since they moved in and Gus had never been able to say no to her – though he had drawn the line at her suggestion that she move in for a week or two, just until the "boys" had "gotten their bearings." He'd been quick to assure her they were far from rudderless but, sometimes, late at night when Gus couldn't sleep, he wondered.

The contents hit the bottom of the garbage bag like a lead weight and he put the baking dish in the sink. Maybe he'd get Danny to run it back over to her after it was washed. She probably wouldn't send another one back by him. No, she'd just bring it over herself.

His landlady had given him the number of one of those pack and move services. While he wasn't thrilled at the thought of someone else going through and packing his things, he didn't have a lot of choice. His landlady wasn't much better, and he couldn't afford two round trip tickets. Even if he could afford one, he'd have to ask Sandy to keep Danny while he was gone and, at the moment, he wasn't disposed to asking her for air in a bottle.

There were a few of his friends that might not consider it an imposition, but not friends like Stu. Stu would just pack his shit and never say anything. The more he thought of it, the more he liked the idea of a stranger doing it. Hell, what difference did it make now anyway? The ringing phone saved him from investigating the suspicious contents of a Tupperware container.

~~~~~

Gus had to remind himself that things could always be worse; not by much, but worse. He tore the sheet from the phone pad and stuck it in his wallet. At least, he still had a job. Granted, he'd have to go back to work under his old supervisor, but he'd work. The silver lining was that, for the most part, he could work from home. He'd be able to email in his files and copy. If he wanted, he could attend web conferences and would have access to all company network files and calendars. The only time he'd need to be physically present in the office was for presentations and strategy sessions – and pretty much any time the boss said so – but it might not be bad at all. He'd be home when Danny came home from school, which would also save him from having to arrange for childcare alternatives during the summer. Thoughts of one of those nice all-in-one printer, fax, scanners ran through his head. It was a piece of good news he wanted to share with Danny.

~~~~~

"Whoa, Gus, calm down," Tom said. "Danny's what? And slow this time."

His guts were on fire and it was hard to get a good breath, but he tried. "I went into his room and he was just lying on the floor. He won't speak to me, he won't move. I tried talking to him, but—" Gus paced a small path in the kitchen.

"Okay. Did you call Rose?"

"No."

"Did you call 911?"

"Well, no… I just, sorry, I…"

"Then there couldn't have been anything to cause you too much concern."

"…just called you. Oh god, I should have—"

"Is he hysterical? Shaking?"

"No."

"Is he breathing okay? He's not turning blue?"

"No, I mean yes, he's breathing okay."

"Is he having a seizure?"

Gus stopped and stood still. "No! He's… lying there staring into space."

"Did he react when you spoke to him?"

"Not right away, but finally when I'd asked if he was okay for the seventh time, he nodded. Jesus, I'm so stupid. Oh, god, did I wake you, are you at—of course, I should have—I'm going to call 911."

"Don't. What you need to do is calm down. Believe it or not, this is his way of dealing with it all."

"But what about his unresponsiveness?"

Tom's voice had managed to sand down the edges of Gus' panic. "Often, when kids can't take the chaos any longer, they simply shut down, especially when they're dealing with a trauma or grief. It'll pass, I promise you. When he gets that way, lie there with him if you want, let him know you're there, but don't pressure him to say how he feels, or worse, try to tell him how he feels or how he's supposed to feel. Let him figure it out. Give him time, Gus. He will. Rose will help. You just need to keep an eye on him and give him a soft place to fall."

Gus planted a hand on his hip and shook his head at himself. "Yeah, and who's going to catch me?"

There was a pause before Tom spoke. "You have got to find a way to decompress and, believe me, I know that's easier said than done, but you aren't going to be much good to him if you end up in the hospital. And don't panic. If you're afraid, Danny's going to sense it, then he'll be afraid, and that won't win you any points in the hero department."

Gus felt a little foolish. "Well, thanks. I told you… you may regret giving me this number."

"Call me any time, Gus."

~~~~~

After the call, Gus paced a bit more and thought about what Tom had said. Hero department? Was it possible he was trying too hard... not hard enough? His head ached and the idea of a nap looked very attractive.

He stopped at Danny's door, thinking to check on him again before lying down. The sound of his son crying rooted him to the floor, something black and helpless gripped his stomach and wouldn't let go. Leaning against the door, he thought of something else Tom said: Give him time. Listening tore at his heart. His hand circled the knob, but he couldn't open the door. After a few deep breaths, he managed to get his feet to move, to turn, and walk away.

Back in the relative safety of the guest room, Gus closed the door and collapsed against it. He felt like crying himself but who was that going to help? A lonely sliver of light stretched from the window across the carpet, almost touching his feet. Tom's voice seemed to whisper on the still-stale air: …don't let him know you're afraid… Yeah, he was going to have to work on that.

He pushed away from the door and a few steps from the bathroom, his foot caught on something. The backpack sat there innocently, as if it hadn't just leapt from the shadows to trip him. He stared at it a moment before picking it up, thinking it might move on its own. Unzipping the main section, he held the mouth of the pack open wide like some caricature Clyde Beatty with his most docile lioness, not expecting the sight of the contents – those moldy leather bindings – to snap at him petulantly.

That's when the color rose in his cheeks and his chest began to burn. Anger, scattershot and virulent, made him zip the taunting maw shut and fling the pack with force into the closet. It made an awful racket hitting the sheetrock and caused several articles of clothing to spill on top of it. For good measure, Gus slammed the door.

In the darkness, he sat on the edge of the bed and tried to find some rational way for the puzzle that was his life to fit together, convinced that some demigod with a wicked sense of humor had palmed a couple of pieces when he wasn't looking. Hopes, desires, dreams, the fits and starts of trying to be a good father. The weight of all that not enough to keep him still, he stood and paced, soon discovering the room was too cramped for that to be effective.

The cloud of thoughts drew him back to Danny's door. Gus leaned in and put his ear to the door. Nothing. He carefully turned the handle and eased it open. He was still in his clothes, but Danny appeared to be asleep and Gus didn't have the heart to disturb him.

He sat on the floor and watched his son sleep, noticing the way the damp hair stuck to his temple and the movement behind the eyelids, picturing those big blue eyes looking at him, really seeing him, and knowing how utterly unprepared he was for any of this.

Five and a half months into Dede's first pregnancy, they had buried a prematurely born daughter and discovered that Dede would probably not be able to carry another pregnancy to term without help. Six months later, she was pregnant again and, once she'd undergone a procedure to secure her cervix, her doctor had put her on moderate bed rest for the duration.

She'd followed her doctor's advice and taken a leave of absence from her job. It hadn't been easy and Gus knew she'd always felt bad about forcing him to shoulder the burden, but Daniel Kyle Gruber had been the reward for a few lean, difficult months and, really, that was all that had mattered.

She'd waited to tell him with Danny – she'd already seen her doctor – as if he hadn't noticed all the signs. I just don't want to mess this up. Gus had held her close and tried to convince her that wasn't possible. You're going to be a daddy this time, Gus. I promise… Deeds always kept a promise.

Only now, he had to make good on his end of the bargain. He watched Danny until his eyes grew too heavy and his body began to jab him with little teasers of what he was in for if he spent the night on the floor.

Chapter Six

The day started with cereal and juice. It was pretty damn hard to screw up Cheerios so Danny had two bowls, juice, and toast and jam. At least he had a full stomach.

That satiety lasted through a cold and frustrating trip to several office supply houses in the area. Frustrating because while Gus could toss on his coat, scarf, hat and gloves (if he had gloves, god only knew when his belongings would arrive), getting Danny dressed and bundling him up to go outside with his arm in a wrist to shoulder cast was like putting a dress on a dog. He was either limp and pliable or stock stiff and never stopped fidgeting. Gus carefully tucked the unused arm of the heavy parka to the inside and tried to cover all the skin he could with colorful knitted wool. Still, it was amusing. Danny looked like a chrysalis waiting to make its big debut... or an alien pod-kid; Gus couldn't decide.

They were able to acquire a nifty all-in-one printer/scanner/fax machine and Gus placed an order for a professional color printer. Their next stop was the nearest warehouse superstore where Gus bought paper, extra toner, and the shiny new bookbag Danny just had to have.

Not too keen on the prospect of trying to be creative in the basement, not to mention that he could save on the heating bill, Gus decided to set up his office in the attic room that Dede had used. He carefully packed the items from Dede's desk. The white ash top, Tuscan ivory paint and Florentine gold trim were decidedly feminine, but for the time being, it was large enough for his MAC and monitors. He'd have to make do with a few tables for his printers until he could have the desk from the basement moved.

I could work in here, he thought, looking around at the open space while he waited for Danny to pass him some cables under the desk. They'd talked a little about Gus' job and he'd explained the equipment to Danny as they worked, more than anything because it was much easier for them to discuss meaningless minutiae than it was to talk about Dede or their situation. He was tying the cables together – the junk drawer downstairs was a trove of old twist-ties – when a loud rumbling broke his concentration.

Gus stopped and listened until he heard it again. He got up from beneath the desk with a sense of dawning comprehension. "Was that you? Are you hungry again already?"

"Dad, it's afternoon."

Gus checked his watch. Shit. It was three o'clock. A sinking feeling gripped him and he wasn't sure if it was hunger or embarrassment.

He offered to take them out for a burger, but Danny's arm ached when they were outside and he didn't want to go through the bundling process again. Instead, Gus made sandwiches and French fries he cooked in the oven.

"You know," he said, watching Danny pick at his fries to find one with the least overly-brown crinkles, "you're going to have to go back to school soon."

Danny nodded then took a bite of his sandwich. The quiet was almost too much – the soft click of the kitchen clock second hand magnified in Gus' head. It hurt that he was already more familiar with the eccentricities of the house than the sound of his son's voice. He understood. He did, but he couldn't quite shake the "last-one-to-know" feeling that he was doing something wrong.

"It won't be so bad," he said helpfully. "You're getting pretty good with that thing." He pointed to the sling. His contribution had been their superhero alter-egos drawn beside Tom's signature. "In fact, I bet the kids are going to think it's cool."

Danny stuffed the last of his sandwich in his mouth. "Sure, Dad," he mumbled as he chewed. "Can I go to my room now?"

Chapter Seven

Over the next few weeks, Gus moved into a comfortable routine of dropping Danny off at school, going in to the office when needed, running errands, and working at home. Doing so, he could pick and choose his hours. He'd gotten a little better in the kitchen – not great, but better.

One evening, after frozen pizzas for dinner, Gus was in the attic office studying his assignment calendar for March. There was a deadline he was concerned about, but the rest looked manageable.

Danny had come up to do his homework and Gus had been listening off and on to him talk about school and teachers and how much he hated vocabulary words.

"I thought you liked that," Gus said idly, opening the client file that had the deadline. "You're good at it, your grades are good."

"Mom always helped me with them," Danny said.

"Oh, well, I could help you... just let me finish this one thing, and..." He began tweaking some areas in the graphic that didn't satisfy him. At first, he didn't notice how quiet it had gotten and when he looked up, Danny wasn't there.

Gus found him in the kitchen trying to spread peanut butter on a piece of bread. Danny could throw a baseball lefty, but he wasn't too hot with a knife.

"Here," Gus said, taking the knife and the bread and finishing it. "Why didn't you say something?"

"I did."

Gus stared at him a moment, trying to recall, before getting another piece of bread.

"Can I live with Bradley?" Danny asked, like he'd ask what was for dinner.

"You mean at Aunt Sandy's?" Gus felt funny in the pit of his stomach and handed Danny his sandwich.

"I could live there and you could come and visit me like you used to."

Gus sat down at the table and pulled Danny over to stand in front of him. "But you and me, we're a family, like you and Mom. I'm not going anywhere... I'll be here all the time, just like before."

Danny seems to consider that. "Okay," he said, his voice small and resigned. "But I can still do sleepovers, can't I? And Bradley can come here?"

Gus hadn't really thought of that. Maybe that was something they usually did. It made sense with Dede's parents so far away. Sandy was the only other closest relative Danny knew. "Sure," he said, trying to smile. "Hey, do you want me to read to you, or…"

"No. I'm going to bed now."

Gus followed Danny out of the kitchen and down the hall, watched Danny close his door without saying good night, and went back to his office. He tried to work, but it was no use. What had he done? Every time he thought he was making some headway, Danny pulled the rug from under him.

He eyed his phone, thinking of calling Tom, but that would be pushing it. Gus was a big boy and he had to learn to deal with big boy things on his own sometime. But the rising panic that maybe he was doing something wrong made him give in and call anyway.

"I'm in library doing some research," Tom said when Gus asked if he was disturbing him. "But it's cool. What's up?"

"It's Danny. He wants to go live with Sandy." Gus leaned forward on his desk with a hand in his hair.

"It's just his thought process right now. It's security."

"Thing is, he really wants to go; he was very matter-of-fact about it."

"No, he doesn't. He's looking for that familiar feeling of safety, something he knows."

"Now there's a boon to my confidence. Christ, my own kid doesn't feel safe with me?"

Tom laughed. "Well, you're still kind of an unknown to him. Give him time. He needs to get used to the idea that it's just you."

Gus sighed. "But it's been weeks."

"Last time I looked, there weren't any timetables for these things."

"It kinda hurts," Gus admitted, perhaps too freely.

"I know. Now, use that. How do you think Danny feels?"

Gus didn't have anything to say to that.

"Your mind is ordered; it has straight paths. It's gotten that way as you've matured – you learned what was acceptable to say and what you had to hold back. As our minds settle in to the new order of things… as we get older… we forget how chaotic things really used to be for us."

"I'm sorry, are we still talking about my kid being afraid of me?"

"The mind of a child Danny's age is all zig-zagged lines, flashing lights, and sound effects. Thoughts erupt like geysers under pressure. Emotions come to the surface and spill out raw and unedited because they haven't fully developed their filters. Danny has no idea that he's hurt your feelings. He's made a decision he thinks is right for him and he honestly expects you to be happy for him."

Gus held the phone, his eyes focused somewhere in mid-space. Tom made everything sound so… simple. Like something staring him in the face he simply couldn't see.

"Think of it this way, you've already grieved for your wife in a sense. Don't get me wrong, I realize this is all still a shock, but I assume the two of you made your peace when the marriage broke up. Danny's grief is just beginning."

Gus nodded into the phone. Tom had it half-right. There'd never be reconciliation for not having a chance to say goodbye, of not seeing her one last time. "Okay, I can see that."

"So you're good?"

Gus cracked a smile. "I'm good." The sudden need to say something utterly stupid like, "gee, you're brilliant," was, fortunately, swallowed up. Thank god, Gus' filters were intact. Painfully so.

~~~~~

Like a whore in church was a saying Pops Lindermann was quite fond of when he wanted to convey feelings of discomfit, and they were a perfect fit for Gus and hospitals. No matter how much modern design went into them, no matter how many consultants were consulted about color, furniture arrangement, or the subliminal effects of health magazines, they were still hospitals, with the scent of cheap industrial disinfectant creeping in between the aromas of fresh coffee and floor wax.

The nurses might wear brightly colored and patterned uniforms, but there were still people behind all those closed doors. Some knew where they were and some didn't. Some had visitors and some lay there waiting and hoping. Those who only rated attention when it was time for BP and temp checks, and those left alone to manage dinners they could barely stomach. Those who had families who wanted to be there, but couldn't because they lived in another city, had a full schedule of classes, and a part-time job to take care of their own expenses.

He felt the same about doctors' offices – the fact that they weren't physically part of the main hospital building didn't save them. Gus wasn't fooled by the potted plants, nor was he lulled by the big screen televisions blaring unfunny sitcoms and obnoxious game shows. He'd spent too much time in waiting areas like the one he sat in now.

He tossed the running magazine on the table and checked his watch. Danny's session with Dr. V would be over soon. He had in mind they'd stop and get dinner on the way home. One thing was certain, Gus would bring his laptop next visit, or at least a pad so he could accomplish something instead of just sitting there waiting to bolt.

To stretch his legs, he went out in the hallway to get a drink of water and ran into Tom at the information desk. He hadn't seen the doctor since the day he'd stopped by to check on Danny.

Instead of offering his hand, Tom clapped Gus on the shoulder and gave him that Dr. Arquette smile. Did they teach those smiles in med school, like in bedside manner class, because Tom had a smile that could stop time. How could anyone worry about anything in the face of a smile like that?

"Are you always here?" Gus asked him.

"I'm working backup today and had a report to deliver. So, how are you? No more freaking out?"

"Well, I won't say that, but… it's better."

He felt a little self-conscious as Tom's eyes scanned him. "I can tell. You look a lot more relaxed. How's Danny? I assume he's here seeing Rose."

"He's good. We still have our moments, but… Getting back to school. Having a little trouble keeping him at his homework, but I figure that's normal." Tom smiled and Gus had the odd feeling he might be talking too fast. "I think he misses talking to you. Hey, he should be done in a few minutes. You could say hello, tell him what a great guy his dad is… like the best dad ever. He'd listen to you."

Tom glanced at his watch. "I'd like that, but I'm already supposed to be somewhere. I suppose if I was invited to dinner or something, I could make the effort, put in a good word. You want to write my script for me?"

"No, that'd end up much too sickeningly sweet; he'd know you were full of shit then. Just try and keep it low key." Gus took a few steps with Tom down the hall.

"Well, you give him my regards and hopefully I'll see him soon."

Chapter Eight

Last minute changes of plans had never bothered Gus. In his business – in his life – they were at most unavoidable. Of course, most times didn't involve Tom coming to dinner. A day early. And he couldn't refuse; Danny had talked about little else since Gus told him. Okay, fine. He could squeeze an entire day of cleaning and laundry into a couple of hours; he was Super Dad, right?

He hurriedly stuffed the garbage cans and ordered Danny to round up all the truant dishes. Jesus, Dede would have skinned both of them for eating all over the house.

"I don't see why we have to clean up just for Dr. Tom," Danny said, carrying in a couple of coffee mugs balanced on a plate, with the lot teetering in the grip of one hand.

Gus took them before he had an even bigger mess and stacked them beside the sink with the others. Somehow, dirty dishes seemed less offensive that way – all stacked together – the quantity outweighed by the sheer orderly display. "Something tells me Dr. Tom may not approve our new plan. Now, make sure all your clothes are out of the bathroom… and wipe the countertops in there. Use that stuff in the yellow spray bottle, under the sink. At least it'll smell clean," he muttered, thinking the kitchen might also benefit.

Danny did as he was told and Gus took a survey of the room. Chaos. But neat chaos. At least he wasn't going to have to cook. Probably in a fit of self-preservation, Tom had offered to bring something for the inconvenience. And that was… why was he so bugged? It was Tom coming for dinner… to see Danny, spend a little time with him. Three guys together having dinner.

Gus caught his reflection in one of the oven doors and ran a hand through his hair. The doorbell sounded and Danny was already running to answer it. Gus swiped a dishcloth over the back of his neck, sniffed at his armpits, and took a final look around. Fuck.

He had that sinking feeling he'd forgotten something really important but before he could think of what it was, Danny had the doctor right there at the kitchen door. Jesus, he hadn't felt this way since his father's room inspections. It was sort of uncanny how the look on Tom's face echoed a few of those stern dad expressions.

"What the hell?" He was about as subtle as Gus' father, too.

Gus smiled – smiling couldn't hurt, right? That had always been his thinking. "Sort of a new strategy – you know, two guys, no pressures, just kind of going with the flow. Danny seems to like it." He had the feeling he was talking to dead air. "Well, when we talked before it got me thinking."

Tom turned to him, eyebrows hunched together over his nose. "What the hell did I say?"

Danny had been standing there and that had Gus even more self-conscious. Gus sent him out to finish his movie and turned back to Tom. "Just about filters and minds and I thought of how many times my parents said no to me even without thinking."

Tom looked around the kitchen. "And from that you got that it was okay not to wash dishes or—"

Gus took a look around, too, that sinking feeling gaining a few fathoms on him. "No, well, sort of. I found myself doing the same thing. Saying no and not even listening to Danny's questions. Seriously, if he gets his homework done and he's relatively clean, what's an extra thirty minutes of video game or TV time? Why can't he eat cold pizza for breakfast, or wear the same shirt two days in a row?" As soon as the words left his lips, it struck Gus that maybe it wasn't Danny he'd been thinking of.

"Because it teaches him discipline," Tom said, wiping his hands on his jeans. "And it reinforces whatever structure his mom had for him. This is detrimental, Gus. You don't want to undo—"

"But you said…"

"Within reason. I see where you're going but think of it more for something off the wall like wearing two different shoes or a trip to the arcade for no reason at all or something you'd normally deem too silly to consider saying yes to. How about this, you stick to glorifying power tools and leave the Psych 101 to me."

Gus' face fell. "What you mean is I'm not cut out for this."

Tom's face softened. "I didn't say that. But the last thing you want to do here is give Danny the keys to wind you up… and you can't waffle; that'll only confuse him. He needs that structure, especially now. He's a kid, Gus. You give him enough rope and he'll not only want more, he'll test you to see just how much he can get."

He hadn't expected a lecture with dinner. Tom had brought pizza and Gus realized that he'd forgotten to take all the other empty pizza boxes outside with the trash.

"Looks I made the wrong choice," Tom said, indicating the box in his hand. "Do you have any actual food here?"

Gus gave him a look and took the box.

"Tell you what," Tom said, slipping off his coat. "Why don't you go help Danny with his homework or something and let me see what I can do. Fair enough?"

Gus watched him hang the coat over the back of one of the kitchen chairs and push the sleeves of his sweater to his elbows. "God, you aren't going to do any cleaning or anything are you?" he asked, setting the pizza on the counter. At least he didn't need to worry about breakfast the next day.

Tom moved a few dishes and grinned . "Only enough to make a path to the stove."

"Well, the pantry is there and—"

"I'll find my way around," Tom said, making a shooing motion with his hand and filling the sink with water. "Out."

"Yes, dear." Before Gus knew it, he was smiling. It was the kind of smile that had nothing to do with kids and work and relief but the kind that meant happy and comfortable and relief. He probably should have been horrified by his words, except that Tom was smiling back.

They had spaghetti and sauce with big chunks of tomato, onion, and green pepper. "The peppers had seen better days but I salvaged what I could." Tom handed Danny a piece of buttered toast and offered the plate to Gus. "Next time I'll bring some French bread and we can have garlic toast instead of plain."

Gus took a slice of the toast. He didn't remember buying peppers, but he must have, though what he was going to use them for he didn't know. "There was ground beef in the freezer," he said. "You could have nuked it and made meat sauce."

"From the looks of that kitchen, red meat probably isn't the best thing for you right now."

"Who are you now, my mother?" Gus noticed Tom's gaze shift slightly to Danny then back to him. "Actually," he said, his cheeks burning, "this is really good."

Danny talked about video games and school. Gus watched his son's interaction with Tom and tried his best not to stare. But catching Tom watching him a couple of time was a bit unnerving and finally made a cold sweat break out along his collar. It felt like Tom judging or assessing him in some way and, frankly, Gus wasn't sure whether to be pissed off or flattered.

They talked about seeing Dr. Rose and how Danny was getting along now that he was back at school.

"People are always offering to do stuff for me," Danny said. "Even girls want to carry my bookbag. That's kinda cool." He took a bite of the ice cream he was having for dessert.

Tom glanced at Gus and winked. "I'm not surprised. I bet the girls fight over who gets to carry it. And you want to take advantage of that while you can, that cast will be coming off in a week or two."

Gus couldn't do anything but smile at the two of them. Once Danny had finished his ice cream Gus asked if he had homework to finish. He was starting to get that blank expression the way he did from time to time but he nodded and quietly got up from the table.

"How's he doing?" Tom asked when Danny was out of earshot.

"Okay. He still has his moments where he's in his own place. Like that," Gus said, pointing toward the hallway. "I figure he needs some time to himself but I feel like there's more I should do."

"You know, you can't be afraid to show your emotions when he's—"

"But you said stay strong, don't let him know."

Tom leaned forward, his elbows on the table. "I said don't let him know you're afraid. I know it's confusing. We want people to know we care, need them to know, but we're often prevented from showing it for fear of making them uncomfortable, afraid they'll push us away, and tune completely out. I go through it all the time; it's a balancing act for sure."

"Yeah and you're a professional. How do you expect me to be able to pull it off?"

Tom's smile was only half formed. "Go slow, build up to it. An extra hug now and then. Learn to make his favorite food – well, practice – indulge him, within reason, once in a while."

"Yeah, I'll remember all this in the middle of a major freak-out."

"You might surprise yourself," Tom said, taking Danny's plate and stacking it on top of his own. "In the end, Gus, just do what feels right for you. If it's too much, he'll let you know. I can see how much you care about him; he needs to see a little of that, too."

Gus waved Tom off when he started to collect Gus' plate. Tom had cooked dinner for god's sake, the least Gus could do is clean up… really clean. Gus pointed the way to the half-bath in the hall and took the dishes into the kitchen. He was rinsing them off when Tom came back into the kitchen.

"Sorry," he said. "Thought I'd go ahead and say goodnight to Danny." He walked over and took his coat from the chair but didn't put it on. "And I can confirm that all homework is finished."

Gus finished rinsing what he'd washed and dried his hands. He had the odd feeling of the room getting larger, or was it that he felt smaller? He dried his hands more as Tom stood there, black tee shirt beneath a tan v-neck sweater, dark denim jeans. It occurred to him that he needed to say something, but there didn't seem to be anything urgent that needed saying.

"Wish me luck," he finally said. "I've got the probate hearing next week." His stomach flopped over just thinking about it. "My lawyer, Tommy, you met him at the hospital… he likes our chances. Dede never changed her will and because of the divorce, I can't inherit anything or be named at Trustee for Danny, so Sandy's next in line and contesting my petition to counter all that. It'd be nice not to have Sandy – that's my sister-in-law – have control of everything." He stopped there because he could hear himself and because Tom was pulling on his coat.

"I'm sure it'll work out," he said. "How bad could it be, even if you had to deal with her?"

Gus tossed the dishtowel on the counter. "Are you kidding? Have you got another hour?"

Tom smiled. "Actually, I've really gotta split.Got a few things to do before my shift starts."

Gus nodded. Somehow they were already at the front door and Gus started to say something, but forgot it when Tom turned around.

"This was nice," he said and smiled. "Not to put words in your mouth, but we'll have to do this again."

Gus held the door for him. Hell, he needed someone to put words in his mouth. "Sure" was all he seemed to be able to come up with. And it wasn't so much that it was Tom… but that it was someone other than Danny and the handful of other friends Gus had. Gus wasn't used to this; it gave him a strange mélange of feelings: curl-into-a-ball protectiveness twined with yes-yes-me-me openness.

Shivering, he shut the door realizing he'd stood there until Tom had driven off.

Chapter Nine

The robin's egg houndstooth or the pale yellow? The houndstooth was more professional and, Sandra thought, glancing at her reflection in the walk-in's floor-length mirror, flattered her figure more. Those few extra pounds would make her look like a giant daffodil provided she could even zip the skirt. She really needed to back to Pilates. Maybe the white linen… no, not time yet. The blue it was then.

She unzipped the garment bag and lifted a sleeve to her nose. Well, she'd have to walk from the parking garage to the Daley Center anyway; that would be plenty of airing. Looking in the mirror again, she turned sideways. It wouldn't be a short walk either. Definitely back to class next week.

Having made sure she had bad and shoes to match – last year's shoes, low heel, understated, but they'd do – she sat down to fix her face. Gus would no doubt make a good impression in one of his geeky shirts. Dede had never been much help in that department; she'd never known how to dress her station either. Sandy smiled at her reflection. All those lovely clothes their mother bought for Dede had eventually found their way into Sandy's closet. She'd always been of the mind that more was better.

And now she'd have her sister's estate to deal with too. One more thing to keep straight, but that was all right; she'd already thought of several ways to invest portions of Danny's trust. Gus wouldn't have the first clue.

She put down her powder brush and sighed. She'd been used to handling Gus only on holidays or at family outings. Already, she'd seen him more in the past few weeks than the entire two years Dede and Gus had been divorced. She wrinkled her nose. Unpleasant, maybe, but there was no way she'd allow Gus Gruber to get the best of her.

The walk hadn't been as bad as she had expected. She'd checked her lipstick in the women’s rest room, smoothed her hair back into place, and now sat beside her attorney in one of the smaller courtrooms used by the Probate Division.

She'd barely acknowledged Gus when she arrived, he and that college friend of his. She fixed a tight smile into place as she crossed her ankles beneath her chair and folded her hands in her lap. Gus looked pale as a ghost, quite a contrast to her and her venerable-looking lawyer. She had this one. She could feel it.

~~~~

Gus blinked a few times then turned to Tommy. "Would you care to explain what the hell just happened?"

Tommy was busy gathering his papers and legal pad; he chucked everything into the red-rope, expandable folder tagged Gruber v. Scharfenstein with a green label. "Your petition was denied." Tommy wouldn't look at him; Gus didn't want to feel bad about that but he did.

He grabbed Tommy's arm. "My petition? I thought this was our petition. You said—"

Tommy turned to him. "Listen, I said this was our option, I never guaranteed the outcome. No lawyer worth his salt would do that. I told you going in about the divorce and what that meant. I'm... I'm really sorry, Gus." It showed in his eyes.

"So, I have to deal with the wicked witch of Forest Hills to buy my kid a new pair of sneakers or pay for his school lunch? Jesus, Tommy, do you have any idea how hard this is going to be?"

"I know it sucks, Gus, but look at it this way; you've got the house free and clear. Technically, the trust could be used to help with the payments as it's for Danny's welfare."

He followed Tommy out of the courtroom out into the high-ceilinged hallway. "Oh, no. I'll be stone cold before the day I ask her for money to keep a roof over our heads." Gus could feel his cheeks heating up. They threaded their way through the crowd of people waiting to be called into other courtrooms.

"All I'm saying is you have to look at the positives here. House, custody, visitation... you're in control of all that. She's like the bank of Scharfenstein, she's only controlling money and assets you would have invested anyway. You're free to raise Danny the way you see fit with no interference."

"You don't know Sandy like I do," Gus said, pulling at his tie to loosen it. "And what about that thing with Dede's stuff?"

"She wants all the personal items. That seems normal to me. Outside of a few things, what are you going to do with them? Besides, you and Danny get the first choice of whatever you want to keep."

They rounded a corner on their way to the elevator. He knew Tommy had done his best; that wasn't in question. Still, Gus couldn't help the knot of disappointment growing inside. He gave his friend an accepting nod.

"Judges hate spite. This judge made a fair ruling and you always have to look ahead. If there are any problems in the future, chances are good you're going to be in front of this judge again, or at least under her ruling." Tommy pushed the down arrow at the elevator. "Trust me, Gus, you never want to piss off a judge. I know it isn't a pleasant task, but Sandy could have pushed for a deadline written in stone and she didn't."

"Yeah, I was wondering about that myself."

"Maybe it's because she's not as bad as you say."

Gus thought about that for a moment. "Nah, that's not it. Sandy's never not had an agenda. I just haven't figured out her angle yet." His phone alarm began bleating, so that several people also waiting for the elevator turned to stare. "Oh, shit. I'm supposed to be at the office in ten minutes.

Chapter Ten

Gus helped Danny out of the car. He hadn't gotten any better with riding in vehicles; they'd tried the bus, but he'd had to call Dr. Rose after that first time. Danny would never say what it was exactly – at least not to Gus – but Rose had posited that it might simply be a dependency on someone he didn't know or trust. "He feels a certain comfort with you now," she'd said. They agreed to work on it slowly and Gus' schedule was thankfully flexible enough that he could both take him and pick him up from school.

"I want you to get your homework done right away," he said, unlocking the door.

"But Dr. Tom's coming for dinner again."

"That's hours away and if you want to have time for video games later, you get your work done now."

He followed Danny down the hall and made sure he sat at the table and got out his books. He thought about going up to his office and checking the specs for that new job, but decided instead on a shower first. The hearing, getting his ass chewed, and the damn car-rider line had left him too warm, too flustered, and downright jumpy.

As add-ons went, the small bath off the guest room was originally meant to be used only by Dede's parents when they visited, and by Danny when he got older and wanted his own bathroom. Small and cramped, but still, Gus couldn't bring himself to take his things into the larger master bath. It was crazy and he admitted it, but he didn't want to see them mixed with Dede's things like before and he wasn't ready yet to just toss things like her make-up and stuff.

Not wanting it to have a negative effect on Danny was his rationalization – if he needed it – and deep down that was a very small part of it. He scrubbed a towel over his head and palmed his chin and the sides of his face trying to decide if he should shave again. What might Tom have to say about Gus' fear of dealing?

He took a hard look at himself in the small mirror. Part of the grieving process? Maybe, but then it had been the same with his mother. His skin flushed hot from the pent up steam, making his chest uncomfortable, and left the acid burn of guilt in his stomach. Only with his mother, Gus had hardly been able to get rid of those possessions fast enough. He hadn't even wanted to touch them again. To make the whole ordeal bearable, he had implanted a different view of his mother in his mind. One from long ago when she and his dad were happy, when Kyle had still been in diapers and she was Supermom.

That was the only memory Gus seemed to need. A few of the things he'd kept were scattered around the house, the rest still neatly packed in the attic he supposed. He'd given the rest to a distant cousin as a reward for them coming to sort and pack it all up. If he'd only known then how regretful that decision would become. He got dressed in the guest room of his own house and tried to pretend one thing had nothing to do with the other.

Sounds of fierce ninja fighting floated beyond Danny's room. On his way by, Gus opened the door. "Homework?"

"Almost finished," Danny replied, his back to Gus.

"Almost isn't done. Turn that off until you're finished." He shut the door and checked his watch. He'd give Danny another thirty minutes. When Tom had mentioned doing dinner again, Gus hadn't though it'd be so soon – it had only been a little over a week – but Danny was excited and Gus would take that over sullen any day.

His cell phone was buzzing on the countertop when he walked into the kitchen. It was Tom. He asked after Danny then asked about the hearing.

"Not a lot to tell. Let's just say we've got a warm, dry roof over our heads. Other than that, it's a lose/lose situation. Danny is playing video games instead of doing his homework at the moment, but we can talk about that when—"

"Well, that's it, I can't make dinner."

"Danny will be disappointed. Apparently he likes talking to you.

"Well, no good deed… looks like I'm gonna have to work my own shift, too."

"The price you pay for being a hell of a guy."

"It's a curse… a cross some of us have to bear." Tom's smile was there even in his words and it made Gus twisty in his stomach. "What were we having?"

"Steaks… and before you launch into one of your PSAs, they're Buffalo, supposed to be very lean."

"Sounds good; sorry I'm going to miss it. Rain check?"

"Sure. Anytime."

"Later, Gus."

Gus closed the phone slowly and stared at it. He knew better, but he went there anyway, to what if land – the land where handsome doctors flirted with him and actually sounded sorry when they said they were sorry.

He took out the steaks he'd already prepped, wrapped one carefully in foil, and put it in the freezer. Jesus, Gus, get over yourself.

Danny set the table one-handed; Gus had made him, trying hard to follow Tom's advice of keeping some of the same discipline Dede had for him intact. Gus hated to admit it, but the boy actually seemed to do better with the structure – outside of being left alone to do his homework. Gus found he needed to stay with him most of the time to keep him on task. Most times, he'd just let Danny come up to the office and they'd work together.

"Does Dr. Tom live in a house?" The question came completely from left field and took Gus' concentration from the SportsCenter commentary drifting in from the den.

"You know, I'm not sure. No, wait, I think he mentioned he lived in an apartment. Why?"

Danny shrugged and speared a piece of the steak Gus had cut for him. Gus watched him chew thoughtfully for a moment. "If he didn't have a real house, he could come and live with us. We have room. We could be a family."

That last remark made Gus' steak painfully hard to swallow. "Are we back to that cooking thing? Because I think I've come a long way." And he had. He'd even bought a cookbook, aptly titled "Cooking and the Single Dad." The clerk had been a bit too curious for Gus' taste, but at least he was learning. The steaks turned out fine even with pan-frying and he'd learned it was pretty hard to screw up salad. Potatoes took a little longer to figure out. Apparently, seventeen and a half minutes was the point at which a medium spud exploded in the microwave. Adjusting for time and texture, the formula was explosion minus 2 minutes and adjust for medium power and size after that. Gus was rather proud that it had only taken four potatoes to confirm his calculations.

"Megan Kate has two daddies."

"Really? Eat your salad."

"Yeah, she's cool. She knows how to throw a baseball and play football and everything. And my other friend Aaron – he has two moms and one of them is a doctor."

Something Dr. V had said came to Gus. Family and the idea of family structure seemed to be very important to Danny, and Rose had reminded him that it was often the most introspective of children who masked their emotions, but that did not mean they didn't feel fiercely. Gus had been so intent on the "we're tough guys, we can handle it" way of thinking, he felt bad for not wanting to 'talk' about things with Danny. Of course, it worked for Gus; it was the only way he was able to be strong.

He watched Danny finish his potato, his salad just picked over. Poor kid, all he had was Gus. He reached over and patted his son's shoulder. "So, what did you think of that steak? How about some pie? You think Mrs. K is any better with pie than she is with casseroles?"

Danny's little nose crinkled. Gus smiled and gave him a quick but warm hug before taking their plates into the kitchen.

Chapter Eleven

That Gulliver in Lilliput feeling washed over Gus as he walked through the hallways of Park Road Elementary and while he hadn't attended this particular school, the rows of artwork stuck to the walls outside the rooms gave him a warm flush of memories. It was familiar and oddly comforting. Exactly what he needed on his way to visit Danny's teacher.

Ms. Meisner was only twenty-five if she was a day, but already she had that pinched look Dede used to wear home a lot. It happened to some teachers after dealing with eight and nine year olds on a regular basis. "I'll jump right into this, Mr. Gruber. Several of our conferences have run a bit long today and I'm sorry you had to wait." She motioned for him to sit; they each took one of the diminutive desks. "The tandem teacher and I are very concerned about Danny. He seems much more subdued and his work has fallen off quite a bit."

She looked so earnest. Gus was sure she actually meant what she'd just said and there wasn't much these days that left him at a loss for words. "I'm sorry, did you miss a memo or something? I don't mean any disrespect, but his mother just died. Considering what he's been through, I think he's doing remarkably well."

Her smile was saccharine-laced arsenic. She folded her hands and spoke calmly - another byproduct of dealing with kids. "Mr. Gruber, of course we're aware of Danny’s situation, and yours, and we're deeply sorry, we simply—"

"Then how about cutting the kid some slack? Give him a little more time. He's seeing a therapist and they're making good progress."

"Yes, well, I have to make you aware of Danny's progress and that's what I'm doing. Now, since you mentioned a therapist, I think you should have a look at this."

She flopped one of Danny's composition books down on the desktop. He opened it and thumbed through the pages. The subject was math - meticulously illustrated math. At first, Gus was struck by the sheer number and detail of the drawings. Page after page contained neatly worked math problems along with trucks, army tanks, rockets, and guns. He found them on the backs of facing pages, in the margins, and next to the math problems.

"Hey, maybe he'll be an engineer for GM or NASA or..." Gus was going to make a remark about the detail until he looked up and realized the look on Ms. Meisner's face probably meant she thought this was a bad thing. "Oh, you mean he's doing this in class?"

"Most of it. I'm sure some of it was done at home."

"And this is, I mean, is he finishing his work?"

"He's finishing it, Mr. Gruber. We'd mentioned this to your wife, but it's gotten progressively worse. No matter what we do, he continues to do it. I've given him silent lunch, extra work, but he doesn't seem to care."

"You punished him for being creative?"

"We don't consider it punishment, Mr. Gruber. We're trying to get him to understand the importance of class time and what his duties are in—"

"By punishing him." What the hell did she want him to do about it that she hadn't already tried? He sighed and closed the book. "Can I have this? I'll have Danny return it. There’s someone I'd like to—maybe have his therapist take a look."

On the way back outside with his son, Gus wondered if his parents had ever sat through one of those ridiculously uncomfortable meetings. He'd been no saint, but he didn't think he'd ever been the cause of the combination of anger and confusion he was feeling now and not towards Danny.

After dinner, Gus asked Danny to make sure his homework was all done and that he'd come and check on him later. He hadn't approached the subject of the drawings with the boy during dinner. In his gut, Gus didn't think the situation quite rose to Chicken Little status, but it still bothered him that his teacher had seemed so concerned. If he'd been doing this before the accident, maybe it really did mean something else. Gus' internal negative voice of doom continued to fill him with 'what ifs' and 'oh, my gods' until they began to weigh on his chest.

He glanced at his phone. Maybe he should call Dr. V, but if he unloaded on her, she might think he was the one needing help. Besides, they had a meeting in a few days anyway. Scrolling down the contacts, he stared at the word 'Tom'. After a moment, he closed his phone and tried to take his mind off things by going through the recent household bills and some of the other papers Dede had stuffed in her desk drawer. That occupied all of three minutes before he flipped open his phone again and called Tom.

It rang four, five times and he was about to give up when Tom answered.

"Look, I'm sorry to bother you, but…"

"No problem; I just don't have time to talk right now. I've got evaluations waiting for me, and I'm already late. Wouldn't want to deprive anyone of a trip to the state hospital."

Gus took a deep breath but didn't say anything.

"Gus, that was a joke, okay… you with me? Maybe I can call you back later."

"Yeah, no. No problem, really. Don't worry about it." They said their goodbyes and it was strange, but he felt calmer just from hearing Tom's voice.

Damn it. Danny was his son; Danny needed him to help. Gus abandoned the bills and went down to his son's room. He had to be careful not to let on that he was worried or that he thought something was wrong with his son – Danny would be sure to shut him out then. Gus tried to see the whole picture. It hadn't escaped him that Danny had played endless loops of Street Fighter II and Tony Hawk since coming home from the hospital. He thought hard about that. It was sort of the same as the drawing, wasn't it? A way to disconnect and work through his anger, but wasn't that a healthier alternative than actually fighting someone or doing crazy stunts on a skateboard?

It wasn't as if he left Danny alone all the time. Shit, what did his teacher expect? They were supposed to have the insight. It bothered him a bit that Dede never mentioned the doodling. Maybe she felt the same way he did and didn't think it worth mentioning. He wondered if she would support his position or rip him a new one for being so insensitive.

The thing was, the art was good; Danny had a definite talent, something Gus thought should be encouraged rather than quashed. He went over and sat down beside his son. "Think I can kick your butt there, Ryu?"

"No way!" The laughter wasn't exactly a boon to his confidence, but he happily accepted the controller from his opponent.

"Oh, it's on now, kid. Nobody laughs at Gus Gruber's fighting skills – well, actually they do – but you won't be laughing by the time I'm through with you."

"Sure, dad. You want me to start it at beginner level?"

"I beg your pardon. What level do you play? Doesn't matter, I'm not afraid of you. Do your worst."

A few of the games were close – very close. Excuses were made, controllers were swapped back and forth, and still they played on. After a few roundhouse power kicks in the final round, Gus conceded. "Nooooo, beaten by a kid with a cast on his arm," he whined, falling over on the floor in defeat, but he promised to lick his wounds and be back for more.

Danny whooped and fist pumped, then joined Gus on the floor.

"Hot chocolate?" Gus asked, before he looked at the clock. It was late, but too late to undo the invitation. Danny was already up and halfway down the hall.

They sat across from each other at the table, a cache of miniature marshmallows beside each cup. These were lobbed back and forth in an effort to hit the other's mug. Messy, but battles usually were. Gus had already cried foul because Danny squirted a cloud of whipped cream in his mug, making it virtually impossible to do anything but plop the marshmallow right in the center of the cloud. All of Gus' attempts bounced off and fell to the table where Danny got to eat them. Parity returned when Gus made his own cloud.

"So, how am I doing so far?" he asked. "The dad thing I mean."

Danny's smile faded a little. He shrugged and tossed another marshmallow at Gus' mug.

"You know I'm really trying, right?" Great. He'd put his foot in it now. Danny seemed to be thinking. Probably trying to find a way to let him down easy.

"Why did you leave mom?"

Chapter Twelve

Gus sighed. One of those life-draining kicks might have been preferable. Of course, this was inevitable, wasn't it? There was nothing to do but deal with it.

"Didn't you love her?"

Gus got up, slid into the chair right beside Danny, and held both his hands. "I loved your mother very much. I don't ever want you to think I didn't. Only sometimes, even people who care about each other can't live together."

"Why not?"

"Because the way they think about other things is different. Sometimes so different that... well, it can affect other things in their relationship. Sometimes it's better for them to live apart. And you... you're the most important thing in the world to me. That's why I want to do my best to be a good dad."

"Did Mom stop loving you?"

There it was. There was that roundhouse to the kidney. Sweat trickled down behind his ear. Honesty, Gus, honesty. "No, son. I don't believe she ever did."

"Then why did you leave? I don't understand."

"You will when you get a little older – I just hope you never have to find out firsthand."

Danny leaned over and laid his head on Gus' chest. "I can hear your heartbeat," he whispered after a moment.

Gus held him there. He still hadn't said the things he knew he should have. Things like they had each other now and they were going to make it. He needed to believe those things himself first before he could convince Danny.

~~~~~

Everything was different about the ship. The darkness was an ominous, oppressive presence that sank inside and sucked the marrow from his bones – a pervasive and utterly oblique sadness as deep as a well with no way out. No steps, no rope. Nothing. Ocean sounds came from all sides, echoing everywhere he turned.

The pack seemed like a part of his body; he couldn't shrug it off. It was heavy and the size of it kept him from being able to go through some of the doors. The small boy was dressed in navy and white; he looked like Danny. He was on the other side of all the doorways Gus couldn't get through. On the other side crying or asking for help. In some of them, he was bloody; in others, he wore a blue canvas sling. In another hallway, he was an older child, the next he was a teenager, and the next a young man... all with Danny's auburn hair and blue eyes. All needing Gus and all inside thresholds Gus couldn't cross.

Stumbling around, he found Tommy and Charley, even Stu and Julia. To each one, he asked for help. Help with the pack. Help to remove it. But when they turned around, each bore the same red hair and blue...

"Dad. Dad?"

The faces and the interiors of the ship began to lift before his eyes.

"Dad, are you okay?"

"What? What is it?" Gus bolted up and looked around. He was in the guest room, light streaming in from the hall. Danny's face startled him for a moment, until he noticed his son looked on the verge of tears. "What is it, Danny?" he asked again.

"You were yelling about Tommy and Charley and you needed to save somebody. Who's Charley?"

He pulled Danny to him and hugged him hard. "I'm okay, buddy. It's okay. Now, you go back to bed. You've got school tomorrow."

"I could stay here if you're scared," he said into Gus' chest. "I could sleep with you."

Gus thought about saying he was fine, but when he looked into Danny's eyes, it was clear Danny was the one who was afraid. "Sure, I'd like that. I'll go to sleep and you keep all the bad things away, deal?"

Danny smiled and hopped in bed. It was a smile that wiped that fear away and was worth everything they'd been through the past few days.

Chapter Thirteen

"The point is, Gus, that was totally unacceptable behavior. I need you here when meetings are scheduled and I need you here on time."

He'd prepared himself for a rant, but the clouds were gathering fast. "I know and I realize sorry doesn't quite cut it but I had a meeting with my son's teacher and I must have forgotten to check my calendar. It won't happen again." He folded his hands in his lap. You were never supposed to make excuses. You sat there and took your ass-chewing like a man and then made damn sure it didn't happen again. Bosses loved that feeling of power but all they really cared about was results. Rita was no different. In fact, Gus knew she'd be slicing someone else up five minutes after he left.

Rita Girardi was good at her job. Gus knew that, too. She was a hard-ass and their relationship had always been somewhat competitive, Gus thought, but underneath it all there was a thin layer of mutual respect. True to the myth of the redhead, Rita was feisty and could be a real bitch to deal with.

She stood and walked over to the windows spanning her corner office. "Listen, Gus, I understand your situation and I even empathize a bit but the work is important – the clients are important."

"Yes, I know, but—"

He didn't like the look on her face. Not the normal take-no-prisoners look, it started a thread of fear around his heart. "I'm sorry but this was a real embarrassment. The client flew in especially for the meeting and you weren't here. He graciously agreed to re-schedule."

Gus' face burned hot. "Yes. I got the email and the voice message. I've put it on my calendar and my phone." Rita's stare burned right through him.

"I have people watching me, too, Gus. I'm responsible. They chalk this up to me not you."

His jaw clenched. "Haven't we had this talk before?" he asked, chancing a sideways glance at her. He'd fucked up, okay, he got it. But he wasn't a miscreant teenager and if she was going to can him, then for fuck's sake go ahead and do it.

She nodded. "Yes we have and I can promise you we won't have it again."

Gus stared into those steel-blue eyes. That dark twisting in the pit of his stomach said she meant to keep that promise.

The wind caught him as he stepped out of the building. He pulled the collar of his coat up and checked his watch. There was just enough time to make the appointment with Tommy.

~~~~~

"Jesus," Tommy said. "Why don't you tell her to go fuck herself? You can get another job."

Gus looked up from the Probate Court Order he was reading. "No. It's not like that anymore. I can't count on getting a job—I can't take the chance. Maybe if I relocated, but I can't take Danny away from his home."

Tommy leaned back in his chair. "That's wherever you are now."

"No." Gus shook his head. "He's been through so much. Changing schools now, having to make new friends... no, I just have to keep on my toes and make sure I don't trip up again."

The muffled ringing of Gus' cell phone interrupted the conversation; he fished it from his coat pocket. It was Tom. "Hey... Sure... I'm at a meeting downtown but I can be on my way in five minutes... no, that's great. I'll meet you there." He made a big production of putting his phone away, trying to keep the smile off his face and trying to look serious when he turned back to Tommy. "So, is this all I need then?" he asked.

"What was that? Are you seeing someone?"

Gus brushed it off. "Nothing, I'm just meeting someone for lunch. Anything else?"

"It's that guy, isn't it… Danny's doctor?" Tommy grinned and suggested it was the same thing – meeting for lunch, lunch date.

Gus thought about that but didn't see the connection. Sure talking to Tom usually made him feel better and perhaps he was becoming too dependent on the friendship but it wasn't any more than that. Tom was a psychiatrist for Pete's sake, probably saw Gus as a hobby or something. And Gus certainly didn't have time for anything more complicated. Wasn't he handling enough shit at the moment?

~~~~~

Like a hungry patron, a blast of cold, gray air swept past Gus as he entered the restaurant, causing several diners to look his way at the interruption. Joseph's Café was one of those cozy, family-owned places near the medical center where you could always get great food and hot coffee. It was the latter Gus was thinking about as he scanned the crowded tables and booths for Tom.

"How'd you rate lunch?" Gus asked, taking a seat opposite Tom in one of the booths along the wall. He got a waiter's attention and asked for a cup of coffee. "Not that I'm complaining," he said, shucking out of his coat. "I'm famished and I'm freezing".

"Sometimes after class I'm too wired, can't sleep. Thought I'd give you a call since I had to blow off dinner. By the way, what was it you needed to talk to me about?"

"Oh, nothing. All taken care of." Gus rubbed his bare hands together to warm them and picked up a menu.

Tom's face twisted into a mock pout. "I'm crushed."

Gus laughed. "Seems Danny is a budding Picasso, only his teacher's pissed because he likes to create on her time. Then there's my job, my boss. It's nothing, really." Where was the guy with his coffee?

"Still, sorry I wasn't able to help."

"Don't be. I can't run to you with every little thing." Gus looked up and caught Tom's gaze. "You'll stop taking my calls and start avoiding me."

"I wouldn't worry about..." Tom's smile flagged. "Gus, your hands are shaking."

He dropped the menu, folded his hands over it and avoided Tom's eyes. "It's nothing; I told you, I'm cold. Must've dropped my gloves somewhere along the way."

The waiter brought Gus' coffee and Tom told him to take it back. "Do you have any herbal tea?" he asked.

"Oh, you're not serious." Gus jerked his head up. One would have thought Tom had questioned his manhood.

"Hot tea, then," Tom told the waiter, who hesitated a moment but dutifully retrieved the coffee and disappeared. "At least it's lower in caffeine," Tom said. "You don't look like you need any more. You ought to slow down, might keep you from having to use those pills you carry around."

Gus flushed red to the tips of his ears. "You noticed that, huh?"

"I'm a doctor, remember. Nitro?"

"I get these pains…" Gus trailed off, waving his hand between them, still not looking at Tom.

"Maybe we should skip lunch and get you over for an evaluation," Tom suggested.

"You are serious… I told you, I'm okay. I can take care of myself."

"Yeah, I can see that."

All along the wall above the booths hung original black and white photos of Old Chicago. The one above them was a view of LaSalle Street from the Board of Trade building. Gus avoided the glare he could feel by focusing on the architecture. "It's the job," he said, trying to pass it off and keep his voice even. "I've been working some long hours. It's nothing. Can we just order now?"

But Tom didn't let up. "Gus, think about it, in the space of a couple of months, you've lost your ex-wife, you've been thrown into single parenthood, and you're dealing with a grieving child. You are totally out of your element."

"Hey…" It sounded much worse the way Tom put it and left Gus feeling more inadequate that usual.

"It's true, and it's obviously taking its toll. When was the last time you saw a doctor?"

Gus turned back to him and shrugged. "I called to have my prescriptions transferred. I spoke with my doctor then." He picked up the menu again and pretended to be interested.

"Hasn't he referred you to anyone here?"

"Yes." Gus treated the word like an annoying fly buzzing their table. "But I haven't had time to—"

Tom leaned forward. "Make time. Who is it? Who did he refer you to?"

"I don't know, someone at the medical center." When Tom raised his eyebrows, Gus fumbled for his wallet and pulled out a slip of paper from the many lists and notes. "Dr. Marva Simms. You know her?"

"I've heard of her. She's good. So, you'll call her office this afternoon, right?"

"Sure. I'll check myself into the Mayo Clinic if you want. Can we order lunch now?"

Tom stared for a moment; he looked tired. "Okay, here's the part I know you're going to hate, the part where a doctor tells you what to do, but you don't give me much choice. If you don't have the time for yourself, make the time for Danny. What if something happened to you, Gus? Do you seriously think he could—"

"Christ, I'm not a kid. I said I'd call. I'll call, okay?" He sensed a few people had turned to look their way, but he kept his eyes defiantly on Tom.

The waiter appeared and placed a cup of tea and small metal pitcher on the table; Gus pushed the cup away and Tom waved the guy off. "Just give us a few minutes."

"Tom, I'm starving."

"Look, I've grown rather fond of both of you guys and I am not willing to stand by and watch the kid be hurt anymore." There were times when Tom's voice demanded he be taken seriously; this was one of those times. "That should be first in your mind, too," he said, sliding the steaming cup back over in the silence between them.

Gus glanced from the tea to Tom. "Jesus, do priests and shrinks get together and do guilt workshops or something?"

One, two beats went by before Tom started to laugh. Not a chuckle or chortle or even a snicker but a huge, meaty guffaw that soon had Gus laughing himself. Listening to it seemed to be the only medicine Gus needed. He watched Tom dab the corners of his eyes with the edge of a napkin. Man, someone should try and put that laugh in pill form, or maybe an inhaler. Hell, better yet, just inject it straight into his veins.

~~~~~

After getting Danny to school without a second to spare, Gus had stopped by the market on the way home. It was better to take care of the errands while Danny was at school to minimize his time spent in the car. Gus was beginning to worry about that – Danny might not ever learn to drive because of the accident and an all-American teenaged boy not revved up to have that first car just seemed wrong.

He'd even stopped playing video games that involved driving. Gus had given him the latest Need for Speed game for Christmas (because he knew Dede wouldn't and Danny had wanted it), but all his cajoling and trying to get Danny to play it with him had been for naught so far.

His cell buzzed as he set the market bags on the kitchen counter. It wasn't a number he recognized and since Danny wasn't with him, he answered it.

"Yes, this is Gus Gruber."

"Sir, I'm calling from University Cardiology Consultants to schedule your appointment with Dr. Simms."

"Excuse me?"

"Your referral from Dr. Arquette? He asked that we get you in as soon as possible. Dr. Simms has a cancellation for the 29th at 11:00 a.m. Would you be able to make that?"

Gus shook his head and thought of Tom calling as soon as he'd gotten home. Actually, Gus had forgotten all about it. He agreed to the appointment without looking at his calendar, jotting the information down on the back of the grocery receipt. "No, no. I'm sure I'll be able to find the office." I'll just ask Dr. Busybody "Yes, thank you for calling."

He put away the few groceries and thought about Tom not trusting him to call. It wasn't as if Gus didn't know the importance of getting established with a new doctor, but he'd been feeling much better even with the stress of trying to be a good fit as a father. And Tom couldn't have known it, but Gus did have a tendency toward procrastination that sometimes got way out in front of him. Truthfully, it might have taken something major for him to have finally called Dr. Simms. At least, now it was done, one less thing he had to worry about.

It was almost ten; he had plenty of time to work on the MacDougal Music Company ads before he'd have to go back and pick up Danny. All settled at Dede's desk in the attic room – he liked it better for creative purposes – instead of firing up his MAC, he opened his laptop and called up the outline he'd been toying with. It was bare bones to say the least, but his head was full of ways to tell his story.

Entire scenes played out in his head like clips from a film. He just needed to put his fingers to the keyboard, and try and keep up with his brain. By the time his morning coffee made that first tug at his bladder, it was lunchtime.

He'd never thought of himself as a writer, even though he'd kept a journal for a while after Kyle had died. The writing had been free flowing and unfiltered, straight from his heart. Someone, he couldn't remember, had mentioned it might help. Fearing it would be too emotional, he'd never gone back to read any of it. Dede agreed and she'd put the journal away with some of the other things she'd wanted to keep. Later, Gus had caught her crying in the bathroom. It was never mentioned between them, but Gus knew she'd read at least portions of it.

After a bathroom break and lunch, he started work on the music store ads. They were due the end of the week and he was well into the presentation. He'd get a few more hours work before he had to pick up Danny.

Chapter Fourteen

Fortunately, the MacDougal brothers had been more than pleased with the designs for the school brochures. He had scored much needed points with the boss and had ridden that high for a couple of days before he'd begun doodling pictures to one of the stories he was reading to Danny. The fact that he was doodling when he was supposed to be working didn't escape him. In fact, it made him smile. Now, though, he was just waiting for Danny to get out of school.

He missed illustrating, but his boss had made it clear that he shouldn't get his hopes up. Gus was convinced she wasn't going to break her neck passing any opportunities his way. He put his drawings away when he saw his son and got out of the car to open the door.

Danny hesitated when Gus opened the front one. "Why do we have to go?" he asked.

"Because Tom is coming for dinner and he won't have much time. I told him we'd go by the Asian market and get the things he needs."

"You could take me home first. I can stay by myself until you get back."

Gus kept his hand on the door, well aware that angry mothers were staring him down. "But we're only a few blocks from the store, and I am not coming back out. Now, get in the car. Please."

Danny opened the back door, slung his bookbag in the floor, and climbed in. Same thing: straight to the middle, strap in, and put his head down. Gus slammed the door just hard enough to show his frustration; he desperately needed to find a way around this. He'd done everything Dr. Rose had suggested and nothing was working.

Back at home, Gus sent Danny to this room to start his homework, then checked the time. The kitchen was clean, the floors had all been vacuumed, and he had about an hour before Tom would arrive. First checking in to see if homework was actually being done, he went to his room to change.

Clotheshorse was a term never used in conjunction with the name Gus Gruber, and Gus kind of liked it that way. About the best he could hope for was to find a clean pair of khakis and the least obnoxiously geeky tee shirt he owned. Gus loved his shirts; altogether, they were a wonderful mélange of his personality and expression. Dede had never dissuaded him of his obsession; however, on most gift-giving occasions, she had usually slipped in some normal clothes.

Besides, it was only Tom. Gus wasn't trying to make an impression, after all. So why had he just put on yet another shirt and looked appraisingly at himself in the mirror? "Fuck," he grumbled, stuffing the other shirts back in the drawer. He liked the one he had – pale yellow with a burgundy screen print of Edgar Allen Poe on the back. When Gus found himself poking and fluffing his hair, he rolled his eyes and slammed the door behind him.

~~~~~

Gus felt as if he were passing muster as Tom surveyed the items set out on the counter. He thanked Gus, his offer to pay dying on his lips at Gus' glare. He handed Tom a beer.

"Then all I need is a large frying pan and some help with the prepping."

"There's a wok," Gus replied, "but I'm afraid I've got two left hands when it comes to knives."

Tom smiled and said pointedly, "Don't worry, I'm a doctor."

Gus laughed and opened his own beer. "Just give me the easy stuff, then."

Slicing onions wasn't so bad; it was easier after Tom showed him the proper way to hold the knife and, more important to Gus, how to guard his fingers. Still, having to stop and swipe at his eyes made the task seem much longer. He watched while Tom cubed the chicken and sliced the flank steak. Setting those aside, he started on his own chopping.

"Hey, what did Rose say about Danny's drawing?"

"What we figured, a release, though I wish I knew what he'd been angry about before. The teacher said they'd discussed it with Dede."

"Could be anything. Maybe he was being bullied at school or made fun of in some way."

"Wouldn't Deeds have known? The teachers?"

"Did you tell your parents everything?" Tom asked with a quirk of his brow. "Kids like Danny keep a lot to themselves. As much as you'd like to think he'd come running to you with everything, it ain't gonna happen. What does Rose say?"

"For now, we're going to try and work on some sort of reward system for doing his work and focusing on paying attention in class. His teacher will send me reports by email and we'll go from there. We agreed we don't want to do anything to squelch the creativity at this point."

"You may have a gifted child on your hands, Gus."

"Funny you should say that. Next year, he'll be eligible for the Visions program. It's an advanced, critical-thinking learning module they use with the regular curriculum and it includes an art program. Rose feels that might give him the outlet he needs. Gifted? That would be all Dede's doing."

"You don't give yourself enough credit," Tom said gathering the vegetables together. He brushed against Gus' wrist as he did so. "Well, looks like the rest is up to me. Shouldn't take long if you want to check on him. The noodles will be the last thing; might be fun for Danny to do that."

Gus took a sip of his beer and nodded, not really sure about this much too comfortable feeling. Not only with Tom, but with Tom's comfort with Danny.

The conversation during dinner was a crazy quilt of baseball, video games, how cool codebooks were, and how that was totally not cheating. All random squares that made the time pass much too quickly, but no so quickly Gus didn't catch Tom staring a few times.

"Dr. Tom, do you live in a house?" Danny asked out of nowhere.

Gus tried to speak up quickly in a lame attempt to unravel that particular thread.

Tom looked at him then back to Danny. "It feels like I live at the hospital," he joked, then added, "But when I'm not there, I live in a very small apartment I share with a couple of overactive potted plants. They really like it there and I don't have the heart to get rid of them. Why?"

The boy shrugged. Gus noticed Danny wouldn't look at him. "Do you like my dad?"

The clatter of flatware on china was deafening. Tom seemed completely unflustered by the question while Gus felt he was glowing all over as he hurriedly retrieved his fork. He started to make some wisecrack to lighten the mood, but Tom spoke up first.

"Sure I do. Why would you ask that?"

"My Aunt Sandy said my dad didn't have any friends, and Mom said he'd probably never get married again, so I thought if you didn't have a real house, you could come and live with me and dad... like a family."

Gus pushed his plate away. Oh, god this was bad. Awkward wasn't the word for this. This was meeting the love of your life in the supermarket checkout when you only ducked in as a favor to your Uncle Carl to pick up his weekly supply of Depends.

Tom crossed his arms on the table and leaned forward toward Danny. "I can't imagine why your aunt would say such a thing. Your dad's a great guy – he's smart and funny and I bet he's got lots of friends. As for marriage, well, that's something people don't always rush into." He glanced at Gus. "If I had to guess, I'd say you were pretty important to your dad right now and he just wants to concentrate on making a good home for you."

Danny seemed to be processing Tom's words, chewing on them as thoughtfully as the chicken. God only knew what he'd heard from Sandy over the years and what Dede had said was her way of being honest with their son. She hated lying, but knew the value of not being brutally frank.

Tom started to gather his plate. "I have to be rude and eat and run tonight," he said. He looked at Danny. "Sorry, maybe you can show me your wicked ninja skills next time."

Gus waved vainly at the dishes. "That's okay, somebody needs to get ready for bed anyway. Starting with a bath," he said to Danny. "How about you help Tom take the dishes into the kitchen and I'll get it ready for you."

Danny said good night and Gus walked Tom out to his car. It was just falling dark and he was happy for bit of cover. Nut-crushing awkwardness aside, he couldn't help poking it. "Look, I'm really sorry about that back there. This thing about family and—"

"Safety in numbers, huh?" Tom joked, pulling a pained smile from Gus. "He's eight, Gus. No filters, remember? He misses the structure, has probably missed it for a long time. What he craves is perfectly normal."

"Still, I mean, you didn't have to say those things…" Gus stuffed his hands in his pockets; his muscles stiffened against the chilly breeze.

"Sure I did. You don't want Danny thinking his old man's a loser, do you?"

He looked away from Tom's serious face. Of course, a little sleight of hand was necessary with kids, and… "Right…"

Gus' breath caught the second Tom hooked his finger beneath his chin, tipping it up where he couldn't avoid Tom's smile or his eyes. It was as if the next words came straight from those eyes.

"I said those things because I meant them." He turned his head slightly, but Gus barely noticed, because the only thing his brain could process at the moment was that Tom was touching him. His heart began to pound in a vaguely familiar rhythm, one he barely remembered. "You'll find I'm very direct that way."

Gus watched the words more than heard them – the way they twisted Tom's mouth and showed slender, white columns of teeth, the way his lips pursed around the shape of the letters. Jesus, was he waiting for a reply? Because Gus couldn't speak. Hell, he could barely breathe.

Tom was still right there. All Gus would need to do… and maybe he did lean in a little, wondering why he couldn't take his eyes away. Tom's voice broke the spell right as Gus felt his heels leaving the ground.

"Gotta go," he said quickly. The touch was gone; Tom was getting into his car, backing out of the driveway. Gus had let him get away.

He took a look around the kitchen and decided to put away the leftovers; the rest could wait until morning. Dinner had been great, but then he'd expected that. What he hadn't expected was the way Tom's touch had left him empty and wanting more. A whole new kind of hunger.

Chapter Fifteen

It was a hunger he fed over the next few days with fantasies, self-indulgence, and long showers. Two days and that touch still lingered. The gentle roughness and the way Tom smelled up close, herbal shampoo, spice, and just enough of something dark and sensual to make Gus have impure thoughts. God, he really needed to stop. It was much too distracting. Distracting him from work, from the writing, from everything except the foolish imp of hindsight where he wished he'd have made a move, something.

What had it meant? What had that look in Tom's eyes meant except… Damn it, Gus, get a grip already.

His day had thankfully been busy – an office meeting, taking Danny in for his follow-up and to have the cast removed. He had a new campaign to work on that he wasn't crazy about, which was why, he suspected, his boss had assigned it to him.

Day had blurred into evening where Gus hoped things would get better. Not so much. Danny was irritable, probably because now that he could scratch, Gus had to nag him about not drawing blood. He'd even tried to make something for dinner he thought his son would like, but Danny had complained the entire meal that the spaghetti sauce wasn't the same as Tom's and had generally been a brat about homework and picking up his room.

The last thing he'd said while scraping the contents of Danny's plate into the disposal was that Danny had exactly thirty minutes to have his work done and be ready for bed. After turning the dishwasher on, Gus headed for his bathroom on what he hoped wouldn't be a futile search for an antacid. It seemed the entire day wanted to reprise itself right in the center of his chest.

He passed Danny's room and poked his head in. Any other night, the sight of Danny sitting Indian-style on the floor clutching a game controller would evoke a frustrated sigh and an admonishment to get back on task. Not tonight. Danny may have well given Gus the finger for all the ire it sparked. God damn it, he was doing the fucking best he could. What the fuck did it take to get through to this kid?

"What are you doing?"

Danny turned around, 'busted' written all over his face. And if Gus had been able to think beyond his anger for just a moment, he might have realized that Danny was doing the best he could, probably constantly wondering what the hell it took to please this crazy man.

Gus didn't even give him time to answer. "What you're not doing is your homework, exactly what I told you to do." He took the controller from Danny's hand and cut the game off with a slap. "Right now. Get up."

"I finished."

"Show me." Gus stood there with hands on his hips, the pressure between his ears building. It was a stance his mother had taken on many occasions, but now was not the time to think on the similarities. Danny pointed to his table. Clearly, he expected Gus to simply take his word. The bookbag was open, but there was no sign anything had been done, which only poured fuel on the fire. "Get up," he said again, pulling Danny up by his good arm. "Show me."

Danny wrenched away from him. "I said I finished it."

"Where? Where is it? That's it – I'm done. You can go without it then and take the consequences." He started putting the books back in the bag.

"No."

"Too bad. It's obviously not important to you," Gus said, zipping the bag, taking it with him.

"I hate it here! You never let me do anything. I'd rather go live—"

Gus tried. Dear god, he tried not to let that cut. "With Sandy? You think it's better over there?" he said whirling around, slamming the bookbag down on the table.

"I don't care. Anywhere."

"Okay. Fine. Maybe you're right." Gus tried to get a good breath. "But if you want to go, let's not waste any time." Reason had nothing to do with Gus' decision – made in an instant of intuition – to storm through the room, pull a suitcase from the closet, and start tossing clothes inside. "We probably can't get everything in here, but it should be enough to last for a while. Of course, you'll have to leave the Playstation – you don't know where you'll end up, right? And the computer is out for sure; that's too heavy, and besides, wherever you're going may not have access."

In some fucked-up moment of clarity, it hit Gus what he was doing, but somehow he knew he had to be strong and carry it through; otherwise, he'd look like a raving lunatic. Danny's sniffling hurt, pulled at him hard, but he thought he might make it as long as he didn't look at his son. Words and phrases swirled in his mind – Rose, Tom – they were right and he had to deal with this once and for all. He handed the suitcase to Danny, who let it fall to the floor, then began unplugging the games, computer, TV. "No point in really keeping these then… I won't use them. There's probably a little boy somewhere who'd like to have them, so we'll just give them away, okay?"

"No!"

"But you won't need them. You're not going to be here. I'm sure wherever you end up will be so much better, right? Okay, let's get your shoes on." Gus grabbed Danny's jacket from the closet and pushed it into his arms. "Here, let's go," he said, picking up the small suitcase.

Danny backed away but Gus took him by the arm and pulled him down the hall. "What's the problem? You don't like it here, remember? Don't you want to go find another place to live with some nice family?"

Danny fought Gus' hold. "What's wrong with you?" Danny shot back. "You want me to leave?"

Gus took a deep breath and bit his lip. He thought of his pills on the counter in the kitchen. "Of course not," he said opening the front door. "But it doesn't matter what I want, does it? I'm doing this for you." He pulled Danny once more toward the cold blackness outside, but Danny finally managed to pull free.

"No!" he yelled and ran back through the house to his room.

Gus stood in the doorway; the cold air dried the tracks across his face immediately. Feeling as if every particle of life had been sucked from him, he barely had the strength to push the door closed. When he did, he let the suitcase slip from his hand and leaned his forehead against the door to cool it, his heart a hammer pumping words inside his head.

…you have to take care of him… only be gone a couple of hours… the baby's your responsibility... Gus… Gus?

He jerked around, expecting to see Dede standing beside him. Jesus. The voice was so clear. The words were the same—the first time she'd ever left him alone with Danny. He blinked and blinked again, but there was nothing... nothing but his own voice filling the empty air with the sound of her name.

The bourbon probably wasn't the best choice, but it was close and easy and, right now, Gus was all about the easy. How in hell was he going to fix this? Shame stung his face much as the alcohol did his throat. Oh Christ, what had he done? He didn't even want to know what Danny must think of him now. If he wasn't afraid of his old man before, he certainly was now. He had to do something. Decision made, he took another sip, a bit more fortification for what he knew he had to do. Absently, he felt his pocket for his cell, but even if it had been there, he couldn't call Tom.

Dede had been right. It was his responsibility now and there was no way he could let the night end like this.

He started down the hall when the door to Danny's room opened. Danny saw him, then looked down to the floor before running and wrapping his little arms around his father.

Gus fought hard to swallow the swelling, bourbon-flavored lump in his throat, but that only added to the fire in his chest.

"Why don't you want me to stay here with you?" Danny asked in a very tiny voice.

Gus smoothed the boy's damp hair back from the side of his face not plastered to Gus' side. "I do. I want that more than anything in the world." And he did. Could they just please stay this way for a while? Forget the homework, the cross words, the anger and frustration? Just be the two of them? God, couldn't something just be easy for a change? "How about you? What do you want, Sport?"

The boy's arms tightened. "Whatever you want."

It didn't seem like much on the face of it, but it was the biggest hurdle yet for both of them, and it appeared they both may have cleared it. "Well, how about we start with your homework. I want you to go inside and finish it." Danny nodded against him and gave Gus another hug before turning to go to his room, hesitating a moment before going inside.

Gus stood there a moment, skin flushed hot once more, and he knew it was just his imagination, but he felt something like a gentle push. In his mind, Dede was giving him that look, like she was waiting. Jeez, he'd made one hell of mess of the room, but Danny was sitting at his table with his notebook. The lamp on the dresser was on but it wasn't nearly enough.

"This might help," he said, turning on the overhead light and taking a seat beside his son. Danny didn't look up from his writing, but Gus lifted the corner of the book he was working from. "Geography, huh? I wasn't so bad at geography—of course, that was a long time ago, back when it didn't change around so much. What's your assignment?" he asked carefully, making a special effort to keep his voice calm.

"We have to write one paragraph about each of the Great Lakes."

"Well, Lake Michigan should be easy for you," Gus said, but Danny still didn't look up. "You, uhm, you know, I remember my dad telling me stories how he and his brother and my grandpa would ice fish. My Pops had a house at Lake Geneva."

"That's not a great lake," Danny said, like Gus should know better.

"No, you're right, it's not." He let that sit for a moment and watched his son.

"What kind of fish?" Danny finally asked. "Big ones?"

"Mostly bluegills, which aren't very big but they're the easiest to catch. Then you've got your walleyes and pikes, they're sorta big—not like sport fish, though. My dad told me he caught a pike once all by himself and swore it weighed about thirty pounds." Without pictures, it was just his dad's word, and over the years that pike had grown a few pounds here and there.

"Will you take me fishing some time? On the ocean?"

The word ocean sent a little shockwave through his gut; Gus had sworn he'd seen his last of salt water. "Sure, that'd be fun. You'd love it. Hey, we could get Tommy and Charley to go with us. Just like one big, happy…"

Danny looked up at him. "Dr. Tom, too?" he asked, handing Gus several sheets of paper.

"Uh, sure, if he can get away from the hospital and if he wants to come."

"Those are the ones I finished. Do you want to look at them?"

The question caught him up short like a snapped 20-pound test line. Danny's entire demeanor seemed to have changed. Gus took the papers and gave his son a smile. "Okay. Yeah, let's see what you've got here. I'll, uhm, I'll look over these and you keep working."

"Okay. Then I have a few more math problems… you could help me, if you want to."

"Hey, you betcha, I'm even better at math," Gus lied. He squeezed the boy's shoulder and Danny smiled back; Gus needed that. He needed to think he could really do this. That Danny could finally feel comfortable and safe with him.

"Hey, how about some hot chocolate?" Gus asked after a while.

"Yeah!"

"As soon as you're done, we'll go make some before bed. We've got big and little marshmallows."

"Whipped cream," Danny said, turning to Gus and smiling again.

Gus watched him flip the page of his book. Another small and seemingly insignificant gesture in the whole muddled backdrop of the day, but it seemed to Gus to be a sign, a pivot point of change, and with it the room seemed to lighten, hell, the entire house seemed to have sloughed off a rough outer layer, filling him with the same lightness.

~~~~~

He took a last look and turned out the light. Good thing Deeds couldn't see her kitchen; she'd want to strangle them both. Gus had jumped on Danny's suggestion that clean up was something best tackled after a good night's sleep. As he followed Danny down the hall, he ran his hand idly through his hair, wondering if he'd gotten all the whipped cream out, and thinking a quick shower might be in order just in case.

Chapter Sixteen

The office of University Cardiology Consultants was like most other doctors' offices he'd had the pleasure of waiting in, if not a bit more sparsely decorated. He hated pretentious décor and amenities like coffee and television that were obviously supposed to take one's mind off the time passing.

Even though the color scheme was soothing shades of green, Gus' stomach churned and knotted. White Coat Syndrome was such a bitch. He'd usually begin to feel anxious a day or two before an appointment and could work himself into a real lather once he was in a waiting room. All of which helped nothing, of course. It only shot his blood pressure higher and made the chest pains worse but, at the moment, he was using all the tactics he'd learned over the years to keep from going full blown into panic mode.

Maybe it was worse because he was seeing a new doctor? It certainly wasn't helping that he'd signed in over forty-five minutes ago and he was still waiting. In fact, so was everyone else. The barrel-chested man in the corner with the pack of cigarettes peeking from his shirt pocket, flipping through one magazine after another like all he wanted to do was step outside for a smoke. The petite woman across from him who was reading a romance novel, and the tall man at the end of his row staring off into space as if he were on some other plane of consciousness.

He sighed and checked his watch again. After a few more long minutes, the man in the corner gave up and went to the desk to reschedule his appointment. He glanced at Gus on his way out the door. Gus took this opportunity and, gathering his things, he walked up to the desk to ask how much longer it would be.

"Dr. Simms is at the hospital and should be here anytime," the receptionist offered with a smile.

Great. The doctor wasn't even there. Gus looked at watch. "Look, I really have to be somewhere, I'll just reschedule."

The young woman entered something into her computer. "I'm sorry, Mr. Gruber, there's a note here not to reschedule. I'm sure the doctor will be along soon."

He nodded and returned to his seat. Okay, so he'd skipped the first appointment; it was either that or lose his job for missing another meeting. Resigned, he took out his folio binder and started to put together a few ideas for his new assignment. Thirty more minutes passed before the petite woman was called back. Gus abandoned his sketches at that point, thinking it wouldn't be long until it was his turn. He picked up one of the magazines and paged through it, trying to keep his mind off his agitation and that fact that the day was slipping away from him. He watched as a few more patients entered and signed in, taking seats where the petite woman had been sitting. Thankfully, his name was the next one called.

He followed the nurse through a small maze past exam rooms and a central file station. Gus wasn't sure whether to be heartened or cynical at the sheer number of patient files. They stopped at a small room where he was weighed and his vitals taken and noted. Next stop was the final waiting point, the exam room where he gave the nurse his life's story, answering questions he knew by heart.

"Dr. Simms has been detained, but she's on her way now," the nurse said as her parting words. He watched after her until she'd closed the door. Yeah, whatever.

A few more minutes and he would have been asleep, but finally there was movement outside the exam room – the sound of his new file being lifted from that little tray beside the door. Gus involuntarily held his breath until the door opened.

Forty-ish and fit, Dr. Marva Simms took him completely by surprise. She looked like she could have played guard in the WNBA, or at least able hold her own in a neighborhood pickup game. Her burnished skin was smooth and clear, and her eyes dark and bright. But it was her smile that was the real heart-stopper. It seemed to radiate into the room before she did, sort of its own presence. It said "trust me" just like Tom's and, clearly, one couldn't graduate medical school without having mastered it. Only Dr. Simms's was beautiful, too, and, whether Gus wanted to admit it or not, it probably dropped his blood pressure by twenty points.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Gruber," she said extending her hand. "I'm Marva Simms."

He took her hand, which was cool to the touch, a little dry, but firm. "Gus. Mr. Gruber was my dad."

"Well, Gus, give me just a minute here." She paged her way through the already thick file of prior records provided by Gus' doctor in New York. Tom had said that Dr. Simms had five siblings and all of them were doctors or studying to be doctors. One worked with an international physician's team, one was in med school on the west coast, another in Philadelphia, and two brothers had remained in their native Baltimore to practice. Dr. Simms's parents had both been educators in the public school system there.

"I don't think I've ever had to wait so long in a doctor's office before," Gus said absently, as if he needed to say something. "Is that common?"

Dr. Simms looked up from his file. The smile was still there, but the look in her eyes made his stomach sink. "Oh, I'm sorry, I was up to my elbows with an emergency coronary bypass." She raised her eyebrows. "Saving a life will always take precedence over people in the waiting room. But then, I like to think I'm worth waiting for." She went back to his file.

"Successful? The bypass, I mean," he asked, his face blistering.

"Quite," she answered without looking up.

She went through the litany of standard questions, most of which Gus had already answered. "Before you leave today, I'll want a CBC, base EKG, and we'll need to schedule you for a Doppler echo and a stress. I see you haven't had these procedures done in a while." She pulled up a small stool and sat down. "How often do you have to take the Nitro?"

Gus explained he took it just as needed, but he'd seemed to need it a good bit lately. He answered questions about his activity level, his job, and lifestyle, letting some of his exasperation bleed through from time to time. Dr. Abraham had brought him in, done an examination, and kept his meds refilled. He wasn't used to the medical third degree.

"Well, if you haven't guessed already, Gus, I'm a no excuses type of doctor. I'm good at what I do and I'm proud of it. Thing is, I like to have things my way, so pending the results of the echo and stress, I think some lifestyle modification will be a good place to start. With your condition, I'm sure you know the drill: diet, exercise, stress reduction."

"By heart." He gave her a weak smile that probably looked suspiciously like a smirk.

"From what I understand, you've been through a great deal lately. You've already got a congenital heart problem, one you'd like to think you can ignore. Add to that a son who depends on you and, for all your wishing this didn't exist, I'm afraid it does."

Gus stared and blinked once. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you've been talking with a certain medical center psychiatrist – one with a very big mouth."

She smiled again, but it was a genuine, amused smile. "It never hurts to have friends who care."

"So you do know him?"

"Tom and I were med students together – well, sort of. His first year was my last; I was one of the student advisors for one of his study groups. He was never shy about poking his nose in to learn as much as he could."

"Well, he obviously hasn't changed. Some people should just mind their own business. I've been doing fine, I don't see—"

"Right now," she interrupted, "your blood pressure is borderline, and I'd hazard a guess that your adrenals are taking a beating from both your meds and the stress you've been under."

Gus swallowed down his argument; his heart began to pump a little faster. This was the part he hated. The part where he always felt damaged, the part where doctors always made him feel like there was only so much he could do against the inevitable.

She got up from the stool and adjusted her stethoscope. "I'm here to help you, Gus, but I can't do it, and won't, if you're going to pull an attitude with me. Your condition is not an automatic death sentence, but it's not a get out of jail free card either. I feel we can nip a lot of this in the bud, and the one way to do it is for you to make a few changes, and get yourself on a different track."

"You mean do exactly as you say."

She patted his knee. "See there, we're gonna get along just fine." She stepped closer and put the stethoscope to his back. "Now, give me some deep breaths."

~~~~~

Gus answered his phone on the second ring.

"So, how'd it go?"

Gus sat down at the kitchen table. "I'm fine thanks, so is Danny. Well, now anyway."

"Why, what happened?"

"Nothing really. Just Danny being a bratty kid; kind of got on my last nerve. I won't say I went postal on the poor kid, but he started this 'I want to live anywhere but here crap, and I just…"

"You what?"

"Told him that if that's what he wanted, then let's go. I'd take him down to Child Services and let them find him a good home."

"And?"

Gus shrugged. "The kid apologized and we finished his homework. Things have been pretty good since. And if you say I told you so, I'm hanging up."

"Consider it unsaid, then." He knew Tom was smiling on the other end of the phone. "Danny needed to see that you can be assertive. Damn, I bet that was something. Kind of proud of yourself, aren't you?"

Gus smiled back at the phone. "A little."

"Now, back to my question. Actually, I meant how'd things go with Dr. Simms?"

"Oh, right, your friend from med school."

"She told you, huh? You might not have gone if I said I knew her."

Gus crinkled his brows and thought he'd work on that logic later. "Just your basic complete exam and lecture series."

"She's very thorough."

"Yeah, well, blood banks take less and I've got tests scheduled out the wazoo next week."

"So, what did you think of her?"

"She's okay. I think I got off on the wrong foot – had to wait forever, then she tried to make me feel bad because she was in emergency surgery. I mean, I could have rescheduled. And she's real big on the doctor-patient relationship, as long as the patient keeps his big mouth shut and does exactly as she says."

"You should count your blessings. She likes you."

"And how the hell do you know that?"

Gus could hear him shifting over the phone. "I called her to make sure you'd made it to your appointment this time. Wish I could have seen that clash of wits – I'd have bought a ticket."

"Ha-ha, you're so funny."

"Nah, maybe just a little smitten."

What the hell? Gus thought he knew now how menopausal woman felt. For the how many-ith time in one day, he flushed hot. Tom hadn't even hesitated… just, bam, out with it. The only thing he could think to do was make some lame excuse to hang up. Quick, before Tom was able to hear his heart pounding over the phone. Quick, before the conversation could take a turn in a direction he wasn't sure he was ready for yet.

He sat there staring at the phone in his hand. Really, it was nothing, it was Tom's way. He was a shrink; they loved to fuck with people's heads. The fact that Gus could talk to Tom as easily as he could Tommy or Stu… that didn't have anything to do with… Still, what were the odds Tom Arquette was anything but straight. Gus shook his head, and put down the phone. No. No, that kind of thinking would only lead to heartache. He stood up, still staring at this cell phone. Surely, Danny needed some help with homework.

Chapter Seventeen

"Dad?"

Gus squared his jaw and took a deep breath, focusing the brunt of his displeasure on Sandy. "No, I did not say he couldn't go, what I said was I would have liked some notice."

"The boys have been talking about this all week," Sandy said, completely unruffled.

"Then why am I the last to know?" He shot a glance at Danny and tried to think back if maybe he had mentioned it and Gus had forgotten.

Sandy pursed her lips. "I just assumed Danny would ask you."

"He's a kid, Sandy. All it would have taken was a few minutes to pick up the phone and…" The sound of the doorbell stopped the conversation and Danny turned on his heels toward the front door.

It was Tom. Danny had dropped his overnight satchel and was animatedly talking with Tom about something he held in his hand.

"Awesome. Dad, codebooks! I can't wait for Brad to see these." Sandy had come from the kitchen into the front room. "Hang on," Danny told her, "I'm gonna go get my games."

Gus waved Tom inside and closed the door. "Nice. I can't keep him off that thing now."

Tom grinned. "Thought it might boost his confidence a little – you said he was getting frustrated, so…"

"No, it's fine. Don't mind me." He cut his eyes in Sandy's direction as if that was explanation enough for his sour mood. "Have you met Dede's sister?"

Tom nodded. "At the hospital. Good to see you again."

Gus didn't like the look on her face. His insides seized, braced for anything.

"That's pretty personal service," she said when Danny returned to the room, her voice sickeningly sweet. "I had no idea doctors made house calls any more."

Gus grabbed Danny's shoulders and held him in place. Tom flashed that smile of his and said, with just as much saccharine, "Well, I've always been something of a maverick."

All that statement needed was a 'Howdy, Ma'am' and the tip of a white hat; Gus had to chew his lip to keep from laughing. But the wink was the topper and made Gus think of the word 'smitten'. He stood there waiting, staring as Sandy's face got redder by the second. For that little hitch in her breath when she tried for a comeback and came up empty, Gus could have kissed Tom right there in front of everyone.

She stalked out with Danny in tow, but not before he thanked Tom again and hugged his dad. "See you Sunday," Gus said and shut the door.

I know she's family, Gus, but that woman has a serious stick up her ass."

"So far she could spit splinters." Tom laughed and Gus felt it all the way to his balls. "No, I think it's just me. Her mission in life is to make mine rival the ninth circle of hell."

"Since it's just the two of us then, you want to make a night of it? We could go to a bar, the movies."

"You don't have to work?"

"I have the night off."

Gus thought about it, but he wasn't sure he could take a night of watching women hitting on Tom – or the other way around.

"There's a ballgame on, Sox and Pirates. We could make it a guy's night. Order pizza, have a few beers… sit around scratching our balls? Any of this sounding attractive… C'mon, Gus."

He snorted; he also knew what Tom was doing. He'd become very good at making Gus feel better. "Sure. Beer's in the fridge and I'll call in the pizza." He led the way to the kitchen and pointed Tom to the den. "You can take a look through the DVDs if you want. Dede upgraded to the DVR on Comcast," he said, searching through the drawer that held broken pencils, pens that didn't write, junk mail from 1997, and, sometimes, take out menus. "But unless you're a fan of Lifetime Television for women, there's not much there." He found the menu from Gino's, which was only a few blocks over.

"I'll be having the Veggie Supreme," he said, with a forced smile. "Light on the cheese – doctor's orders. What about you?" He pushed the menu in Tom's direction. He didn't take it, just pulled a DVD from the rack and held it up.

"Pretty much chick flick central here, but Top Gun?" Tom grinned and Gus flushed.

"Okay, now that was Dede's favorite movie. There's got to be something else."

"Oh, there is. You guys were children of the Eighties, huh?"

"Weren't you?"

A flicker of something passed over Tom's face. "Only technically," he said. Pointing to the menu, he added, "I'll have the same, extra cheese."

Gus used the house phone to call. He hated it when the kid answered with 'hold please' and put the phone down. One night, he given up and actually driven in to get his order – the phone was still off the hook. He'd mentioned that to the kid who'd picked up the receiver and asked if he could help them. Gus had taken his pizza and said 'you just did'. From the kitchen door, he could see Tom still flipping through the movies and was still waiting for the kid to come back to the damn phone.

"What about porn?" Tom asked and for a moment, Gus forgot what he was doing.

"Right. If you find any, be sure to let me know."

Tom turned and grinned. "At least 47% of the viewers of porn are women. It's a perfectly natural outlet.""I'm… No. We're talking about Deeds, here, okay. And where did you come up with that statistic?"

Tom shrugged. "Read it somewhere. It stuck."

"Well, I'm not so sure I want to think too mu… Yes, I'm still here. Thank God. You think I might get a couple pizzas delivered before the next millennium?"

~~~~~

Gus became a Chicago White Sox fan because hid dad was a White Sox fan – there'd been very few National Leaguers among the Gruber clan. Tom was a White Sox fan because they won more often than the Cubs. No matter how much Gus loved lazing around watching a game, a blowout was a blowout and boring to boot or maybe that was just the effect of the alcohol.

Pizza boxes rested on the coffee table along with the beer empties. How Tom had ended up almost horizontal on the sofa next to him Gus couldn't say. What he knew for sure was that his stomach was full, his head was in a good place, and things were... comfortable.

"Wow, I'd almost forgotten how nice it is being alone," he said.

"Thanks. You're a real ego booster, there, Gus. I think you're in the wrong profession; maybe you should try motivational speaking?"

Gus threw him a look. "I mean alone… you know, with another adult."

"Okay, that made perfect sense." Tom turned to him. "Feel better?" The tilt of Tom's head exposed his neck, making the tendons stand out. That shouldn't have been so sexy, but it was. So was the way those hazel eyes could be so quiet yet so intense.

Gus nodded, leaned forward, then caught himself. "You want another beer? Or... you have to drive?"

Tom's grin was drowsy and a little sinister. "Nope. And I lied about having the night off." He let that sit for a moment and Gus waited for him to continue, heat creeping its way up the back of his neck. "It's my weekend. I get a full weekend off every month." He turned toward the doorway then back to Gus. "Still, it's a long way to the front door… maybe I could crash here… I won't even need a blanket or anything. Unless, well, unless you really want to be alone.

Gus shook his head, eyes tracing the relaxed lines on Tom's face, the little flecks of silver at his temples, and God, those eyes. "I, uh, I might have a few episodes of South Park recorded, you want to watch those?"

~~~~~

"Shit, I haven't laughed so much in... I can't even remember." Tom may have been right. Gus thought so, too. For an hour or so Sandy disappeared, worries about his job and making things work with Danny seemed to fade far into the background. For a while, there was only this man with his generous laugh and the way his body draped lazily on Gus' couch – so close their shoulders almost touched.

Gus let his eyes wander over that body, down to… holy shit. He watched Tom's hand slide over the bulge in his jeans. Bastard. He wasn't even trying to hide it. Gus could almost feel those long fingers, and that thought set off little tremors deep behind his navel. He let his eyes travel slowly back up, over the jeans, the rumpled sweater and further. Tom was waiting on him, eyes dark and missing that little boy innocence they usually had.

"Can you get a hard-on from laughing?" Tom asked, no more mirth in his voice.

The heat trapped in the foam core of the sofa cushions hugged Gus' ass and threatened to swallow him up. He could actually feel the beads of sweat squeeze themselves out along his brow. Oh yeah, innocence had left the building – for both of them. "You're the doctor. But I'd have to say no."

His eyes grew wide glancing down at Tom's crotch where those fingers molded over a bulge that couldn't be ignored; the same with Tom's eyes, so damn deep and inviting.

"Must be you, then, Gus."

He stared at Tom, his heart beginning to pound. Damn, the way the words fell from Tom's mouth – lush and heavy – and the way…

"Gus…" Jesus, the way his named sounded dressed in Tom's hoarse whisper. "Gus, Gus, Gus…"

"What?"

"You've got your hand under my sweater." There was a play of something in Tom's eyes. Gus barely caught it as the words sank in. He looked down. Oh, shit.

"Oh, I—Jesus, Tom, I—"

"No, no…" Tom grabbed his hand before he could pull it away.

"What?" Gus asked again, barely able to coordinate breathing with forming words.

"I don't mind; it's just…" Tom held Gus' hand tighter to his chest. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

Gus peered at him through narrowed eyes. "I'm sorry, is that a trick question?" Gus thought the answer was quite obvious. "Seriously, you wanna talk about it? Analyze it?" Shit, maybe it wasn't what Tom wanted, only the blown pupils and the way Tom's heart was beating told Gus otherwise. "Way to ruin the moment, there, Doc." Gus was grinning like an idiot the whole time, so the words packed no heat – at least not the heat of anger.

The ghost of a smile crossed Tom's lips as he palmed the back of Gus' neck. God, those lips.

Tom's mouth was hot; his kisses sharp and quick, throwing electric sparks, and when he couldn't keep up anymore, Gus opened up and let Tom have him. Kissing Tom was hot and urgent and so much more than he could have hoped for. Gus' brain was on overload, firing signals everywhere at once. So much need held back for so long, so much passion waiting to be lavished on someone.

Gus pulled Tom's lip between his teeth, barely aware of his own tee shirt bunched to his underarms. He broke free long enough to have it hauled over his head and then Tom's hands scorched his skin.

Gus wanted this bad. He realized, licking over the corded tendon in Tom's neck, that he'd wanted it for some time. And Tom was there, in his hands, yet Gus felt the nagging notion that it might just be the beer, or some freak planetary alignment. In the end, though, he didn't really much care.

He pulled away; he didn't want to, but, god, there were so many other things he wanted. "Is that enough romance for now, because…." Tom kissed him again, hard, and it almost took what breath Gus had left. "I promise, next time… I want…"

"Sure…" Tom's voice had a ragged edge. "Tell me what you—"

"…next time, okay?"

"Tom pulled away and slid to his knees in front of Gus, working Gus' fly undone. "This? Something else?"

"Oh god, no… yes, this. This is good." Gus' breaths were coming hard and heavy.

"You okay?"

Gus managed to nod and lift his hips so Tom could drag his pants and shorts down. Tom smiled and teased the head of Gus' cock with his tongue. Gus' head fell back against the couch. "You tell me, Gus… I'll stop if you need to."

There was a low moan followed by "The fuck you will. Do you have any idea how long it's been since I was this fucking hard." He cradled Tom's head in his hand and gently guided him. Tom's mouth was wet, warm, and eager. Shit, and from the way he was working his hand and tongue in concert, he'd done this before and, god. Knowing Tom wanted this just as much made the breath stutter in Gus' chest.

"But, listen… if anything does happen… this was goddamned amazing, okay, and please take care of Danny for me…"

His eyes fell shut. It had been too damn long. He'd been his own best Saturday night date for longer than he cared to admit and he was not going to last. Digging his nails into the worn upholstery, he tried to hold off the tingling at the base of his spine. Then he opened his eyes to the sight of Tom between his legs, sucking his hard, about-to-shoot-down-Tom's-throat dick, looking up as he pulled back, with hollowed cheeks, those full, kiss bruised lips, and it was like walking in front of a bus.

"Oh… oh, god, yes…" Gus grabbed his cock at the base and squeezed.

Tom pulled off. "Hey… I thought I was—"

"I had to… it… I don't… I'm gonna go if…"

Tom moved Gus' hand out of the way. "It's okay, Gus. We've got all weekend." He started to jack Gus hard and fast. "Just let it go."

Oh, god. Then this wasn't a fluke. There might be more. Fuck, he might get Tom out of those clothes. Shit, he was going to come. Tom was about to make him fucking come.

He gripped Tom tighter, half-afraid; he was usually in control and could back off if he needed to, and then he realized how crazy it was to be having those thoughts while Tom was doing what he was doing… and… "Tom…" Gus stopped thinking when the first wave hit him and he let go.

Let his head tip back and bucked into the warm weight of Tom's hand. He tried to catch his breath as he ground out his last spasm, tried to tell Tom how much he wanted to do the same to him, but Tom had already stood up. He leaned down to kiss Gus again and Gus fisted his hand in Tom's sweater and gave back for all he was worth.

He shifted to the edge of the sofa where Tom stood in front of him. Tom undid his jeans and pushed them down. Gus tugged them past Tom's knees and ran his hand over Tom's thighs feeling the play of hair over his palms and fingertips. "Just… give me, give me a minute…" he huffed.

Tom took his own cock in hand and began to stroke it. "Can't. 's okay…" Gus fixated on the slow, even rhythm and soon found himself breathing in time with it. All the times he'd furtively stared at Tom, pictured him naked, couldn't prepare Gus for how perfect he was. Tom's balls were large and heavy when Gus rolled them in his hand. Such a turn on. They were also smooth. "You shave?" he asked, looking up. Tom's skin was smooth and bare but for a small bit of hair above his cock.

"I did today," Tom answered softly, the corner of his mouth turning up. "You like that?"

Gus just moaned and leaned closer, taking in the scent of Tom's cologne, the smell of his body, the spicy-musk scent of his skin. Fuck. Tom had shaved his balls before coming over – planned it. He leaned closer still and took one in his mouth, sucking gently; the sound Tom made shivered right down Gus' spine.

"Fuck, Gus… that's so…"

They were warm, the smooth surface sweet and fresh like new skin and the size of them… Tom groaned above him and began to fist himself faster.

"If you don't stop, I'm gonna have to come."

Gus squeezed them together, tightening the skin to make an even slicker surface and gave them the flat of his tongue. "I had thought of that," he said, smiling up at Tom.

Tom drew a finger along Gus' jaw. "Yeah, but I'm not sure you want it all over your face – at least, nnngghh... not on the first date."

Gus swiped his tongue over the head of Tom's cock when Tom pressed it into his cheek. Smooth and hot from the friction and, dear god, Tom tasted good. He wedged a knee between Tom's legs to spread them wider then wet a finger and began to circle the smooth, fleshy mound behind those impressive balls, nudging harder as he neared the more puckered skin.

"Oh, shi—god damn, Gus…"

"Yeah?" Gus knew he was moving too fast. Shit, everything was moving too fast and there was too much he wanted to do all at once, almost like if he didn't do it all now he'd never get another chance. He wet his finger again and slid it right across Tom's hole. It twitched and Tom began to pant above him.

"Jesus, Gus…. gonna…"

Gus didn't want to let go, but he leaned back against the sofa to watch. Tom followed, one knee up on the edge, free hand grasping the back; he leaned closer and Gus put his hand over Tom's, jacking with him, eyes on Tom's face. He felt the first spurts hit his chest while watching the rest dribble down their hands, slick and hot. Tom's thighs flexed with each spasm and Gus thought he was beautiful like that. This was his fantasy, goddamit, and he could think whatever he liked.

Tom finally gave up and tumbled down at Gus' side in a warm, sweaty heap. Gus thought it would probably have been a good idea to get him out of that sweater first. It was all over so quickly and Gus could hardly wait to do it again.

Tom looked up from where his head rested on Gus' bare shoulder and smiled. "That's one hell of secret, Gus."

Gus bent his head to Tom's. "Like you're not full of surprises yourself."

"I guess I figured... it shouldn't be a surprise I'm attracted to you."

Gus managed a little laugh. "Not anymore."

Tom poked him half-heartedly with his elbow. "Just want you to be sure," he said. "I'm not much for one-nighters."

Gus swallowed hard and shook his head. "No, me too."

"Sorry, things happened so quick…" Tom smiled, sat up straight, and turned to Gus. "I realize this is a bad time, probably should have done this at the outset… we should be lying in bed naked finishing off that pizza, but I think it's best to get it out of the way. I'm bi-sexual and I'm clean. Had my last test before I left San Francisco."

Gus wasn't exactly used to such candor. Of course, Gus wasn't exactly used to sex either. Tom looked at him expectantly; he was excruciatingly cute sitting there with his sweater pushed up, jeans bunched around his ankles, and Gus just wanted to kiss him again. "I, uh, negative, too," Gus stammered, focusing his attention on Tom's softening cock; it still looked so big. "It's been a while since my last test, though, but…"

"But what?"

"I haven't been active… for longer than six months." He shifted his weight and scratched at his chin. "Actually, that's something I might have kept to myself."

Tom smiled and brushed his fingers through Gus' hair, getting a few of the sweat-soaked strands off his face. "There's nothing wrong with being selective, but you do realize the importance of regular testing?"

"Of course, I do. I'll, uh, I'll take care of it this week."

Tom gave a soft but stern look. "You do that." His voice was as soft and muzzy as he looked and then his expression dissolved into a devilish grin. "Now, what do you say we take the rest of that pizza and go get naked?"

Chapter Eighteen

Tom tossed the crust into the box lying between them and glanced over at the man beside him. Gus was one of those guys who hid his body well. Tom had only seen him in tee-shirts and relaxed, formless pants, but there sure was a lot of lean muscle under those baggy clothes. Gus had cited living in a fifth-floor apartment building where the elevator rarely worked for the definition in his legs. Tom smiled to himself; traipsing up and down stairs hadn't hurt Gus' ass either. He let his gaze slide to that dimple below Gus' hip. Damn, he'd have to remember to explore that more thoroughly.

"Can I ask you something?" he said, brushing a few crumbs from his chest. Gus turned to him, a very satisfied look on his face, and Tom took that as his cue to continue. "The divorce… was it because you were gay? I'm sorry, you are gay… you never said."

Gus seemed to think about his answer for a moment. "It's more complicated than that."

"Being gay?"

"No, the divorce. We talked about different ways of handling it… mostly for Danny's sake. Deeds and I… the problem was I couldn't be the husband she needed. I tried."

Tom took the box and dropped it to the floor, then turned to fill the empty space.

"She told me we could have like an open marriage thing, that I could see whoever I wanted as long as she had the freedom to do the same. But… in the end, we both knew it wasn't going to work. We had too much respect for each another and for Danny."

Tom couldn't help notice the way Gus wasn't looking at him. "Did you? See anyone?"

"Yes, and I felt shitty after, even worse than…"

Tom stared at him a moment, trying to assess Gus' sudden silence. That was definitely Gus applying the brakes to a thought. Tom rose up on his elbow. "Worse than what?"

Gus still wouldn't look at him. Tom had almost given up getting an answer when Gus took a deep breath and shifted his weight.

"I was working in the city, taking the train back and forth. Danny was, I don't know, three or four at the time. One day I noticed this guy—this same guy was on the train every day. I don't know how long… Hell, he might have been taking the train as long as I had, but that day, I just noticed him. We'd get off at the same stop in the city, but I'd always lose him in the crowd. One night I had to work late; my boss was being an ass, big surprise. Anyway, by the time I got to the train station, I'd just missed my train. I'm standing there thinking what to do, whether to call Dede, when I hear a voice behind me. It was the guy; he said he'd missed the train, too."

Gus stopped and chewed on his lip. Tom moved a little closer, still trying not to spook Gus into silence. "What happened?"

"Oh, well, we ended up in the station's men's room, inside a stall with him going down on me and I jerked him off. It all happened so fast. One minute the guy's in my space, telling me what he wants to do to me and the next…" Gus fell quiet a moment; his throat quivered a little before he spoke again. "It was like the hottest thing that had ever happened to me." Gus scrubbed his hand over his face; the scritch of skin and stubble was almost as loud as Gus' voice. "We found out we worked in the same building—he was an intern with an architect firm. We saw each other a couple more times and when his internship was up, he was gone."

Tom let that lie between them for a moment. Then Gus turned to him.

"You've got one hell of a bedside manner, doc." His attempt at a smile wasn't working. "I've never told anyone else about that, not the least of which that a chance encounter with a stranger in a public restroom – someone who might have just as easily slit my throat – was one of my three most exciting sexual experiences."

Tom figured now was a bad time for a speech, especially since he wasn't without skeletons of his own. Gus had a gift for honesty, something truly rare in Tom's experience. He suspected Gus thought he hid a lot of himself, but Tom knew better. Gus' heart was so much on his sleeve it might as well be a beating, bleeding patch.

What must it have been like for him to keep all that information locked away? "But something came out of it, right?" He didn't really know why he was asking or why it made a difference. Only, as a psychiatrist, he was naturally curious; even more so, it seemed, when it came to Gus.

"Well, that's when I knew I had to tell Dede I was gay—maybe that's even when I knew it for sure myself." Gus shifted his weight. "I loved her, had been in love with her forever, but there'd never been anything like that with us. Not that fire, that need. Only I didn't tell her then. I waited. God, I felt like such a dick for cheating. So selfish. I pushed it back and tried again to be what everybody else wanted me to be."

Tom brushed his chin across Gus' shoulder. A touch that seemed even more intimate than a kiss, more than sex, and Tom couldn't really explain why he thought that. He looked up when Gus turned to him and had no trouble seeing what that stranger had seen, wondered if it had been the same thing he'd first seen. He wondered how the guy could have just walked away from Gus. Letting go of it had to be such a burden lifted from Gus and to seal the intimacy or whatever – Tom wasn't really sure – he pulled Gus to him, their kiss a kind of covenant between them.

"I see you wisely decided against a lecture," Gus said, drawing fingers along Tom's jawline.

"You're not the only one who's ever been tempted, Gus. My first experience with a guy was pretty much the same, feeling wise. He wasn't a stranger, but I didn't know him that well. The whole thing with guys... it's a different kind of attraction for me… I get off in a different way with men."

"But you're still attracted to women?"

Tom thought about that. He hadn't slept with a woman since Rachel – hadn't really wanted to, not that opportunities hadn't presented themselves. There'd been men before her, and then there'd been Martin. "It's… different," was all he said.

"Was there ever anyone… special?"

The pulse in Tom's ears grew audible. He lay back on the bed, out of Gus' reach and stretched. "There was." He offered no elaboration beyond that and had a sudden and near uncontrollable itch to get out of the bed. Out of the house. He sat up but before he could swing his legs over the side, Gus put a hand on this thigh, thumb circling the skin.

"You're staying, right?"

Was he? Five seconds ago, he was on his way out the door. Now, scanning the room, his eyes fell on Gus. Fractured light from the window slashed pale across his chest and face, like a Cubist work in half tones, and dotted his eyes with a silver gleam. Gus wasn't Martin – not even close – he was in a place now where Martin wasn't a threat, and... "I'd like that," he said, lying back. Damn, Gus' warm skin smelled good, his lips so generous.

"Besides," Gus said, pulling back. "Your reward will be only a slightly mangled breakfast. Just ask Danny. I do have my moments—I'm told I make a pretty mean blackened egg sandwich."

Tom's smile widened. "Lucky for us I can cook then, huh?" He let Gus kiss him again. "And I wouldn't say breakfast was my only reward."

~~~~~

It was dark when Gus opened his eyes, too dark to be anywhere close to dawn. Tom's breath was slow and even; he lay on his side, back to Gus, bare skin bathed in the silvery, cold light from the windows right down to where the sheet hung seductively over his hip. Gus was drunk with the sight of the slope and plane of that long expanse. He knew how it felt now, how it smelled, and how it tasted.

Leaning over, he indulged himself a few more moments before pulling the blanket higher. It had been a long time since he'd had the scent of another man in his bed and he breathed it in, that heady mix of them on the sheets. Such a small thing shouldn't be so meaningful, shouldn't make Gus twitch with renewed excitement, but it was and it did.

The last man to share his bed was blurred edges and a forgotten name, as so many things were these days. His entire life in New York seemed that way now. His job, even Stu, seemed far, far away, almost as if that part of his life had never existed.

The bed shifted as Tom breathed deep and pulled the covers over his shoulder, though he didn't move again. Gus thought he was probably still asleep, still he edged closer. Probably still asleep, yet Gus edged closer. Tom was Gus' type – if he could even explain that – but the type that Gus never made any serious moves with because guys like Tom were a little intimidating. Guys like Tom paid little attention to Gus and when they did, they were gone once they'd gotten off or gotten enough.

Tom was different; he'd always seemed so easy, so accessible. Even so, Gus had reflexively forced any desire or interest into the background. Tom was so much more than pretty and Gus was still unsure how he should see this thing between them. The heat from Tom's body curled around Gus in the same enticing embrace as Tom's voice, soothing and comfortable, so adept at putting him and Danny at ease, but not like the night before. Gus shivered hearing it again in his head. Thinking of the look on Tom's face when he came had Gus more than twitching, his cock steadily filling as he leaned close to nuzzle the crook of Tom's neck, nipping at the warm skin there.

He had an idea that Tom was much more complex than the Mr. Rogers demeanor he personified, and Gus really wanted time to find out if that were true. He hadn't had many encounters over the past few years, yet Gus wasn't interested in a future full of mindless, meaningless sex. He just wasn't wired that way. The joy and security of living with someone was still alive inside him, but it was more a memory, kept to itself, tucked away in the folds of his heart. Waiting.

Tom's quiet sigh tugged Gus away from his contemplation, not to mention the hand caressing his thigh and the body pushing back into him. That seemed to be the all the go-ahead Gus needed. What happened earlier had been so fast, there'd been no time to linger and Gus wasn't about to let this opportunity pass.

He started by letting his hand play along the firm but lazy muscles; he wanted to learn all the secret hiding places for that passion. Tom's hair was soft, his skin too, but it was tight, like a shield, and Gus decided he didn't want a barrier, he wanted to explore, to see if he could find a chink in that armor anywhere, and he'd search until he found it. He wanted in… god, he wanted in so bad. And more, he wanted Tom's taste in his mouth. He bent once more to the space where Tom's neck and shoulder joined, pressing his lips there in an open-mouthed kiss, sucking the salty sweetness of his skin before letting go and moving on to the lobe of Tom's ear. "I want to know every inch of you," Gus whispered as Tom shuddered in his arms.

The room was quiet but for Tom's quickened breath, the low hum of the electric clock on the nightstand, and the occasional sharp smack of Gus' lips as he moved across Tom's shoulder to the center of his back, slowing to run his tongue over the bony protrusions of Tom's spine. The bed shook with another tremor.

Tom's scent was stronger the lower Gus went and as he neared the small of Tom's back, he pulled Tom closer to give him room. "On your stomach," he said, his voice cracking like a teenager. Tom obeyed without a word and Gus held Tom's arms out to the side as he licked at the hollows above Tom's ass, moving from side to side to suck at the dimples below each naked hip.

The long, lean torso led to narrow hips and a full ass. The light played in the dips and crests of Tom's body the same way it shadowed the folds of the sheets and kissed the strands of Tom's hair, painting them an inky black against the silver highlights.

The same way it molded the curves of those cheeks Tom now lifted, offering, begging to be touched. Gus was tempted to rub his face over them, between them, but he wasn't sure how Tom would react. Instead, he kneaded the soft, pale skin with one hand, still holding Tom’s arm out with the other, and took a few playful bites of the flesh, which only made Tom lift higher and moan louder.

But Gus had already let go and moved on to Tom's thighs, scrunching down in the bed until he could look up the body spread out in front of him. The space between Tom's opened legs was dark; Gus could barely see the outline of the distended sac. "Turn over, now." It was almost an order and delivered with far more authority than before.

Gus sat up and watched Tom roll over on his back, the rigid outline of his cock unmistakable in the milky light. Gus moved slowly again, but this time only with his hands as he crawled up Tom's body, not dipping mouth to skin until he reached the flat plane above Tom's bellybutton.

The whisper of Tom's dick against his chest made Gus smile, then made him moan as he licked over Tom's right nipple. Tom's hands were warm as they settled on Gus' shoulders, his hips moving as Gus pulled the nipple inside his mouth.

"Jesus, Gus," Tom breathed, steering Gus to the other nipple. "Haven't you seen enough already?"

Gus looked up into eyes that glinted back at him the light. "Not even close," he answered, smiling as he lifted Tom's arms.

Tom's loudest moan yet and a throaty "fuck" sent sparks down Gus' spine as he licked a long stripe from the hardened nub over and up across the sensitive skin of Tom's underarm. The hair ticked, but the taste of the skin there wasn't unpleasant; it was even more salty and Gus did it again just to hear Tom make that sound.

When Gus looked over, Tom was watching him, eyes a little glazed. Gus made a beeline for those parted lips, covering them with his own and shifting his lower body so that he could press his own hard cock into the crease of Tom's thigh.

He reached further and laced his fingers with Tom's and let Tom's tongue search his mouth. It didn't take long for the kiss to turn wet and sloppy, needy and desperate. And Tom was an outstandingly good kisser. If Gus had been standing, his knees would have been quivering. That's how good.

Their hips began to move together, sending more sparks dancing along Gus' spine. When they broke for air, Gus raised himself and steered his cock over to rub against Tom's, the skin there hot and moist, and the friction when they touched electric.

Tom's eyes never seemed to waver; everywhere Gus looked, they seemed to be right there, watching him. "Tell me what you want," Gus said, ready to do whatever Tom asked. Gus watched his eyelids flutter as they worked their hips faster.

"I'd love to fuck you," Tom gritted, then dissolved into a guttural groan as Gus reached down to hold them both, allowing the heads to rub together, precome oozing onto his fingers, easing the way.

Just the thought of Tom inside him hardened Gus even more. He bent closer. "I'd really like that, but I—I don't have any condoms. Jesus, Tom, I'm—"

Tom laid a finger to Gus' lips, both of them breathing hard as they looked at one another, and then circled it slowly around Gus' mouth. "Suck me then… do it... all this…" He looked down to where Gus was still stroking both of them. "Fuck, just..."

Gus smiled. He moved quickly back down Tom's body and lapped over the swollen head; the mix of precome tasted sweet, and he held the sticky strand out with his tongue. He palmed Tom's sac, rolling the balls gently. Shifting so he could use both hands, Gus fanned both thumbs over the slick surface. Still, knowing Tom had purposefully shaved burned low in Gus' belly. He nuzzled into the heavy sac while his fingers teased behind it and Tom moaned above him. Pulling the darkened skin taut, he flicked his tongue over Tom's balls and felt Tom's cock twitch.

"Ahhh—Gus—please—please."

With one last lick from root to tip, Gus took as much of Tom as he could, crouching over him for maximum control, angle, and depth, working his mouth over the slick shaft. It felt good to have a cock between his lips again, and Tom's was near perfect, like it was made for him. Thick enough so that Gus' lips had to stretch a bit and, fuck, that was hot. Long enough so Gus couldn't quite manage to deep throat it, with a cut, bell-shaped head that begged to be teased. He licked beneath the ridge and flicked his tongue across that little knot of nerves before scraping his teeth gently over it all, dipping quickly into the slit, coaxing out another gush of precome.

Tom's hands tangled in Gus' hair, guiding Gus back to sucking in earnest. Gus' own cock was leaking now and ached with need. He tried to take even more of Tom, to stay down close to the base, swirling his tongue back and forth. Tom's grip tightened, pulling Gus' hair just enough to sting as Tom's breath began to stutter out in harsh barks.

Gus inhaled deeply through his nose and felt the first shot hit the roof of his mouth as Tom's cock got harder. He grasped the base and worked it in time with his mouth, Tom still had his hands in Gus' hair, a string of raspy fuck, fuck, fucks filled the air as Tom filled Gus' mouth. Accounting for recovery time, it wasn't much and Gus had no problem swallowing it down, moving his mouth slower and slower before finally pulling off.

"Sorry," Tom said, letting go of Gus.

"No problem," Gus replied. He liked it, liked the pull, even when Dede had done it, and he thought about telling Tom all about it, but there'd be time for that later. He had a more pressing need.

A few more drops of come appeared at the tip and Gus took it and rubbed it across Tom's stomach, then pulled himself up to where he was leaning over Tom, fitting himself into the slick, pushing back and forth.

Tom winced, but dragged Gus down for another kiss anyway. Gus had barely put his mouth to Tom's when the tingling began. He wasn't going to last. Tom seemed to sense it, too, and reached between them to take hold of Gus' cock. Gus was glad for something else to pump into. Christ, two orgasms in less than 24 hours, an all-time personal best (with other people) for him, and what an odd thought for someone to have right before they were going to come all over their partner.

"So good, Gus…" Tom's voice was slightly wrecked, but smooth enough to counteract the blood pounding in Gus' ears.

Tom let his thumb graze over Gus' cockhead while jacking him and that was all it took. The first spasms bent him forward; he rose up on the balls of his feet, his vision graying out for a split second, lungs meting out his breath in short, raspy bursts while his hips jerked until he was good and well spent. He continued to suck air as Tom rubbed both their softening dicks through the spent come.

Having enough strength left to make a half-assed swipe at Tom's stomach with the sheet, Gus flopped down beside him.

"Hey, what kind of take out is there around here?" Tom asked, his tone casual, like they both hadn't just come their brains out.

Gus turned his head and squinted up at the shadowed outline. "You're hungry?"

"Mmmm, it's the sex. I know some hard case heads don't get the munchies as bad. " He couldn't be sure, but he thought Tom was grinning.

Gus pulled himself up onto his elbows. "You want to order now? It’s nearly 4:00 a.m."

"No, I was thinking… if we can get delivery, we might not have to get out of bed all weekend."

Gus smiled. "Sounds like a plan. Only one of us would still have to go to the door."

"We'll take turns," Toms said, stroking Gus' chest.

Gus groaned and let Tom pull him over on top.

Chapter Nineteen

If nothing else, Gus thought, the aroma of bacon would get Tom out of bed. He'd been up himself about an hour, made coffee and sat at the table going over the weekend in his mind.

Saturday morning, in what Gus still thought was a renewed search for porn, Tom had run across the cache of Mystery Science Theater 3000 VHS tapes. Gus couldn't believe Dede had kept them. Some were tapes borrowed from friends and never returned and some were the ones he and Dede had recorded themselves. They used to have Mistie night in the dorms with pizza and beer and the usual crowd of geeks.

Gus had been somewhat embarrassed at first – like Tom had actually found some porn – but then Tom broke into one of those crazy grins and asked if he had anything from season four. In Gus' book, Tom's stock with him had just gone through the roof.

He hadn't seen the show in years, Tom had said, but apparently it had been a big hit with his college buddies as well. They'd spent practically the whole day mainlining episodes and laughing their asses off – when they weren't rolling around in bed together. His cock stirred a little thinking about it.

They'd actually gone out Saturday night, for more beer and to rent a couple of action DVDs, thinking that if they didn't take a break from the steady diet of MST, they'd be mindless idiots by Sunday. Gus smiled down at the sizzling bacon. It had been as fun as shit, though.

Tom was so easy. They were easy together. The pieces just fell into place – even the pieces that had always been bent and misshapen with other people. With Tom, the edges were rounded and smooth, and as good as that was, it niggled at Gus, like a tiny gray cloud in the back of his mind.

Idiot, why don't you just see the negative side of something for a change. He turned the bacon strip by strip. Dammit, if this weekend was all he could have, he'd take it. Gladly. He wouldn't trade a second of it for...

"Why the hell didn't you wake me up?" Tom shuffled into the kitchen in nothing but his jeans, the top button left undone. He rubbed one eye and went straight for the coffeemaker. Staring at Tom's bare feet, Gus realized he could still developed new kinks. Tom poured his coffee and took a quick sip. "Damn, that's good," he said, lifting the cup to his lips again. "How much have you had?"

"Two cups, Warden," Gus replied, flipping the bacon again and backing away from the popping grease.

Tom walked over and wrapped one around him from behind. "Hey."

"Hey," Gus said, bending his head to Tom's. "You'll be happy to know I saved the eggs for you."

"Damn, you smell good," Tom said softly, nibbling the back of Gus' neck.

"Ha, that's the bacon you smell."

"Yeah, you're right. Is that on your diet, by the way?"

"No, but I've got to have one piece, I'm starving. Maybe a piece and a half. What are you, a spy for Simms?"

Tom snorted. "Yeah, this whole weekend thing, the sex, it's all been a ruse. Pizza, beer, MSG, caffeine and now bacon! I'll file my report first thing Monday morning. After more sex, of course."

"Of course." Gus reached back and ran his hand over Tom's thigh. "If you want, the paper's there on the table. Let me clean up here, then it's all yours."

There was a measure of comfort in the sound of him padding to the table, pulling out the chair, and opening the paper. "You could possibly spoil me, Gus Gruber, he said easily."

Those words burrowed warmly into his chest as Gus wiped the stove down and thought about how much he'd like to try. "Yeah, wish my kid felt that way. He still hasn't decided if he likes this full time thing or not. Now you—you he likes."

"That's all in your head."

Gus turned from the stove and feigned open-mouthed awe. "Wow, and people pay for gems like that?"

Tom smiled over the newspaper. "At least he's not afraid of starving anymore."

"Well that's something," Gus conceded, sitting down. "However, I am, so hurry on over there and work your magic with those eggs."

Tom put down the paper and slid his hand over Gus' knee. "Best weekend off I've had in a long time. Thanks."

Gus placed his hand on Tom's and stared into those dreamy eyes. "My pleasure," he said, smiling and, hoping he wasn't pushing things, he added, "We'll have to do it again."

"Oh yeah, we'll definitely do it again."

~~~~~

Normally Gus would wait for Sandy to bring Danny home, but he really needed to get out of the house. Not that being cooped up with Tom for the weekend had been a bad thing. In fact, he felt great, alive and unburdened for the first time in months. Getting laid would do that, but it was more. It seemed so right for Tom to be there, padding around the kitchen and kicking covers off the bed. Thwaping Gus' ass in the shower (among other things) or sleeping in Gus' bed. And boy, could Tom sleep. At the drop of a hat, he'd be out cold and could wake up alert just as easily.

He refocused on the road. He was going to have to be careful with Tom. That kind of comfort was its own curse, one he was much too intimate with.

At Sandy's, Gus tried again to offer Danny the front seat. He was beginning to think maybe it was the car. He'd gone for efficiency but still thought the downsized SUV felt safe. Seeing it was no use, he opened the rear door and Danny climbed in.

Gus kept up a running conversation with his son as he drove. He talked about getting some Cubs tickets from a guy at the office and Danny seemed pretty happy about that. They talked about what was going on at school the coming week and Gus was right in the middle of explaining how great he'd been at making dioramas when another vehicle cut into Gus' lane then slowed, causing Gus to hit the brakes hard. His moves were instinctive as he checked the mirrors and pulled around the car on the right to keep from being hit from behind, but not before getting a look at the tag. "Goddamned Wisconsin drivers," he muttered, glancing in the rearview. Danny had both hands up and was doubled over as far as the seat belt would allow.

"Hey, you okay back there?" he asked, trying to keep his voice light. He'd slowed down himself and that's when he saw it.

Gus couldn't count the number of times he'd passed the sign. Leave it to some cheddarhead to make him finally take notice. Committing the address to memory, he was pretty sure he knew the location. "It's okay," he told Danny. "Just gonna make a little stop before we go home."

Riverside Rescue Shelter was a mile and a half down a sand and gravel road and sat on a huge lot surrounded by chain link fencing, barns, and outbuildings. The car crunched its way over snow and gravel into the open parking lot. Several other cars were parked there as well.

"Where are we?" Danny asked as he got out of the car.

They walked up a few concrete steps to the front door. Already, Gus could hear the muffled barking coming from inside. "You'll see soon enough," he answered holding the door and hurrying Danny inside.

The smell was a bit overwhelming at first. The unmistakable mix of damp fur, stale urine, pet food, and chlorophyll injected strong memories of when Gus had worked at the local animal shelter when he was a kid. He'd wanted to take every new arrival home with him, and even tried on several occasions, but his parents made him adhere to the one pet at a time rule.

He'd never forget the day he'd shown up to work and found that his favorite German Sheppard was gone. Caesar had liked him and had always been ready to play. Old Mr. Gustafson's story had been that a couple had come in that morning and adopted Caesar, but Gus always wondered. It was no secret to him how things worked at the shelter.

A few minutes went by but still no one come out to greet them. Danny pointed to a sign on the counter and Gus pressed a button beneath it. The sound of a loud buzzer could be heard somewhere behind the counter. After waiting another few moments, a young woman came through the doors. Gus explained they were interested in adopting a dog and Danny immediately perked up. He looked at Gus and broke into a grin that was almost too big for his face to hold. The woman grinned, too, and took them back into the adoption section of the huge maze-like facility.

Gus bent close to the woman – out of Danny's earshot – and asked if she would steer them to the dogs who were already housebroken. "The last thing I need is an animal to raise as well as a son," he added. "Besides, puppies are my kryptonite."

She beamed at Gus and directed them to a section of older dogs. Walking among the crates, left to his own heart, Gus would take as many as he could fit in the car. As it was, most of the available dogs were either too small or too big. "Do you have any rescue dogs?"

The young woman replied that there were a few that were ready for adoption. Her look changed to one of concern as she asked if Gus were sure. "Most of them are special needs dogs."

Gus looked over to Danny, who was getting friendly with a dog that had been following them around. "Well, I've got kind of a special needs kid," he said, watching Danny smile and run his hand over one of the scars on the dog's brindled, map-like hide.

"Looks as if the dog may have found its master," she said, going on to explain that "Oscar" was rescued from a home where the owner was deceased. Apparently, it had taken some time before the owner was discovered and this dog and another one were found locked in crates. "He's still very skittish about being confined." The woman laid her hand on Gus' upper arm. "The look in his eyes when we tried to crate him here would have broken your heart. That's why we let him roam around. Your little boy must be special; you two are the first ones he's really taken to."

He walked over to Danny. A basic mutt with what looked to be a dominance of Bullmastiff, Oscar had one eye the color of amber and the other one a milky pink, like an opal, more than one scar, and a wagging tail. "He likes me," Danny said, and that seemed to be good enough for Gus.

He turned back to the woman. "What about fences?"

"That's fine as long as he's got space. He's been like our companion around here. We sure would hate to see him go, but I think that's already been decided." They both turned toward Danny.

While Gus filled out the adoption paperwork, he learned the young woman's name was Laura, and they talked about his working at a shelter when he was younger. Laura had a good rapport with Danny, asking him about school and other pets he'd had. Danny seemed to open up a little around her. Tom was also able to get Danny talking like that.

He worried that maybe he'd made a big mistake in his life. Did Danny really need a mother? Would any of this have happened if he'd just stayed with Dede? Was he damaging Danny in any way, stifling his normal development? He handed the papers back to Laura and made himself a mental note to talk to Tom about Danny.

When Oscar was cleared and they were ready to leave, Laura handed Danny the leash and told Gus if there were any problems or he had questions, to be sure to call her and gave him her work hours. "Or, you know, anytime. I could give you…" She wrote her number on the back of one of the Shelter's cards and put it in Gus' hand, making sure their fingers touched. He smile was a mix of innocence and something Gus finally saw. Jesus, she was actually flirting with him.

Back in the car, Gus looked at the decidedly feminine script of numbers and letters. He sighed, stuck the card in his wallet along with the other notes and numbers he was destined to forget and looked at Danny in the mirror. He was petting Oscar instead of shielding his face and he was sitting closer to the door. The smile on Danny's face, as he rattled off the rules of the house and where Oscar was going to sleep and how much he was going to love living with them, was a warm wave in the mostly frigid gulf between them. And Gus had put that smile there – well, Oscar had – but Gus was still responsible, either that or that damned Wisconsin driver. Gus smiled and wished them Godspeed whoever and wherever they were.

Chapter Twenty

By sharp contrast to his previous visit, Gus was called back within ten minutes of signing in for his follow-up with Dr. Simms. He cringed when the nurse stopped at the little room where she'd weigh him and get a pressure reading. Amazed that he'd actually managed to lose a few pounds, he felt a little more confident when the young nurse strapped the crinkly plastic cuff to his upper arm. When she told him the reading, he found himself actually anxious to see Dr. Simms.

"You're blood pressure is closer to normal today," Dr. Simms remarked as she walked through the door.

Yep. He felt fine, never better really, and told her so.

"Glad to hear it. I thought I noticed a little spring in your step, so to speak."

He saw that look in her eye, and just because he trusted her, it didn't mean he was going to share. "Is that all you have to say? You ran more tests than NASA. Why don't you tell me about those."

She smiled as if she could read his mind and patted his file. "Everything is close to what I would expect from a man of your age with your condition. Now, that doesn't mean you couldn't benefit from lowering your cholesterol and triglycerides, but I'm confident we can do that with lifestyle modifications instead of statins." She got up from her stool and began pulling colored pages from several file holders tacked to the wall. "I'm going to give you some material - a diet, a few exercise guidelines, and you should really think about ways to reduce your stress."

He huffed a laugh. "I'm gay, the single father of an eight year-old who's still struggling with the death of his mother, and I've got a colossal pain in the ass for a boss. In what way does any of that that fit with low stress?"

She finished picking the papers from the bins and walked back, handing them to him with a serious look bolstered by kind eyes. Eyes that searched him a moment before she answered. "You're a smart man, Gus. You're very aware of your body and your health, whether you want to be or not. I'm sure you can find a way. Have you ever heard of the book Don't Sweat the Small Stuff?"

He was never really big with self-help. Self-defeat, self-loathing, self-deprecation, self-inflicted... yes. Self-help? Not so much. He nodded that he had at least heard of the title.

"I recommend it to all my patients. It's very short, but very pertinent. You might find something there to hang your hat on." She laid a hand on his knee for a moment. "Now, we'll refill your scripts and I want to see you back in two months. You need anything in the meantime, have questions, or if your condition changes in any way, you call me. Oh, and do say hello to Tom for me."

He took the papers and the billing sheet from her and couldn't help returning her smile.

~~~~~

Gus lay in bed, laptop balanced between his knees. The glow from the screen and the fact that he'd been at it for hours made his eyes feel like he'd lined then with some of the local hot sauce, but the thoughts were coming at him so fast his fingers could barely keep up with his brain. He'd figured out a new angle for the book; he'd use Reginald Barrow and tell the story from his vantage point – a reverse alternate universe. The fix opened up all sorts of ideas.

His cell phone buzzed from somewhere and Gus counted the rings as he kept typing, uncovering it just in time before the call went to voice mail. It was Tom.

"Did I wake you"

The sound of Tom's voice was just what he needed to help him come down a little. "No, just sitting here working. I suppose you're calling for the verdict?"

"What?"

"The results of all the tests. I had a follow up with Dr. Simms today but you probably already know more than she told me. "

"No, I haven't talked to her. I'm interested, of course, but that's not why I called."

"Oh?" He sensed something in Tom's tone and put his laptop aside.

"I'd grabbed a few winks and woke up with a wicked hard-on. I immediately thought of you."

Gus closed his eyes and took a deep breath, sliding his hand down over his own awakening bulge. "Yeah?"

"Thought about you sucking me off." The words were breathless and burned deep in Gus' belly. "Damn, it's like… Where the hell did you learn to suck cock so good?"

For Gus, imitation had always been the best teacher, but he wasn't ready yet to tell Tom about the porn or the dildo that inexplicably had not made the trip from New York. "I've always been a very oral person, I guess." Of course, it was easy with Tom. Tom's cock begged to be sucked and Gus wasn't above begging to suck it. He stoked up the length of his shaft. "Jesus, why aren't you here?" he whispered.

Tom's pager sounded clearly through the phone. "I gotta cut this short, sorry."

"And leave me like this?"

"You're complaining to me. I've got to haul over to the ER as soon as I can stand up straight. I could come by in the morning."

"Yeah, you could. I'm sure Danny would be glad to see you."

"Oh shit, tomorrow's Saturday, isn't it?" The pager went off again. "Okay, okay. I'll catch you later, Gus."

Gus said goodbye to a dead connection and tossed the phone on the bed. He looked at his laptop then down at his hard-on. What a choice? Glancing at the clock, he weighed the chances that Danny would wake up. Probably not; still, he got up and locked the door and saved his file before settling back down with thoughts of sucking Tom's dick. He loved the warm weight of it against his tongue, loved to play with Tom's balls.

He moved his hand faster, eyes shut tight, making sure to take a full breaths. He could hear Tom talking him through it, and fuck, that was so hot. Tom had a filthy mouth in bed, especially when Gus blew him, telling Gus where and how. Just thinking of it sent a jolt up along Gus' shaft. Hot now with the friction, he was right on the edge, could feel it raging up from deep in his balls. He thought of Tom's hands in his hair and Tom's cock at the back of his throat and that was all he needed to make the room flash white then go dark as he worked his hips into it, wave after wave, and Tom's name whispered into the blackness.

Chapter Twenty-one

Oscar was good for Danny, but he had an annoying habit of barking at the television. That's how Gus knew Danny was watching cartoons. Barking and then running to the foot of the attic steps to bark at Gus, like Sponge Bob was Must See TV, then running back into the den.

He sat in his office reading through the galleys of a book, the first in a series of fantasy stories written for the young adult market. He could scarcely believe his luck. Someone had actually requested Gus' services as an illustrator. The sucking-an-alum-soaked-lemon look on his boss's face when she'd told him about the project had been priceless. He'd actually committed the entire conversation to memory for use when he needed a smile or a confidence boost.

Okay, so he was one of five illustrators being considered, but still. Gus had worked with the author before on one of his first illustrating jobs. That job had been a rambunctious children's story and he'd loved every minute it. He felt confident that his past relationship with the author would net him some positive consideration. Well, that and a kick-ass presentation of sketches.

As he jotted a few notes, his phone buzzed on the desk next to him. It was Tom asking what he and Danny had planned for the day.

"You just want to come over and hang out? Shouldn't you be sleeping?"

"Probably, but I'm too wired. There's a ballgame on this afternoon, or we could go down to the park… it's a nice day, well, relatively nice. Besides, I can crash there for a while if I need to, right? But… if you're busy, or…"

"Oh, yes. I'm so busy," Gus said in a monotone. "Don't you dare come over and disturb me." He was smiling and knew Tom could hear it over the phone.

"See you soon."

When he arrived, Gus explained to Tom about the project and that he needed to go back up and finish his notes. Apparently, Tom was perfectly willing to stretch out on the couch with Danny and Oz and watch cartoons. It seemed the sight of that had a major stomach-twisting effect on Gus.

He'd just finished the last section when he looked up to see Tom.

"Done yet?" he asked, coming up the steps into the room. He crossed over to Gus' desk and bent to steal a quick kiss. "Mmmm, please say you're done."

Gus tangled their fingers together. God, one of these days he was going to go missing inside those gorgeous eyes. "I'm done," he answered, stealing his own kiss, not so quick. "Remind me that I'm a guy and how guys aren't supposed to admit how much they miss that."

Tom just smiled and pulled him up out of the chair.

~~~~~

The park wasn't too crowded as the weather was just turning decent. They still needed sweaters and jackets, but at least the sun was out. A few more days like this and most of the leftover snow would be gone. Gus and Danny took their gloves – Tom said he'd catch barehanded and did until Danny had thrown him a couple.

Gus grinned like a loon. "The Cubs' hope for the future, right there," he said pointing to Danny. "Thank goodness it wasn't his pitching arm that got broken." Tom finally gave up and helped Oscar shag the missed grounders.

Together, they watched Danny and Oscar, who was very quick to pick up the rules of catch, and Gus told Tom the story of the near accident and how they'd come to adopt the dog. Danny looked happy; it was a look Gus wished he could put there every day. There in the park, his son seemed so open and free from whatever kid demons kept him in such a solemn mood most of the time.

They'd even run into Mrs. Kolaski as they were leaving. She'd given the group a strange look when Gus offered that they were doing fine and joked that Tom was their chef. Of course, that hadn't prevented her from promising another casserole, or Gus from saying that would be wonderful.

Several people had kites and Gus had been unable to leave without first promising to take Danny that next week to get one. One couple in particular caught Gus' eye, though he drew no attention to them. Two men and a boy about Danny's age, maybe a little younger. He'd noticed Danny watching them, too, and felt more certain that the day for a serious talk with his son was getting closer.

~~~~~

Back at the house, Danny rather theatrically admitted to starving and that gave Tom an idea. "Hungry enough to help me make dinner?"

Gus grabbed bottled water from the refrigerator, tossed one to Tom, handed one to Danny, and rubbed the other over his face and neck before opening it. He did look flushed. "You okay?"

"Yeah, guess Dr. Simms is right; I could probably stand to walk more. I'm fine."

Tom let it go and looked in the fridge. "I'd say you guys need a trip to the market." There were onions, celery, Swiss cheese, and two lonely eggs left in the carton. "Now, if you've got some tuna, we just might have something to work with here."

He followed Gus' nod to the pantry and came away with three cans of tuna, a large loaf of Italian bread, and a jar of sun-dried tomatoes. Danny shook his head when Tom asked if he'd ever had a tuna melt before.

"You'll love it," Tom replied. "Especially the way I make them."

"I love tuna melts," Gus said, before draining his bottle.

Tom handed Danny the bread and tomatoes. "What you say we make 'em together?"

"My mom never let me help."

"Yeah, us guys were banned from the kitchen, at least while Deeds was in it."

"Well, it’s all yours now, so you both need to get used to what goes on in here." He steered Gus toward the door. "Don't you have some work to do," he asked, brushing their hands together when he took the empty water bottle.

"What? I thought you… you just said I needed to get used to what goes on in here."

"I think Danny and I can handle this one. Do you have any lemons?"

"Lemons? I thought you were making tuna… in the bottom drawer of the fridge if we have any."

Tom snagged the single lemon and a beer for Gus. "My secret," he said as he handed over the beer and pushed Gus out of the kitchen. "Go work. We'll call you when we're ready." Gus' pouty face seemed a bit insincere, still it made Tom want to kiss him. "And if you want to help, you can keep Oscar out of the kitchen."

"Fine." He started to grab the bag of potato chips but Tom snatched them up. "You shouldn't even buy these things," he said, giving Gus another playful shove.

When Tom turned around, Danny already had the can opener out. "He kinda sucks at cooking; maybe he should stay."

Tom pulled up a stool for Danny and began dicing the onions. "Good thing it's something that comes with practice. Hey, we need some mayo, too; can you get it for me?"

Danny went to the refrigerator and set the jar on the counter beside Tom, then climbed up to sit on the stool.

"He'll be getting lots practice and you can always help out." An image, clear enough to be projected on the wall, swam into Tom's conscious mind: Adèle, the other woman in his house, and his brother and sister, warm smells of the kitchen – especially her jalapeno bread. He'd learned to handle a chef's knife the same time he was dribbling basketballs and doing his own homework. He'd also learned a few wicked French swear words.

"He's busy a lot, too. Working."

Finished with the onions, Tom started on the celery. He thought about that for a moment. He had nothing to compare it to, of course, but Gus did seem to have a drive regarding certain aspects of his work. Whether or not he'd always been that way, Tom couldn't say, but clearly, Gus used that drive as some form of compensation. Compensation for what? It seemed to be connected to more than just being a single parent, though that was more than enough motivation for some people.

Being both father and mother was an impossible position. Unattainable. Never meant to be. Yet, the quest to be successful at it drove people every day. Drove them so hard, in fact, it often steered them away from intended goal; it put distance between them and their children, and in Gus' case, threw them both into unfamiliar territory. Gus was no longer the Disneyland dad of weekends and holidays. Did Gus even see that? Did Danny?

"But you two have fun, right?" he asked, putting the chopped vegetables in a bowl. He peeked at the eggs he had set to boil. "He doesn't work all the time, does he?"

Danny shrugged, poking at the contents of the bowl with a wooden spoon. "He plays with me some and reads to me… He's okay, I guess."

His words trailed off and Tom considered a moment how he should respond. "You know, Dads love their sons different from Moms. That's not to say they love them any less, but it's a different connection with guys." Tom stopped what he was doing and gave Danny his full attention. "Your dad loves you very much. He left a whole life behind to come back and take care of you, to be a family, because that's important to him."

"I know," Danny replied, focusing his gaze inside the bowl again. "But there's only two of us."

Tom reached over and laid a hand on Danny's shoulder, waiting to speak until Danny looked up. Those eyes were definitely Gus' and the resemblance made him pause. "Sometimes, that's enough."

He opened the cans of tuna, drained them, and gave them to Danny. Handing him a smaller spoon, Tom waited until Danny had scooped it all out into the bowl. Then he plopped a couple of spoonfuls of mayo into a small bow, grinned at Danny, and told him he was about to learn Tom's secret. He cut the lemon into quarters and squeezed all the juice he could on top of the mayonnaise. Taking a small whisk he found in a drawer, he incorporated the lemon juice, scraped it all into the bowl with the tuna and told Danny to mix it all together, showing him how to fold the mixture from the bottom. "Not bad," he said as Danny took over. "I think you've got the hang of this already."

While Danny stirred, Tom took the eggs from the stove, emptied the boiling water, and ran cold water over them. "If these are done, the shells will practically fall off, see?" He cracked one and held it under the stream of water. The shell came away almost in one piece. He held the other one out and asked if Danny wanted to try. Danny hopped down right away.

He had a little more trouble than Tom, but he managed. "Ew, they smell like farts," he said, pulling the last of the brown shell away. Tom crinkled his nose and agreed; he took both and rough chopped them.

"I like it better when you're around. My Dad's always in a good mood then."

Tom smiled as he carefully folded in the eggs. He liked being there. He liked being around the two of them, liked being with Gus. Perhaps their collective moods lightened when they were all together. He only knew for himself, but being with Gus, alone or with Danny, kept away the past, if only for the time they were together. That was good enough.

He knew that was an excuse. It was one he'd learned from countless addicts who'd believed that every drink would make the problem better, believed the crack sent them to another world away from their responsibilities, believed the cocaine gave them the power to overcome, or that the heroin really did send the ghosts away. However, the past was still there when the high was gone, the responsibilities were still there, along with the problems and the day-to-day.

But then, so was the brightness, and the small successes, and the faces of their kids and family. More often than not, those were the things they continued to try to run from.

Tom shook those thoughts away. "You just give your Dad some time. All this is kind of new to him. It might help if you go a little easy on him. Now, I'm going to let you put these together. You up for it?"

They left the heavy stuff behind as he showed Danny how to layer the cheese, tuna, then another slice of cheese. He was careful to make two with only cheese on top and told Danny those were for his dad.

While waiting for the sandwiches to toast, Tom and Danny cobbled a salad together from the few items left in the fridge. Gus had come to the door once when the smell of toasted bread had filled the air, but Danny had pushed him back toward the den, telling him they weren't finished yet.

Tom watched both of them during the meal. Danny had a few of his dad's mannerisms – like talking with his hands – and Tom wondered if he'd always done that. He thought about Gus with Danny as a toddler and about how confused Gus must have been during the marriage. That led to thoughts of the divorce and all the sacrifices Gus had made in order to be the man he knew he was. Yet, he'd never left his family behind.

They talked about school and how fun it had been making dinner and how awesome Tom's tuna melts were and Gus' new project and how he had to finish up the other work before he could really start on the illustrating and, oh, how much his boss hated him. The time was too short and he'd have to leave soon. Maybe he could get a quick nap. He looked up at both of them. Leaving was getting harder and harder to do, but he pushed that thought away and answered the protestations that he was being much to quiet.

"You're usually a walking DSM, dissecting my every move," Gus said, a small worried look on his face. "What's up?"

"Nothing... enjoying the company." That was the whole problem for Tom; he was enjoying it too much. He never meant for Gus to get under his skin the way he had, and Danny – that had come from so far out in left field he didn't even know. These two were different; he'd seen lots of families and had been in the middle of so much shit where people completely fell apart. Tom sometimes felt like an intruder, like he had his face pressed up against the big plate glass of their lives. There was something beyond that glass he wanted... he just couldn't put his finger on what. Or he wouldn't.

Chapter Twenty-two

"Hey." Gus sat down opposite Tom. They weren't in Joseph's but another small eatery close to the campus – very popular with doctors and budget-conscious med students, so the noise already bordered on annoying. Tom's smile was warm, but appeared to be all for show. Tom's eyes held the key to his mood. The look there was busy, showing more of the muddy-colored iris than normal, and fidgety, like he couldn't keep them still.

As it was, Gus wasn't sure why he'd dropped everything. He had work to do and he'd already had breakfast. No, there'd been something in Tom's voice when he called and then there was that little matter of Tom being off the radar for four days – his crazy schedule notwithstanding.

He ordered coffee from the waitress and watched her as she took Tom's breakfast order, the hand on his shoulder when she asked if he needed his cup warmed. "So, you done for the day?" Gus asked. "You should probably go home and get some sleep; you look like shit." He did: tired, red rims around the eyes, more scruff than usual, which meant he probably hadn't shaved before leaving for work the night before.

"Thanks, just what I needed to hear."

Gus cocked his head and let it stand. Tom didn't sleep enough for the hours he kept and crashing out on his time off was not making deposits into the sleep deficit bank.

"Yeah, I'm finished for the day. Just wanted—"

The waitress was back with Gus' coffee and more for Tom anyway, her mouth full of syrupy sweetness in case that was also wanted. Gus poured enough cream to turn his a nut brown and waited. "Oh, yeah... she's not too interested," he said when she'd stepped away.

Tom swung his head around. "You think so?"

The swallow of coffee went down bitter and Gus' mood fell with it. But before he had a chance to examine that too closely, Tom reached out, brushing their hands together on the pretense of getting a packet of sweetener. Gus made him wait, then looked up. "I'm not," Tom said. "I've been meaning to tell you something. Truth is, it's caught up with me now, and it can't wait any longer."

Gus' stomach took a roll; somehow, this was possibly worse than a flirting waitress. "Is that the real reason you called?"

"No. Yes, sort of. I was going to tell you earlier, but I chickened out."

Gus had a problem with thinking Tom would 'chicken out' on anything. Jesus, it had to be something bad. Why else would Tom want to meet him in a public place?

"I told you about my position before coming here. Well, I left – I'm sure you've wondered why I left a Chief of Staff position to come here and keep student's hours again. Why I left work that I—"

The waitress was back; she set Tom's breakfast down in front of him and made damn sure he didn't need anything before repeating her name again – just in case 'they' needed her.

Gus took a sip of coffee. "I figured it was what you said, the opportunity here to teach, do research."

Tom picked at his eggs and didn't look at Gus. "I left my job, a job I loved... see the Clinic had been mired in a scandal when I took the position. Sort of like batting cleanup – everyone was looking to me to sway the donors and get them back and also to keep the diehard deep pockets – some of them San Francisco's most influential people – from jumping ship. It wasn't easy either, but I managed at least to do that."

He watched Tom, not sure what was coming but whatever it was, it seemed awfully hard for Tom to let go of it.

"When I began my real duties, I wanted more of a hands-on approach. Not only an administrator, I wanted to work with patients. That's what I'm good at. That's all I've ever wanted to..."

"Sounds like you," Gus offered.

"I had a patient, Martin. Classic addictive personality, compulsive with a side order of narcissism and borderline personality disorder. Sounds bad, I know, but he had the looks and upbringing for the narcissism. Martin's main problem was that he couldn't say no – to anything." Tom took time to wash a bite of toast down with coffee. "Even me."

Gus let that lie, giving Tom the time he needed. That didn't stop his tiny internal voice though, the one that kept telling him he wasn't going to like the rest.

"And I need to back up a bit more..." Tom glanced quickly at Gus then back to his breakfast. "There'd been an incident before. Back east, before San Francisco. I used bad judgment in the treatment of a... anyway, to avoid any chance of an ethical issue, I referred Martin to another therapist." He took a deep breath and finished with hardly a pause.

"Long story short, Martin and I lived together for a while. Most of that time he was also screwing his new therapist – a doctor on my staff, a doctor I—when I found out about it and took the relationship to the Board of Directors, my complaint was met with resistance and a reluctance to act. The contact was consensual, after all. Instead of staying put and doing what I should have done, which was file a grievance with the State Board, I did nothing and took a position proffered by the Trustee Chairman."

Gus lowered his eyes and spun his coffee cup back and forth in half circles. He wanted to ask the question, but wasn't sure he cared much to know the answer. "Let me see if I understand this. As Chief of Staff you had irrefutable evidence of an ethics violation and you didn't report it."

Tom's jaw worked back and forth before he spoke. "Fuck. When you say it like that… the Clinic was doing great work; it was needed. But, they couldn't take another hit, not so soon, and you'd be surprised – there's always somebody who wants to keep the shitpot stirred." His voice had changed, ragged edges and something of desperation. "I tried to stay on. But the Chairman made sure all the Directors knew and the fact that I pushed to take the matter to the State Board of Grievances, well, the whole damn thing watered down my effectiveness."

"And they knew you'd been involved with a man," Gus added.

Tom didn't answer right away and when he did, it was no answer at all. "I thought it was best for the Clinic, best for the work to leave."

Gus locked eyes with Tom. "So University Hospital isn't so much a feather as it is penance?"

Tom looked away and toyed with his cup. "You could say that."

"And you did what you did for the good of the clinic so it wouldn't fold under the weight of another scandal."

Tom looked up, his face brightening and so very earnest. "A lot of people were getting help there, Gus."

Gus studied him a moment. "And what did you hope to get from me?

"What?"

"Did you tell me so I'd agree with you, pat you on the back and give you absolution – way to go, buddy, you did the right thing?"

Tom leaned back in his chair. "No."

Gus shook his head. "That's exactly what you're doing. You want my permission to stay out of it—you think if you get it, that'll help crush some of that guilt you feel. And that's where you're wrong… on both counts." He started to get up, not so hungry anymore.

"Gus…"

"No. Did you ever think this was about more than just you? More than Martin and being hurt? More than your peers finding out you sleep with men?"

Tom's mouth was tight and his nostril flared a little. It was a look Gus had never seen before, but he was in too deep to stop.

"Okay, you're trying to reason this away by saying the relationship was consensual, but it was still a breach of ethics – on your watch. What if it happens to someone else, not consensual? You want that as your legacy to the clinic?" Gus paused a moment. He reached over and slipped his hand over Tom's. "I'm sure I'm not saying anything you haven't already bludgeoned yourself with half a dozen times. You know what you have to do. And I understand it's pretty close to your own backyard and all but, Tom, you do not have my permission to do nothing." He thought a moment in Tom's silence, then added, "Or is that what you wanted to hear all along?"

Chapter Twenty-three

The community of Forest Hills Estates was a mere fifteen-minute drive from Gus' door; it was also a short trip into another class. Awe inspiring architecture sat haughtily on properties well back from the clean, French manicured curbing surrounded by meticulous – if not Stepford-esque – landscaping. It was a beautiful neighborhood that appeared to exist for the purpose of photo-ops and automobile ads. Even during the winter, there was no accumulation of exhaust-blackened snow piled against the neat curbs.

A perfect backdrop, Gus thought, as he drove along streets with no one in them. Here, families went elsewhere to play and work and the kids stayed inside. When he made the turn onto Blythewood Avenue, he passed a maintenance team swarming over the property on the corner. As much a sign of spring as the opening of the Maxwell Street Market, a cadre of uniformed worker bees on a timetable to finish their quadrant before dusk, before the streets and houses began to fill again. They were allowed to pollute the serenity while kids were in schools and adults worked and shopped and attended meetings so that homeowners could come home to the wet-green scent of mowed lawns and clipped hedges instead of oily exhaust. So television shows and dinner parties could be enjoyed, uninterrupted by the collective hum and growl of the business of compliance with restrictive covenants and neighborhood association rules.

A two-story Georgian of brick and ivy stood at number 2112. The pool and pool house out back were additions, as was the offset solarium wing that greeted him at the end of the drive. For Ed, it was a hobby; for Sandy, a point of status.

No matter how pretentious, his eyes appreciated the straight lines and angles. It galled him to be there – to go to Sandy and ask for help. It ran against everything a Gruber was. Grubers worked hard and made their fortunes; they recognized the fundamental differences between needs and wants and acted accordingly. But Grubers also loved fiercely and would prostrate themselves before the Devil himself for so little as a child's smile, which, fittingly, was exactly how Gus found himself in this position.

It still stung that Danny hadn't been the one to mention the camp.

He stood and ran his hand along the weathered oak double doors, the entry to the castle keep. Ed was surely stinking with love to do all he did for Sandy, and Gus had to wonder if she even recognized that. He rang the bell and was a little surprised when she answered almost immediately. He'd phoned ahead so Sandy knew the purpose of his visit. Probably couldn't wait for the opportunity to humiliate him in person.

She ushered him into the room they used as their home office. It had been completely redecorated from the last time he'd seen it – lots of leather, stainless and polished wood.

At her request, Gus explained more about the Saint John's Academy Summer Camp – a citadel-like sports camp using a quasi-military approach to teaching structure and discipline in a sports-oriented atmosphere. The camp could offer Danny the opportunity for flag football, baseball, soccer, lacrosse, swimming, and sailing. They even had an Iron Man course applicable to age groups.

"And so you've come to me for the money. You didn't say on the phone. How much?"

"It runs for three whole weeks, and—"

"How much?"

Asking Sandy for the money was anathema; there were various body parts Gus would rather forfeit. But she was the piper, and if he wanted this for his son, he'd have to dance to whatever tune of her choosing. That look in her eyes; she'd love that. A magic power to suspend and contort him every which way with the crook of a finger or the flick of a wrist.

Gus looked everywhere except in those eyes as he answered, "He's not a returning camper, so… with the application fee, it's $1750." He waited for it, but she only walked over and leaned against her desk.

"You've checked it out, I suppose. Yes, I'm sure you have. I'll talk to Danny about it. If he's as excited as you say, then I'll consider it," she said dismissively. "Now, since you're here, there's something I've been meaning to ask about."

He bit down hard. She'd talk to Danny – and not mention a thing about the fact that it was his dad's idea. Maybe that really didn't matter. "Ask me about what?"

"When can I expect to send over for Deidra's things? You've had ample time, Gus."

He thought of the look on Danny's face when he'd found Gus in Dede's bathroom contemplating clearing it out. "I can't take everything of hers out of the house right now. Danny's not ready for that. How do you think that's going to make him feel?"

"Not as bad I would think as having that doctor replace her."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, I think you heard me just fine," she said, folding her arms across her bosom.

The heat started at the base of his neck and crept higher and higher. "I know I don't need to tell you this, but that's none of your concern." He took a few steps closer, trying to keep his voice even. "You may hold the purse strings here, but I'll be damned if you're going to dictate my life. I will not replace Deeds in whatever sick power trip thing you've got going on, so you can just butt the hell out of my business."

"Danny's welfare is my business, remember?" She pushed off from the desk and walked past him. "Oh, I knew this would happen. I kept my mouth shut and didn't say anything to anyone, but I knew."

Gus rolled his eyes. "I thought I was here to discuss summer camp."

"Three weeks so you can have your friend all to yourself?"

"Fine, we'll talk about this later then, when you can focus. I've done the application; all that's left is a physical for Danny. The spots fill up quick, so try not to be such a bitch and think fast."

Sandy stood her ground. "You don't get to talk to me like that and you don't make the rules. Not when it comes to Danny."

The tightness in his chest grew worse. "You wouldn't think twice about sending your own kids to camp for months at a time. They do tend to get in the way of the summer social scene, don't they?" He turned to leave and then turned back. "The deadline for deposits is end of the month."

"If we're talking about deadlines, I'll give you two weeks to have Dede's things packed and ready, and don't make me have to bring a deputy with me."

This time Gus stepped right into Sandy's space, hardly noticing her flinch. "You are one piece of work. Why don't you admit what this whole thing's really about? Screw Gus, isn't that it? No matter the circumstance, just dig that silver-handled knife in deeper every time, just keep the poor sonofabitch under your thumb." Gus took a gulp of air. He was beyond hold back what needed saying. "Your guilt for trying to seduce your own sister's husband does not trump my relationship with my son. You don't get to put that little personal demon to rest by taking it out of my ass."

He stepped back. If there was one thing he hadn't expected, it was the big, phony-ass smile on her face, the kind she plastered on for club photos and people who annoyed her. The force of it gave her time to recover. "Two weeks, Gus," she said calmly. "And maybe I'll bring that deputy along after all."

~~~~~

Still rankled by his visit, Gus forgot to bring Oscar when he went to pick Danny up from school. His sentence: a poked-out lip and a sullen child who disappeared into his room with the mutt as soon as they crossed the threshold. Danny continued the cold-shoulder treatment as he picked at his food during dinner and asked to be excused without dessert.

Gus cleared the table then camped out in his office to try to work his way out of the heavy blue funk with the death-grip on his shoulders. It held him down like a pair of hands. Hands like Tom's, Gus thought.

Suddenly, Gus felt them, roaming and mapping his skin, finding places to linger that had never seemed important before. They were now simply because Tom thought they were interesting. The pale, soft flesh in the crease of his thighs or the crescent below his nape – a small but terribly erotic piece of dermal real estate Tom liked to tease by dragging his lips across it.

Gus pushed the heel of his hand over his crotch. He didn't need this now. He had work to do. Not to mention a son who wasn't speaking to him and thought he was an idiot because he'd committed the unpardonable sin of leaving the freaking dog at home. And then there was Sandy. Blowing up on her earlier – he may as well have just handed her more rope for her stranglehold and tightened the knots himself.

And that really was it. The single cherry on top of an entire day made of fail. That smug smile of dismissal. No, the thing he needed to do was exactly what she wasn't expecting. Pack Dede's personal items and deliver them himself. He'd start with the clothes and give Danny first choice. First, though, he'd need to explain and give his son a chance to get used to the idea.

Gus knocked before poking his head inside and was kind of surprised to see Danny at his table with his books out. "Hey, kid." He went over and knelt beside his son. When Danny looked at him, flashes of Dede passed across his face like a shudder and then he was an eight-year-old boy again. Gus pulled him close and held him there a moment, breathing in the scent of dirt and sweat.

Danny tried half-heartedly to wriggle out of the embrace. "What was that for?" he asked when Gus let go.

"Oh, now I need a reason to hug my own son?"

When he didn't answer, Gus took a deep breath and pressed on. "Hey, you remember that thing I told you about, the court thing with Sandy?"

Danny nodded. "Where Aunt Sandy takes care of my money until I get ready to go to college?"

"Yeah, that's part of it." His knee was beginning to throb, so he pulled up another of the small wooden chairs and perched on the edge of it. "The other thing is the Court said it was okay for Sandy to have the things that belonged to Mom, like her jewelry and clothes, stuff like that."

"Why?"

"Because Mom and Sandy were sisters. Sandy misses her just like we do. Maybe she just wants them to remember Dede by. But the Court says I have to let her have them."

Danny seemed to think about that. "But you said Mom left everything to me."

"She did. Her part of the house, the money, but the personal things… it's like a different kind of property and Sandy asked for them, and…" It was tough to convince a child of something he didn't really understand himself. "What would you do with Mom's clothes, anyway?"

Danny shook his head and began to draw lines and circles in the corner of his paper. Gus watched, but said nothing.

"I could do it when you're at school if you want. Just her clothes… and you can have whatever you want."

Danny's "Okay" was small and soft, and tugged at Gus too hard. He held his sigh of relief, though. Maybe the clothes would be enough to keep Sandy off his back for a while and she'd forget about the other stuff. Right, and Ed McMahon would show up on his doorstep tomorrow with one of those big-ass checks.

While he checked Danny's math, they talked about going to the movies that weekend and the tension eased a bit. Gus offered to make hot chocolate – the real deal, since Tom had told him how. He could control the sugar and the dark chocolate cocoa powder was actually good for both of them.

Later, he read to Danny until their chocolate was gone, fussed with him about taking a bath, crumbled like a clod of dirt, then left his smelly kid in bed with a kiss to the forehead.

He'd check around the attic in the morning for boxes, otherwise he could stop at one of the package stores on the way back from dropping Danny at school. He jumped when Oscar nosed his thigh – still trying to get used to that extra presence in the house. "Sorry, boy, wet hands," he said, nudging the dog's muzzle. But cuddling didn't seem to be what he was looking for. "Oh! Hang on." He finished rinsing the pot he'd washed and dried his hands so he could open the back door.

The house was quiet. He sat at the breakfast table and waited for Oscar. Quiet but… something he couldn't place. Maybe it was thinking of going into that room and packing. That was one more step toward finality – not that things weren't pretty goddamn final – more closure than anything. But not exactly a welcome closure, if that made any sense. He laughed, thinking what Tom would make of that. Gus wished he knew himself.

After letting the dog back inside, Gus made sure everything was locked up tight. He thought he might work a while because he wasn't particularly sleepy and he was close to having the first set of sketches completed.

Danny's door was partially open – not surprising since Oscar had taken to sleeping in there. What was interesting was that a light was on.

When he peeked in, Danny seemed to be asleep. He stared at the lamp on the dresser, pretty certain that he'd turned it off. Oscar was curled up at Danny's feet and yawned at the intrusion when Gus stepped over to douse the light again. Glancing down at his son, he noticed something and knelt by the bed.

Curled in Danny's hands was one of Dede's favorite sweaters – a grey cashmere cardigan. Closing his eyes, he grazed his fingertips over the softness, then pulled the sweater close and inhaled deeply. She'd wear it on weekends with her black jeans and one of Gus' white tee shirts. If she were going out for anything, she'd 'dress it up' by putting on a necklace. Mostly though, he recalled how soft her shoulders were in it, curled on the sofa with her guys, reading or watching television.

What would Danny want with her clothes indeed?

This was that finality he'd feared, that dark nothing that seemed to be around every corner yet not there whenever he looked. This was the way it was going to be. It had been much too easy to push the reality out of the way and think she was on a trip somewhere, that she'd come home and life could go on.

But this was his life. This: Danny, the house, his job, Oscar… Sandy. Tom. He couldn't go back no matter how much he wished it. His best friend in the whole world – his compass – was gone with no goodbye, no parting instructions, or words of encouragement. And even though he should have known it all along, things were not going to be the same. Dede was not going to come in at the last minute and save his ass. He needed to stop holding his breath and take a step. Then another and still another.

He opened his eyes to the best of both of them. …He's your responsibility, Gus… Perhaps there were words of encouragement… if only he'd stop and listen.

Chapter Twenty-four

"Adam, I don't need you to tell me Valerie's trying to call me." Tom stuffed the day's work in his satchel and picked up his cup. Somehow, he was going to have to find the time to look at the papers at home. He hadn't talked to Adam Michaud in ages and it sucked that had to be this way. "I've gotten her messages."

"Which is why I'm calling… you haven't called her back. Tom?"

"I'm out of it," he snapped. It was a bright morning, probably going to be a nice day, but all he could think of was getting home. The kind of headache presently using his skull as a rebounder needed sleep and lots of it.

"You're seriously going to take that position? She needs—"

"Was there another reason you called?" Tom asked.

"No. Dude, don't be a dick, just call her, okay?"

He nodded and smiled to a few people in the parking lot, glad for a good excuse not to have to stop and talk. "You just tell her you did your duty. Call me back sometime when I'm not such an ass, huh?"

"By then, I'll need a hearing aid to understand you."

"Bite me, Michaud. Good talking to you."

Tom sat in his parked car and squinted at the missed calls, idly running a hand through his hair. After a moment, he slipped the phone in his pocket and started the car.

Even after taking the Midrin, Tom couldn't sleep. Whether the reason was the headache or Adam's call was a toss-up. He padded into the kitchen and paced, which he could have done in the bedroom, so he opened the fridge for a beer. Then, remembering the Midrin, he put it back, standing there staring but not seeing, wishing he'd have called Gus right out of class. It was easier to sleep there, even in the small guest room.

He grabbed his phone from the table, and went in and sat on the sofa, playing Valerie's message again, then again. It covered him with chills both times, palms sweating as he pulled up the missed calls again. He stared at the numbers and thought about Gus again. That was much better – imagining what he was doing, if he was working. He would have called, just to talk, but right at that moment, he didn't trust himself. Christ, all he wanted to do was sleep.

Chapter Twenty-five

He tried. He had the boxes and it was a valiant effort if something nice needed to be said of his efforts. But everything Gus removed from a hanger ended up right back. The picture of Danny from the night before was firmly fixed in Gus' mind. He'd try again tomorrow. The one thing he could do though was clear out the bathroom – even if he just put things in a box, he needed the space.

Armed with a Glad trash bag, Gus made the work methodical and calculated. Nothing could stay. Makeup, shampoo, deodorant, toothbrush – dumped, not picked through. Picking was tactile and it allowed too much time for thinking. Lingering on any of it was to see Dede, to feel her watching him, and he couldn't take that. Not judging him exactly, but… His fax machine phone wailed from his office. He hated that ring.

Straightening out the curled paper, Call me was scrawled in his assistant's bold, frantic hand. He picked up the phone there and called Gretchen.

"What's up?" he said, trying to be cheeriest voice she'd likely hear all day.

"She wants me to remind you that you're going to have to come in for this one." 'She' was code for the boss and 'this one' meant the presentation. The presentation.

"Duh, thanks for that news flash, but I sort of figured that. That's cool. What? Why do you sound like there's an iron shoe about to drop somewhere?"

"You're going to need… a suit. She says so. This is really important, Gus, and I'm making a particular point in telling you, so—"

"Okay, okay. So, I have to buy a suit. I think I can handle that."

"Have you ever owned a suit?"

Gus rolled his eyes. "Jesus, will you tell Rita not to worry? And don't you worry either."

He set the phone down with a sigh. For someone who'd said they'd never recommend him for an illustrating job, his boss seemed pretty damned interested in what he was doing. It wasn't enough he was going into the office three days a week and taking on other assignments, she had to be on his ass at home, too?

He scrolled through the few sketches he'd scanned and was pleased overall. The subject matter of the story – the fantasy element and the mythical creatures - intrigued him and he let himself feel a tiny bit of admiration for what he'd created to represent the lead characters. First, he'd thought of spending the afternoon coloring the sketches he had so far, but that wasn't exactly where his mind was.

Instead, he opened the folder containing the notes and draft of his own story. Reading over the draft, he immediately had ideas for revisions and where he needed to go next. When he finally looked up an hour later, when the words and voices stopped flowing, he'd added almost 4,000 words. It was a good feeling, a sort of freedom not unlike the drawing.

For verisimilitude, he wanted to use the real names of the Captain and crew, if possible. Just about to search the internet, he thought of the logbooks. The backpack lay in the floor of the closet right where he'd flung it weeks ago; a little flush crept over the back of his neck and the hairs on his arms stood on end. Not only would he get names, he'd also have the verbatim accounts to quote.

He chose the ship's log first and flipped through the yellowed pages, and flipped some more, eyes widening as he turned the pages faster. Finally, he held the book upside down, shaking it as if the words might fall out at his feet. He then snatched up the Purser's log, heart pounding a rush of blood to his head. His mouth dried at the same discovery.

He dropped the book as if it was hot metal, pacing the small perimeter of his desk; fear, like a brushfire, threatened to gain momentum in the winds of panic. Tommy, he thought, stuffing the logbooks back inside the pack. He needed to talk to Tommy. Now.

~~~~~

Okay, yes, I asked Adam to call you. They're going to file on this, Tom. The patient's family is pushing. With your help, Paulson kept the other one under wraps, but you and I both know that's not going to happen this time. I need you, Tom. When you get a minute, just call me. Please?

Tom closed his eyes and shook his head. No. He was out of it, just like he'd told Adam. This didn't have anything to do with him. And one sure as hell didn't have anything to do with the other – not in his book, anyway.

Fuck, he should have just gone to Gus' straight from class. Falling asleep was never a problem after a blowjob.

~~~~~

Gus swallowed the bitter bile that gathered at the back of his throat and reached for the phone. Before he could grab it, it began to buzz. Pulling his arm back like a shot, he stood there and stared, watching it spin itself further in a small semi-circle with each vibration. Hesitating only a few more seconds, he picked it up. It was Tom.

"Gus, what's wrong? You sound—"

"Nothing. I'm—nothing, I'm just a little busy. Sorry."

"Well, listen, I won't keep you, I had an idea. My weekend's coming up and I thought maybe we could spend a couple days together. I checked, the Sox are in town against Detroit, pretty sure I can get tickets."

Gus took a deep breath and shuffled some papers around on his desk. He just needed Tom to keep talking – maybe he wouldn't get too tired of it after an hour or so.

"Gus?"

"Yes. I'm here, yeah, that sounds...that sounds great actually. I can see if Sandy will keep Danny – unless you meant all of us?"

"I'd like that, and maybe we can do that next time, but I was thinking just you and me. But if you think Sandy will be a problem..."

"No. Leave that to me. Just the two of us, huh? I really – yes, I'd like that."

"Good, then it's a date. I'll make reservations somewhere nice and see about the tickets."

It was just what Gus needed, an entire weekend with Tom all to himself. "Hey, it's almost one; why aren't you sleeping?"

"Getting there. Later, Gus."

The weekend plans were enough to knock the edge off the fire in his stomach, but Gus' hand still shook slightly as he scrolled for Tommy's office number. He had to leave a voice mail: Dinner. Gus would cook.

For company, he whistled for Oscar. Standing there going through his litany of self-talk steps, he couldn't get his mind off the new element to the story. He thought maybe he should go back and work on his sketches, but he was too nervous. Words and concepts started to swirl and gel in his brain… even bits of dialogue. The best thing he could do now was to sit down and write it out of his system. His stomach growled, pricking up Oscar's ears. Cuffing the dog under the jowls, Gus suggested they go make a sandwich first.

Chapter Twenty-six

"Well, it only took three months," Tommy remarked. He and Charley followed Gus into the kitchen. It was really good to see Charley again; she looked much happier, and most of the sadness had disappeared from her eyes. "Whoa, what smells so good?"

"Baked spaghetti," Gus said proudly. "And garlic bread."

Tommy cocked his head. "You made this?"

Gus couldn't take credit for the bread, of course; he'd gotten that at the Italian bakery on Second Street, but the casserole… "It's an idea I got from Mrs. Kolaski; I just combined it with a sauce a friend told me about." He was aware that he sounded like a cooking show geek, but this was the first time he'd cooked for company and he'd wanted everything to be right. He'd even remembered the sun-dried tomatoes and had methodically chopped the onions, zucchini, and peppers. He'd tried to rock the knife like Tom showed him, but that got a little scary.

Charley gave Tommy a look and said she was sure everything would be great. She then offered to make a salad and Gus pointed thankfully to the fridge. "I bought wine," he said. "I didn't know if…" His stomach knotted out of the blue and then the shaking started. Not that anyone could see, but tiny tremors inside him.

"Beer's fine," Charley said, handing one each to Tommy and Gus, then taking one for herself. "Where's Danny?"

"I made him take a bath early. In fact, I should probably go check on him." Setting his beer down, he was actually glad for a moment alone outside the bathroom door. He needed just a moment to collect his thoughts so he wouldn't walk back into the kitchen and scream at the top of his lungs about the logbooks. After a few good breaths, it occurred to him that there was too much splashing going on inside.

He heaved a sigh when he opened the bathroom door. Danny ducked down, covering himself with suds, like Gus was going to see something he hadn't seen a thousand times. Gus was just trying to figure where all the soap had come from. Then he spied the shampoo bottle overturned on the floor, a small glob oozing from the flip cap. There were even suds on the ceiling.

Note to self, Gus thought: never leave Danny and Oscar to their own devices. Oscar, who had just jumped from the tub, was now dripping soapy water on the bathroom rug. Thinking fast, Gus pulled the door closed until he could no longer hear the jingling of the dog's collar. He was almost afraid to look when he opened it. It could have been worse and Danny, now over his shyness, looked up at his father. Part angelic innocence and part impish delight. "Don't move!" Gus said sternly, then closed the door again.

He ran up the steps to the attic room for his camera. Oh, this was going to be awesome blackmail material.

~~~~~

Dinner was difficult. Whenever the food and the laughter had the nerves loosening their grip, the panic and worry would muscle its way back in and fill Gus' veins with adrenaline, leaving him lightheaded and shaky by the end of the meal.

Charley talked about her job at the dive shop and how she still felt a little like a fish out of water. To which Danny piped up that his dad was going to take him fishing in the ocean. Gus, Tommy, and Charley all shared a glance.

"We'll get there," Gus said. They all laughed nervously and Danny rolled his eyes when Gus added, "Maybe somewhere safe like Lake Michigan."

"You should have seen your mom, the first time I took her," Gus said. "I've never seen so many shades of green. So bad we had to turn around and go back in."

"I remember that." Tommy looked conspiratorially to Danny. "The way she told the story, your dad forgot his sunscreen and that was the reason they had to cut the trip short." He smiled back at Gus and Gus tried to return it, but he knew he wasn't pulling it off.

He told Danny that Charley could tie knots and bait hooks better than either him or Tommy, and Tommy suggested that she teach Danny a few knots. Danny mentioned that he wanted to show Charley his room anyway.

"We'll catch up," Tommy said, brushing her hand as she got up. He waited until they were down the hall. "Okay, Gus, what is it? You've been a few shades of green tonight yourself."

"I need to talk to you. Hell, I need to tell someone; I can't keep it to myself any longer."

He led Tommy into the kitchen and disappeared into the laundry room off the pantry. "You know I told you I've been thinking about writing a book…" He came back holding the backpack and dumped the logbooks onto the table.

From the way his face hardened, Tommy recognized them immediately. "Jesus Harold Christ, Gus," he said picking one up. "How did you—"

Gus waved him off. "Open it."

Tommy looked up at him, face twisted, and Gus felt the sense of shared déjà vu.

"Where's the writing, Tommy? You saw it the same as me. We were there. You read the entries. Where the fuck is the writing? And here?" Gus opened the Purser's log, still splotched with Stu's blood, but as blank as a dead man's stare.

"I don't know. Maybe we just saw the writing as part of whatever 'it' was, because 'it' wanted us to."

"What? You think this isn't real? You're holding it in your hands. Don't give me that rational, legal crap. It says right there, Ship's Log, RMS Queen of Scots. Look at it, Tommy, that's Stu's blood. We both held this same book in that salon. We read the words."

"Jesus, Gus, I don't know! Why didn't you tell me about this before? Why—what do you think it means?"

"I've got just word for you… curse," Gus said, folding his arms over his chest.

"What?"

"Curse. Curse, you know, like that white-faced witch doctor and that woman screeching at us in—"

"Whoa, Gus, now wait just a minute. Are you telling me you believe that? You think all this – the ship, Dede – you think that happened because of a curse?"

"You have a better explanation?"

Tommy ran both his hands through his hair and massaged his temples. "No, Gus, I have facts. Shit happens."

"Oh, please."

"Do you want a copy of Dede's autopsy report? She died of an aneurysm, not voodoo."

"Look at the timing, Tommy? And both of them, Deeds and Danny? Coincidence? I don't think so."

"Then why hasn't anything happened to me? I was there, so was Charley."

"Because I brought the bloody, fucking things back—I don't know, it's like the Mummy or something."

"Christ." Tommy said, lowering himself into one of the kitchen chairs. "You're serious. This is how you want to explain all the shit with Sandy, too? She's always been a bitch. I don't think a curse could have made that worse. More like, her sister's gone and she's taking out all her… whatever, on you like she's always wanted to do."

Gus gathered up the books and stuffed them back in the pack.

"Wait, Gus, listen to me. I can't explain this any more than you, okay, but this…" he pointed to the pack, "changes nothing. It has nothing to do with living you life. You have responsibilities – you have Danny."

Yes. All of that, plus Tom. Gus couldn't help thinking Tom was a part of that life, too. With that thought, came a stab of fear. The one thing he couldn't bear was if the curse touched Danny in some way, or Tom, or Tommy, or Charley. "Now do you see why I'm so freaked out?"

"And about this book… what are you planning to do? You know you can't write about what really happened."

For maybe the first time since the idea took hold in his mind, Gus thought about that rationally. Something in Tommy's eyes made him. "You mean people would see me as a tin-hat crazy? One of those people who live in trailers in the desert and wear tee shirts saying 'I want to believe'?"

"Well, not to put too fine a point on it… but yeah. Not to mention the legal hoops you'd have to jump through – especially with those logbooks – a publisher wouldn't touch it. And I don't even want to think about the Port Authority, the Coast Guard, and hell knows who else... national security, men in black. Jesus, Gus, talk about a can of worms."

"Maybe you're right." Maybe he was crazy, but Gus felt almost relieved.

Almost.

"I realize it's important to you, but there's got to be another hook, another way to write this. Fiction, horror – write about what happened, sure, you just can't present that as fact. And, listen…" Tommy raked a hand through his hair again, not able to meet Gus' eyes. "Jesus… you know I'd have never left you there, if I thought…"

He took hold of Tommy's arm, until Tommy looked at him again. Gus shook his head. "We're not going to do that," he said. "I know. We don't talk about it again, okay? Any of it." Think about it, dream about it, now that was something else again.

Tommy nodded and then, as he always did, he recovered. He stood up, grabbed Gus by the back of his neck, and spun him around, grinning like an idiot. "What do you say I whip your ass at Madden – shouldn't take long – you can even be the Patriots and I'll still beat you."

He gave Tommy a hip-check. "Oh, you are so on."

~~~~~

Gus was tired but maybe a bit calmer from talking to Tommy. In so many ways that would never change, Tommy was his touchstone – the one person he could count on not to blow smoke up his ass for any reason, or to be loyal and protective. A sheepdog on two legs, with a touch of pit bull when needed.

And then there was Danny. It had been a good night, especially with Danny cheering him on playing video games. Going in to say goodnight, Danny was already in bed. So was Oscar.

"You should be asleep," Gus said, sitting down on the side of the bed.

"I still can't believe you beat Tommy at Madden," Danny said. "Why didn't you tell me you were so good? It was cool."

Gus shrugged. "I can beat you, too. Any day, any way."

"I don't think so," Danny said, shaking his head.

Gus pulled the covers up a little.

"We could play a whole season... what's that?" Danny asked. He'd noticed Gus had something in his hand.

"I printed it for you," Gus replied, holding up a print he'd made of one of the snapshots of Danny taken in the bathroom.

"Dad..." It showed Oscar about to jump from the tub and Danny, suds clinging to his skinny, wet and very bare chest, ribs shadowed from the lighting, reaching out to stop him.

"Oh, there's more," Gus said with a smile. "But I like this one." He held it out admiringly. "Thought you might want to give it to Megan Kate, that's such a flattering expression on your face."

"You are not serious," Danny said, grabbing for the photo. "No way."

He pulled it up out of reach and Danny went for it again, but Gus caught him in the ribs right beneath his armpit to tickle him. Danny fell back into a heap laughing and struggling to get away. Oscar barked at Gus and tried to nose him out of the way. Danny howled and Gus kept tickling and Oscar kept barking until Danny started to hiccup.

"Uh oh." He helped Danny to sit up before going to get a glass of water. "Here," he said, handing it over. "Sip that and take your finger, see, and press right there..." indicating right below his Adam's apple, "...press while you sip... sip and swallow hard."

Danny tried a few times between hiccups. "Dad..."

Gus smiled at him. "I'm sorry. Look, press a little harder... there, angle your head down some, yeah, just like that... now, sip... sip... keep pressing... sip..."

In a moment, the hiccups were gone. Danny looked up at him as if he'd performed a magic spell.

Gus shrugged a shoulder. "Something someone told me once." He'd forgotten who. "I didn't believe it either, but it works every time. The trick is to stop the spasms in your throat – something about the pressure right there calming the muscles." He picked up the photo again. "So, I guess that's a no on giving this to Me—"

"No!" Danny said, handing the glass back to his dad.

"All right. How about we just leave it here." He stood up and propped the print against the lamp on Danny's dresser. "You want me to leave this on?" he asked.

Danny nodded and hurriedly added, "Will you read to me? I want you to read the one about the treasure and the bug and Jupiter. I like the way you do the voices."

As far as Gus was concerned, the day couldn't have ended better even if he'd ordered it up. Lying there reading to his son, Oscar at the foot of the bed – though he was sure Tom would quirk that brow of his at reading Poe to an eight-year-old – and he wished he could freeze that moment in time.

Pulling up his own covers, he felt good. He closed his eyes, prickling with anticipation at spending another weekend with Tom and tried to sleep.

Chapter Twenty-seven

The afternoon was pleasant. Spring games were the best and the fact that Tom loved baseball Gus counted as a blessing. Sitting there, Gus ran through his mental checklist once more. It seemed like a good time, the Sox were down 8 to 1. Their skipper had been tossed early. It was getting to be a thing. If Manuel kept that up, he'd be on his way to setting a club record for ejections, maybe even a league record.

He'd called Sandy (twice) to make sure she'd picked Danny up from school, and that he hadn't forgotten his backpack (even though he'd seen Danny leave with it). In a fit of panic, Gus had called the office before they'd taken their seats to make sure he'd turned in his drafts and copy for approval before next week's presentation. Gretchen had confirmed, clucked at him, and ordered him to enjoy himself. His work had helped him stuff the curse further back in his mind, determined not to let it ruin the weekend.

Two whole days with Tom, and Gus wanted to make it count. Tomorrow, they'd see a show and had specifically taken a chance on coming in without advance tickets. It'd be fun to take what they could get.

He looked over at the man sitting beside him. Ass on the edge of his seat, beer in hand, leaning forward like the action on the field was somehow different from what the score indicated. Between Tom's crazy schedule and Danny, their time – time just for them – was as scarce as real estate in Manhattan, so it didn't really matter that the Sox were losing (not much anyway), or that they didn't have orchestra seats for the best show in town. A little not-so-innocent necking in the back of an obscure theater couldn't be a bad thing.

Watching Tom strafe the left fielder with pointed and colorful language after Lee had missed the cut-off man, Gus had a sudden urge to touch him. Just something as simple as a hand on his shoulder, but he resisted. Not out of fear, but rather that touching Tom and being touched by him seemed almost too precious to be shared or witnessed by anyone else.

Relying more on long looks, tone of voice, and inside jokes for their intimacy, they weren't usually demonstrative in public. All bets were off, though, when they were alone. Hands and mouths were hardly idle, their bodies always touching, even in sleep, when they got the rare pleasure to do it together. The physical gulf between those two worlds was like the difference in a sun-bleached, barren beach and a steamy, dense rainforest, where the low, lush canopy surrounded them, breathed with them and held them in its fullness. Even when they were apart, the heat of it remained, swirling with sense memories that made it real, and just the sound of the other's voice over the phone became a caress or a promise.

"Did you see that shit?" Tom turned around, an incredulous look on his face, like one more run was really going to make a difference in the eighth inning. Gus blamed the beer as the reason they were even still there. Tom stood up as Lee was walking out to retake his position. "Four point two million a year, you should damn well be able to hit the cut-off man."

Gus smiled and took the last few swallows of his beer, then set his cup down on the concrete beside him. Most everyone had already left their sections in the upper boxes; the few who remained were braving the early spring breeze to get some sun. Throwing his own caution to the wind, Gus laid his hand at the small of Tom's back; he suddenly wanted to have Tom very close and very naked.

"C'mon, let's get out of here. You're a glutton for punishment and my ass is getting numb. The Tigers have the heart of the order up next inning, anyway… unless, of course, they bat around again in this one."

Tom turned around and, in a moment, all the frustration seemed to leave his face. "Fucking Detroit," he said with exasperated resignation.

~~~~~

When Gus suggested they leave the game early, shopping was so far from what he had in mind. But Tom could be very persuasive, and he did need a suit for the Littman presentation. Traditionally, shopping to Gus was picking up a cool tee shirt from a street vendor, or scoring a great, hard-to-find pair of sneakers on eBay.

He'd been to Barney's once with Stu, but nothing in the place had been worth skipping lunch or living on Cheerios for a month. He had a feeling the shop they were in now was the same sort of place. It smelled expensive – the places Gus had frequented in New York had always made his eyes and nose burn from the cheap dyes.

Tom suggested a navy blue with pale blue shirt. After trying it on, Gus remarked that he looked like a funeral director, even though Tom assured him that wasn't the case. Moving on, the next one Tom brought back was a black pin stripe with an even paler blue shirt.

"Okay, now I look like my Gramps."

Tom leaned in close behind him. "No way. I'd never get the hots for an old man."

Gus stared back at himself, then cocked his head. "I'll be a Gramps someday… maybe."

"Yes, and if I'm still able to get it up by then, I promise I'll get hard just for you, okay? Now, have you decided?"

Gus turned in Tom's arms. "Wait a minute, does that mean you have some history of erectile dysfunction? I believe that's something I should be made aware of."

"Will you shut up?" Tom said before kissing Gus quiet. "Can't wait to get you back to the hotel. So, this one, right?"

Gus pulled a face. "I don't know. There was one other one I saw; be right back."

When he came back to the dressing room, he held up the suit for Tom. It was ridiculous how comfortable Gus had become with that Spock thing Tom did with his eyebrows.

"You're not serious?"

"What? I like it. Look, I even got the shirt and tie to match."

Tom looked all the way down. "Not to mention the shoes."

Gus pushed past him into the dressing room stall. "Stand back, you'll see."

In a few moments, Gus opened the door a crack and motioned for Tom to come in. He stood in front of the mirror and tried to gauge Tom's reaction. The muted purple complemented his fair skin and brought out the blue of his eyes, even if Gus had to say so himself. He'd found a matching tonal shirt and tie and, when Tom still hadn't said anything, Gus spread his arms open wide. "Well?"

Tom sidled up behind him and fanned his hands out to the shoulders. "Oh, yeah, this is the one; only promise me, Gus, you won't wear those shoes."

Gus smirked. Tom making fun of his colored low top sneakers was nothing new. He had red ones, purple ones, and green ones, and they were the most comfortable shoes on Earth. "Does that mean you like it?"

Tom kicked the door closed behind him. It was one of those with the angled, open slats. Then he heard the snick of the lock.

"Tom…"

"This suit needs to come with a warning, may cause spontaneous hard-ons." His hands were on Gus' hips, spinning him around and pressing him against the wall.

Gus snorted. "Thank you, would you like a boner with that? Please, pull up to the first window."

Tom dissolved into giggles, but he quickly turned serious. "Christ, Gus, how is it you can get me so hot just making me laugh?"

"I thought it was the suit."

Tom shook his head. His hands were warm as they slipped inside the jacket, seeking out Gus' nipples. He knew that look in Tom's eyes and a choked moan was all Gus had to offer as he fought to decide which sensation to respond to first. Tom's mouth was hot and hinted at the sweet-stale taste of beer. His tongue teased so good. Hell, he might as well have been licking at Gus' cock for how hot it made him and he chose to deny Tom access just a little longer. Tease for tease.

However, there was nothing coy about Tom's knee between his legs, firm and persistent, slowly nudging Gus open. The day, the beer, the dizzying, pretentious perfume of the shop, and the responsive man in his arms all worked to make Gus' head spin. He parted his legs further, slid his hands into the gap of Tom's jeans at the small of his back, and pulled him in. Hips aligned, crotch to crotch, neither one of them needed a prompt for what to do next. Music pulsed from the speaker above them in time to their grinding. Gus was sweating; he took advantage of Tom's mouth at his neck and tried to grasp some rationality outside of the throbbing of his groin.

"Tom, hey, this is the only suit in my size… okay, maybe we should…."

Tom had already worked the tie loose and slid the jacket from Gus' shoulders while still working his mouth over that spot behind Gus' ear. Somehow, Tom deftly hung the jacket up one-handed as he freed one button after another on the shirt with the other. Gus scrabbled at the cuffs while Tom's tongue found his hardened nipples. Tom eased the shirt the same way as the jacket and dropped it on the little bench beside them.

That left the tie, which Tom pulled back and tucked behind Gus' shoulders, and the trousers. Gus reached to undo them but Tom got there first. Slipping his tongue inside Gus' mouth again, Tom lowered the zipper slowly and took out Gus' cock. Breaking the kiss, Gus got a parting glance from fiery eyes before Tom hit his knees.

Thank god, the doors were full and not those saloon types. Gus leaned into the wall and closed his eyes as Tom stroked him. Slow and just tight enough to have him at full staff in no time. Christ, it was as if Tom had a user's manual; he knew all of Gus' buttons and when to push them.

The knock on the door made Gus' eyes go wide.

"Do you gentlemen need anything? Perhaps I can get another size?"

Gus began to breathe again as Tom spoke up. He was amazed that Tom could answer with a straight face. "No, thanks. Everything's fine here… he just needs a bit of convincing. Jesus, thirty-two years old and never bought a suit—can you believe it? We're almost there, though. Be out in a second."

He'd hardly gotten the last word out before he closed his mouth over Gus. Hot, wet suction started his balls tingling almost immediately. If Tom kept that up…

"Tom, seriously, this is the only one in my size… if you…"

"You worry too much. Not gonna miss a drop," he said, then licked a long, wet stripe from base to tip that almost buckled Gus' knees. "Besides, I'm gunning for the top spot in that elusive Big Three."

"Huh?"

"Your top three greatest sexual experiences," Tom replied before dipping into the slit.

"Mmmm, it's good to have goals."

Tom smiled and continued to stroke him. Gus eased a hand into Tom's hair as a guide, but Tom just held him, licking over the shaft, circling the head over his reddened lips. "No, I'm asking… have I hit it yet?"

"Nnngghh… wouldn't be fair to tell you… might stop you from trying so hard," Gus breathed, steering his cock back inside the wet heat. Tom covered him this time, took him down to the root. Gus brought his fist to his mouth and bit down hard. Tom, true to his word, didn't miss a drop.

Chapter Twenty-eight

"Tell me again why we went to the dinning room instead of getting room service?" Gus asked, pressing the button for their floor.

Jesus, he smelled good, Tom thought, crowding Gus into the corner of the elevator. They were lucky enough to have the car to themselves. "Because then we'd have been fucking instead of eating."

"I'm sorry, in what way is that bad?"

Tom grinned and dipped his head to nuzzle the space below Gus' ear. "Want you so bad, Gus." He branded the words into Gus' skin as he slid a hand down to Gus' ass and pressed himself harder against the man he was about to fuck.

Gus was already breathing hard. "You brought everything, right?" he asked, wedging a hand between them and over the front of Tom's jeans.

Tom rocked into that touch and whispered, "Eagle Scout… real proud of my preparedness badge."

He hadn't let Gus get him off at the men's shop because he wanted the anticipation. He'd been so hard during dinner, they'd had to talk about bad movies and how tough it was for each of them to be grossed out so he wouldn't bend Gus over the table then and there.

Tom pulled Gus into a kiss, one that was dirty and sloppy and so damn hot Tom thought he might come in his pants before they ever reached the room. "You want it, don't you?" he asked, pulling back. "Tell me… tell me how much you want me to fuck you."

Gus turned into him fully and ground their hips together. It was like a laser light show behind Tom's eyes, the rub and vibration of the movement pushing him right to the edge. "Fuck yes… wanna feel you inside me… stretching me… want it now."

He wasn't sure, but Tom suspected Gus had never been fucked before; he'd felt that for some time, and the thought of topping Gus, sliding inside him so tight and hot made him shudder in Gus's arms. The elevator slowed, but it wasn't their floor. When the doors opened, a man and woman got on. Even though he wasn't still draped over Gus, Tom made no effort to hide his arousal. The disapproval was immediate in their eyes and the frowns on their faces.

He leaned in close to Gus and whispered, "You're gonna suck me off first, quick and dirty, then get me hard again." He felt Gus shiver. "I'll make it worth waiting for… I'll make it so good… we may not leave the room for the rest of the weekend."

Inside the room, jackets, shirts, and shoes hit the floor. They didn't get far before Gus pushed Tom against the wall. "I've always wanted to do this," he said, making quick work of Tom's button fly. "Up against a wall... Jesus, now twice in one day."

Tom waggled his eyebrows. "I hope you're not waiting for me to talk you ou—" Tom didn't finish his thought before Gus was kissing him. A quick, hard kiss while he worked his hand down Tom's pants. "Jesus," Tom breathed when Gus pulled away, "Jesus, Gus, make me come, right god da…" His head slammed back and met the wall and everything swirled into black. Gus made him come so hard, Tom could barely hold himself up. They stood there, Tom's weight all on Gus, breathing into each other's mouths. Tom could smell himself on Gus' breath; he licked at the corner of Gus' mouth and that was so… fuck…

Gus pulled back; there was a cell phone ringing.

"Yours, I think," Tom huffed and Gus pushed away to fish his cell from his jacket pocket.

He gave Tom a look before answering. "It's Sandy's number. Danny? Hey, Sport, what's wrong?"

Gus immediately got that worried dad look on his face while Tom's stomach completely bottomed out.

"Well, Daddy's in…" He glanced at Tom. "Dr. Tom and I came in to see the Sox game, but…. Is something wrong? Did Sandy say something to upset you? I know, but can't you get back to sle— does your Aunt Sandy know you're calling?" Gus raked his hand through his hair.

"Well, of course, I do… but… are you sure you don't want to stay…"

Tom tried to get Gus' attention. Maybe it was selfish, but a part of him didn’t like the way the conversation was going. Unless Danny was hurt or felt threatened in some way, he needed to stay put.

"…I thought Uncle Ed was taking you guys to the Zoo tomorrow… it's late and I think if you just go ba—okay, no, listen Danny don't get upset… of course, I'll come get you."

Tom blew out a frustrated breath and kicked his jeans from his ankles.

"You'll have to tell your Aunt Sandy… and it'll take me a little while to… is that her?"

Tom saw a bit of hope; he went over to Gus. "He's okay, Gus," Tom whispered. "Tell Sandy she needs to get him calmed down and—"

Gus turned away from him, putting a hand to his other ear. "No, I did not call him. Did your phone ring?" Gus waked over to the window. "What the hell have you been telling him? Well, there must be some reason he wants to come home. Okay, I'm in the city, but I'll be on my way in ten minutes. Yes… yes, I'll talk to him…. Yes, ma'am, now can I speak to my son again, please."

Gus' willingness to do anything for Danny was one of the things that made him so attractive; it was a thing Tom kept on the surface, though, something he didn't want to look at too closely. But now… Oh, Christ, it was such bad timing, and even as he thought it, Tom knew it was selfish and petty but a part of him didn't care. A part of him wanted Gus off that phone and in bed; it was a part of him he fought.

"Hey, listen, I'm leaving in about ten minutes okay. No, no… I'll see you soon. Bye." He rounded on Tom. "What the fuck?"

"Gus, if there's nothing wrong, he needs to stay there with Sandy."

"You didn't hear him. This is the first time he's asked me for something and you want me to say no?"

"You can't indulge him every time he—"

Gus' face began to redden. "What every time, he's never asked to come home before."

Tom put a hand on Gus' arm. "No, but he's asked other things. You're teaching him that you can be played. Whether you want to—"

"That's ridiculous." Gus pulled away from him and stepped over to pick up his shirt. "You didn't hear him. He sounded scared to death and think about it, it's only been a few months."

"Don't think kids don't learn to manipulate, and you're making it so easy. It's easier for you to go pick him up… it's easier for Danny to call you than it is for him to face and deal with his fears."

"He's eight years old, for chrissakes!"

"So you're asking for permission? Just go," Tom said.

"I'm not asking for anything." Gus slipped the shirt over his head and smoothed his hair down. "I'm just saying, how the hell am I supposed to say no to that?"

"You don't mind saying no to yourself. And permission is just what you want… permission to take the easy way; to be the same Gus Gruber you were two years ago, six years ago, ten years ago." Tom waited for some kind of response. "Well, it's not six years ago, Gus and if you don't get a handle on this situation, you're going to be treading water the rest of your life. Is that what you want? Is that what you want for Danny?"

"Jesus Christ, Tom, it's only picking up my son!" Gus headed for the bathroom.

"And leaving." Tom said after him.

"Is that what this is about?" he asked from the door. "Don't you think I'm disappointed? You always have all the answers, don't you? But you don't have a child and you don't know what it's like to be afraid for them, afraid you're going to lose your only chance—"

"Or blow it."

"What can it hurt to pick him up this one time?" Gus sounded tired.

"And what about the next time and the time after that?"

"You don't understand," Gus repeated. Tom could hear him getting his things together.

"Gus, I do. I understand there's more at play here than Danny wanting to come home. You still feel guilty for leaving him in the first place and you're trying to compensate for that now, and you can't do that. You're not here to be Danny's buddy; you're here to parent him, to prepare him for life. What you should do is call him back and help him face whatever is bothering him. And don't tell me I don't know; I've worked with a lot of kids over the years. Some respond to normal treatment and some need real tough love."

Gus came out carrying a brown leather shaving kit and threw it into his overnight bag. "Danny's far from being a thug on the street."

"And I'm trying to help you make sure he doesn't get there. And not just for Danny, Gus, but for you. Jesus, I see you guys make such good strides forward and then fall back. You've come a long way in—"

"You know what, fuck this Dr. Tom bullshit. Is that all this relationship is to you? Another measure of your success? Do my neuroses feed you in some sick way… is that the only reason you're attracted to me, because I'm flawed? Or is it that Danny and I make great fodder for your research?"

"I'm not even answering that." Gus had never really raised his voice around Tom. The sound of it now began to darken the edges of the room, black and blue shadows in the corners of his vision.

"No, I get it. I'm safe." He'd stepped back into Tom's space. "You don't have to invest yourself with me because I'm a man and because I have a child. Well, I wish I'd gotten that memo before any of this started."

"God damn it, Gus. You know it's not like that. Maybe at first… I don't know, maybe it started—"

"You have such a great need to get my house in order… seems to me you need to take a good look at your own first."

That cut. "Okay, I know you're only saying that because… you have to know that any help I've offered you has always come from my regard for you and for Danny."

"Like leaving him someplace he doesn't want to be." Gus tried to walk away, but Tom grabbed him and held him.

"Listen to me. I never intended to get involved with another man, hell, with anyone for that matter. I didn't go looking for it. All I wanted was to work hard, teach my classes, and do some independent research, I—"

"All you wanted to do was run and hide."

They stared at each other, Gus' chest rising and falling rapidly. Acutely aware of his nakedness, Tom felt a flush creep over him. "My point is… one day, I'm minding my own damn business and the next thing I know, I'm tangled up in the lives of—"

For the second time, Gus wrenched away from him then swung the overnight bag over his shoulder. "Then, let's see how fast we can untangle that knot, huh?"

"God damn it, that's not what I want." Christ, if his voice was as shrill as it sounded in his head, then he'd lost it – lost his precious control.

"I'm not asking what you want," Gus thundered back. There were faces in the shadows now and whispers crowding his brain, disjointed and unhappy words that set his stomach aflame.

Gus' face was blank, like he was just as surprised by the turn of events as Tom was. Trying to get his breathing steady, Tom watched Gus walk over and take the suit bag from the closet. Do something, he chided himself. Say something. Isn't that what you do best? The sound of Gus' keys made him turn around. Was being right worth more than an apology?

He understood, but he wasn't begging. He didn't beg. But then, had he ever wanted anything this much? Was there really anything he could say at this point to convince Gus to stay? Wouldn't it just make things worse? He ran a hand through his hair. Fuck, how could they be any worse?

The determination etched on Gus' face offered Tom no quarter. "Gus…"

Gus picked up his shoes from in front of the door. "Anyway, I have to take the car, are you going to…"

Tom smiled – self-deprecating and bitter – but a smile just the same. "I'm a big boy, Gus. Think I'll stay here. It's my weekend after all… I'm sure I can find my way home."

Gus turned the knob and looked down at the floor. He walked out shoes in hand and let the door shut behind him.

Chapter Twenty-nine

Tom stood in the shower stall as the remaining beads of cold water dripped and ran over his pebbled skin. Sex had been the last thing on his mind before the shower and even less so now. If he was telling, he'd trade the sex just to have Gus back. Eating popcorn in bed and the two of them laughing at some horribly-acted, cheesy sci-fi flick.

He planed the remaining water from his body. A towel would have been warmer, yet he stood there with a discipline he'd developed in med school willing himself not to shiver. Martin had been the one to shatter that discipline. He'd opened something Tom had kept a tight lid on and he'd also been the one to slam it shut again. Until Gus.

What made Gus so special? Tom hadn't been lying when he said he hadn't intended to get involved with another man. So there hadn't been a woman since Rachel – sex was getting off, not getting involved. What was it that had him so plugged in to the vibes Gus and Danny gave off to where he was willing to be led directly down a path he had no intention of walking?

His cell phone rang as he was wiping water from his eyes. Not sure he wanted to answer it, he stepped out, wrapped a towel around his waist and let it ring. Then he thought it might be Gus. He was right.

"Hey," he said quietly.

"Are you okay?"

Tom cracked a half-smile at Gus being worried for him. "I'm not planning to throw myself out the window or anything, if that's what you're asking. Not saying I won't get shit-faced drunk, but I think your conscience is safe for the night."

"I just wanted you to know that I understand what you were saying and I really wish I could feel that way, but Christ, Tom, I have too much going on right now. Sandy, Danny… I've got a brilliant opportunity riding on that presentation next week… and, you know, all I want to do is focus on this… us. And that's not fair to Danny. He's my priority, or should be."

The words were almost drowned out by the sound of Tom's heart pounding between his ears. "You think I'm an obstacle… that we're an obstacle."

"I know it may not seem fair, or even sane, but… I think I just need some time."

Tom closed his eyes. "People always say that." God, he just wanted Gus there with him. "What does it mean for you?" Not that he didn't suspect the answer, but the long pause was deafening.

"Time away from you… away from…" Suddenly, Gus seemed more agitated. "And I don't even know why I'm surprised by all this… it was only a matter of time before you left anyway, right? Because I'm cursed, my life is cursed." Gus was talking so fast Tom couldn't edge his way in. "But then I'm used to that, and I won't let anything happen to you. No, this is the best thing."

"Gus, what the hell are you talking about? Cursed?"

"Nothing… doesn't matter. Point is, this is the right thing to do. You can go on with your life, making people feel better about themselves and making little kids fall in love with you, and I'll just... I don't know, go back to being a half-assed dad, and spend the rest of my life—"

Tom began to pace. "Listen to me, pull over somewhere, and talk to me, please. I don't—"

"Time, okay. Give me some time. I need time to think. After the presentation—I don't even—maybe I'll call you. We can talk then."

"No, Gus, stop the—" The phone died in his hand. Gus had hung up. Gus was gone. Worse, Gus was driving and he was upset and… Tom had half a mind to pack up and go after him. The other half – the cool, rational Dr. Tom – believed that would be a mistake. Inside the rationalization was a kernel of truth that said Gus was right. Maybe it was best. Gus was an entanglement and now he had an out – the perfect one.

Gus had even set the terms. Gus had priorities. He had priorities. He'd said it himself, hadn't he, priorities that didn't include a relationship or an eight year-old kid.

~~~~~

It pissed him off that Tom didn't have kids yet he had so much insight into how to handle them. There had always been something about the way Danny responded to him that left Gus feeling like a boat without oars. It was a level of confidence Gus couldn't begin to know. Even so, he shouldn't have taken his doubts and frustrations out on Tom using the ethics issue. That was a cheap shot.

Fighting the resistance inside his own body, Gus wondered if he'd made the right decision. He was driving away from Tom and that wasn't what he wanted to do. No. It was what he had to do. That didn't make it any easier, though. Gus' head throbbed and pressure crowded his chest. Without thinking, he searched his pockets until he found his pills.

He could still hear Danny's voice, but he could hear Tom's, too, purring into his ear in the elevator, the way Tom had wanted him. Then there was Tom's other words, nagging him, warring with Gus' stubborn need to be right.

~~~~~

He sat on the edge of the bed flipping his phone open then snapping it shut. Gus had said this was best. His mother had always said the same thing when his father was gone. Maybe she still did. Every time his father had walked out it had been all for the best. Best for her. No more drinking in the bathroom or sneaking food. Until his father would come back, and he'd always come back. That was for the best, too, but Tom never quite understood how it could be both ways. Mostly, he'd just never understood, for his mother's sake, what had been best about either option.

Call it instinct, genetics, or just a way to forget, he got up and padded over to the minibar, picked through the colorful little bottles until he had a handful of the dark amber ones, the ones that looked like they'd go down like fire. He carried them back to the bed, put all the pillows against the headboard, and sat back on top of the grey striped duvet – the one that should have been a tangle on the floor by now.

Gus' words still burned. If Tom was up for making admissions, he couldn't avoid the one where Gus had helped him more than he could ever help Gus. Tom turned his phone over and over in his hand. Gus and Danny... They were real. They had their problems, sure, but things seemed to be fitting into place with them. They worked at it; Gus was trying. That was a real family, and Tom was falling in love with all of it.

~~~~~

The rain and the methodical thump of the wipers vied for Gus' attention. They'd be home soon but as he didn't see well in the dark when it rained, his stomach churned with the extra caution, among other things, while the wipers threatened to lull him with their Tom, Tom, Tom, Tom…

"Who's taking care of Oscar?" Danny asked. Gus pulled himself out of the gray cloud of disappointment.

"Mrs. Kolaski."

"God, dad, she'll kill him," Danny said and was very matter of fact about it.

Gus smiled at that. "I think she can handle it. How about you? Feel better now?" Gus turned in time to see his son nod. "You wanna talk about it? You can talk to me. You know, I'm pretty smart sometimes."

"I know that." Danny sounded annoyed that Gus would even have to say that.

They rode in silence a few more minutes, but Danny's fidgeting didn't go unnoticed.

"Bradley says that Dr. Tom's your boyfriend."

Now the wipers slapped time to the beating of Gus' heart. A black hole opened up inside his chest and began to suck in nearby organs. He'd never wanted Danny to hear something like that from anyone else. "Is that all he said?" Nonchalance never had been, nor would it ever be Gus' forte.

"Is it true?"

Technically, no. Probably? Maybe? Hell, he didn't even know, so maybe it was best to say no.

"He said you're like the girlfriend." Gus was trying so hard to concentrate on the road and at the same time pick out whether there was any disapproval mixed with the curiosity in Danny's voice.

"Has Aunt Sandy ever said anything like that to you?" She obviously hadn't held her tongue around her own kids.

"No." He didn't ask for the truth again, but Gus knew he was waiting.

"I like Tom, yes." Jesus, this wasn't the time or the place Gus would have chosen, but they were here and it was now and he really had no choice. "I like him more than just a friend. Remember when we talked about Megan Kate? Well, it's sort of like that – like with her two dads." They'd just driven past the park and Gus almost wished they had another hour to go, even in the rain. This wasn't going to be easy and having the road to concentrate on would help. "Sometimes men like other men that way instead of women. And there are some women who like women. They meet, fall in love, and want to make a life together. That's how we get different kinds of families like Megan Kate's."

"I know that," Danny said, sticking his hands in his jacket pockets.

Pulling up into the driveway, Gus realized for the first time that Danny was sitting in the front seat, but he's have to hold the celebration for now. "So, when we say someone is gay, you know what that means?"

Danny nodded. "Mom told me."

Yeah, she would have. But Gus was sure she hadn't told him that in relation to his father. He took a deep breath. "Well… I'm gay." Jesus, there, he'd said it. Oh, god. "I didn't mean to keep it from you… I thought I could wait until you were older to—"

"Dad, I'm not stupid."

"No. I know you're not." He hadn't known any other way to say it and he was too damn tired to try and come up with something clever. "What Bradley told you is partially right. Tom and I like each other very much and if using a term like boyfriends makes it easier for you to understand, then I wouldn't say that was too far off, but—"

Danny looked up at him and Gus switched off the car. The moonlight was enough to see that light in Danny's eyes. "Is he going to come and live with us?"

There were words he wanted to say, needed to say, but his throat closed around them. He wished he knew what connection Danny felt to Tom and vice versa. It seemed to be something between the two of them that he wasn't a part of. This was already a lot for Danny to process; what good would it do to dash everything when Gus didn't know himself how things would end. "Not right now," he heard himself say. "Anyway, you and me, we're still trying to get ourselves settled, and Tom has work. So do I."

"Is that the reason you and Mom got divorced? Because you're gay?"

Gus loved the eight-year-old mind; you needed track shoes to keep up with it. He understood Danny needed some kind of closure on that question and he had to trust that, good or bad, angry or accepting, his answer would finally give him that. "Yes. It wasn't that I didn't love Dede, just that I couldn't love her the way… the way she deserved. We decided that was best for all three of us." He took his son's hand and held it. "And I know that decision probably caused some hurtful feelings for you, maybe even angry feelings, and I'm really sorry for that. I'd never hurt you, Danny. Never on purpose. You know that, right?"

"Do you want to marry Tom?"

"Whoa, you're getting way ahead, here." Gus smiled. "Let's take one major life-altering event at a time, okay? But listen, I need you to know something. My leaving? I did it so your mother could be happy."

Danny nodded. Gus took the keys and rubbed them over his thigh. The sudden banging on the window made him drop them to the floor then grip the wheel. It was Mrs. Kolaski.

Gus took a few deep breaths and pressed the power window button. She stood there, slightly damp, holding a small dog in her arms.

"You back already?" she asked. "I was taking Xander out and saw the car. You two boys okay?"

Peachy, Gus wanted to say but didn't. He also thought better of mentioning having a fight with his boyfriend, coming out to his son in the chilly front seat of his used Ford Escape, and that she and Xander had very nearly scared the ever-loving-fucking shit out of him.

~~~~~

Twisting off one the caps, Tom poured the amber fire down his throat and settled deep into the wall of pillows. They didn't even smell like Gus, and now they wouldn't, which truly was for the best. His phoned beeped to alert him he had a message waiting, but he just worked another cap between his thumb and fingers, flipping in onto the floor before punching in his code.

It was Valerie, which wasn't much of a surprise since he had yet to return her call.

Tom, you shit. Why won't you call me back? I need you and you fucking owe me. I know you think it can't touch you there, but that's where you're wrong. Do you seriously want to push me? I'll subpoena you and how's that— He snapped the phone shut; it was always good to hear her voice, though.

Tossing the phone across the bed, he crossed one leg over the other and opened another bottle. He decided to sip this one and closed his eyes as the warm flush of the Scotch slipped over him like a veil. He took another sip, biting it off as soon as it hit his tongue. A few more of these and he wouldn't think of Gus at all. Or Danny, or Valerie, or… the mess he'd left behind. He sank back into the warm arms of the whiskey. And there was no mistaking it… it had been his mess.

Chapter Thirty

Martin Crossland was a spoiled California brat well over the age of consent. A bad boy – dangerous like a petulant, vindictive kid – he was gorgeous and charming and could make you feel like you were the only other person on earth. His problem: he consented to anything – everything. Drugs, alcohol, gambling, shopping… lying.

Marty had been a "lifer" at the rehab game, where his parents had worshiped at the alter of 'one more chance.' Tom had seen something in Marty worth saving and was finally going to fix him; Tom was sure, in some ways, it was still there.

Sex with Martin had changed everything for Tom – good and bad. The relationship had made Tom drop his guard and, at some point, the parting of the clouds had been like that moment during an argument when you realize you're wrong. Martin had been wrong. Should have been wrong. He just hadn't been wrong enough.

To his credit, Tom had done the smart thing when it became apparent the attraction between the two was mutual. He'd stepped aside immediately. Not an easy decision, referring Marty to another therapist at the clinic, but he'd done so with the thought he'd still be able to help on a private level. It had been the right thing to do. Tom always believed it had been the right thing to do. Right up until the day he'd discovered it hadn't.

Marty packing his things hadn't been a shock at first; he'd take off on road trips with friends at the drop of a hat. Safe friends, so at first, the sight of him stuffing clothes into a bag hadn't pinged Tom. It was when he'd noticed Martin was stuffing everything into several bags that the day had turned to shit.

It was Tom who had requested the meeting with the head of the clinic's Board of Directors. It was also one of the hardest things Tom had ever had to do. Jealousy – professional or otherwise – had no bearing in his decision. At least it had always sounded good when he'd told himself that – out loud sometimes, in that 'I'm so caring' voice designed to convince only one person. Himself. Because the thought that finding out Marty had left him for the very man he had so proudly placed him in the care of couldn't be a factor. Neither could Martin's assertions that Dr. Philip Durand was actually helping him.

Dr. Bennett Paulson was one of San Francisco's most distinguished psychiatrists. He was old school and the reputation he brought to the Hawthorne Clinic was a major factor in Tom's decision to become its Chief of Staff, even though Valerie had clearly left out a lot of the sordid past history when she'd pitched the position to him. Tom had been no stranger to crushed ideals or toppled pedestals; he just hadn't encountered them much outside his own family. It was an experience he'd rather not relive, but the way his night was going…

"But from what you've outlined here, Tom, the contact was, is, consensual." Dr. Paulson sat back into his tufted leather wing chair and idly picked at a cuticle on his left hand. "Of course, if you insist, I'll speak with Philip, see if this patient Crossland could be or wants to be transferred. Though it seems to me stability for the patient should be our first priority."

"And you don't think a breach of ethics is a priority? You aren't concerned how Mar—the patient could be harmed here?"

The chairman spread his arms wide. "Tom, it was consensual." The wry grin turned his eyes darker. "Or is that the real problem here?"

Tom stood up; a flush roared through him like subterranean heat. "You think I'm here because this is personal? He's sleeping with a patient, using his influence as Martin's therapist. Christ, Ben, this is a reportable offense. As Chief of Staff, it's my duty to—"

"And you'd know about the harmful effects of breaches of ethics, wouldn't you? It cost you a patient, I believe. You're fortunate that's all it cost you."

"Oh, you are not going to pull that shit with me. It was understood—"

"It was understood, Tom. When I recommended the Board hire you, I looked at your complete dossier, not just the one instance. Do you believe your career should have ended because you slept with your patient's sister?"

Tom didn't answer. There was no answer. At least none that wouldn't make him seem a self-important hypocrite.

Dr. Paulson leaned forward in his chair and took on the personage of a dear, old well-meaning uncle about to get all up into Tom's business. "First of all, let's be clear. I value Dr. Durand as much as I value you. But you know the shape the clinic was in when you signed on."

It had taken months of hard work to win back some of the bigger donors. Some they lost outright and the others who'd been waffling since the scandal, Tom had been able to persuade to stay.

"Yes," he answered. "There was a lot of work before I even started my practical duties."

"Indeed. So do you honestly believe it would be different if the clinic had to weather another scandal? We have a full roster of professionals here, Tom, and patients who are being helped, who depend on the clinic. If we're laid waste by another misfortune, Buchwald House is the nearest clinic these people will have."

Tom bit his tongue at the term misfortune and watched dear old Uncle Ben twirl his platinum signet ring as he spoke.

"And you know that simply won't work for some. With those crazies in Sacramento slashing and burning the budget from every end, private funds are the very lifeblood of this place."

One had to admire the old man's abilities. The clinic itself was the real bottom line for Tom. The clinic and the patients, and Paulson used that to a triumph.

"Of course, there is something else to consider," Paulson said, relaxing again. "This Board would be inclined to censure or enact a brief paid leave if you still feel action should be taken, but rest assured, they will not consider removal or backing a complaint to the state board."

The State Board of Medical Quality Assurance controlled licenses to practice for all medical professionals in the state and was the receiver of all grievance complaints.

"What you're saying is that if I file a complaint, I'm on my own."

Paulson smiled. It was a smug-sweet smile of victory because that was exactly what he was saying. Tom's choice was to bring a grievance himself knowing he couldn't count on the patient for corroboration; that, at best, the patient would most likely recant, or lie to protect his new lover while Tom would have placed his own actions on public record, up to and including his relationship with the patient.

He looked into Paulson's piercing blue eyes and considered the options. Chairman Paulson – Dr. Bennett Paulson – past president of the Northern California Psychiatric Society and former Director for the BMQA. The conclusion was he had no options.

Tom took a deep breath. His mess. After downing the last of the Scotch, five more mini bottles remained, all of them Bourbon. Well, it'd make a nice change, but there was nothing like a Scotch glow – warm, fuzzy around the edges, very mellow. Bourbon had been his father's choice. It had always turned him mean as a snake poked too many times with a stick.

He pushed the bottles aside and picked up his phone instead. Finding the message he wanted, he listened, picking up the highlights through the haze.

"…and I've got a near catatonic patient on my hands… this was not consensual, Tom… I have no choice and neither do you… you knew… you have to do this, Tom… hiding out… I need you… call me back, please…"

This time he threw the phone against the opposite wall. He could go to the bar downstairs. They'd have more Scotch and in bigger bottles, too. Or, hey, he could just pick up the phone and someone would bring it up. He leaned over to the nightstand, but some other words blindsided him before he could reach the phone. "…you need to take a long look at your own first… you do not have my permission to do nothing…"

He picked up the TV remote instead and used his feet to tug the duvet down while he channel surfed and pulled the towel from his waist. Click, click, click, click.

~~~~~

It didn't take long to get Danny to sleep. Not only was he exhausted, the kid had a head full of new knowledge about his dad that he probably would rather sleep than think about. He'd go to bed himself, but he was wound so tight he felt like he'd break apart into a million pieces if someone touched him.

He sat down at his computer and began working on the story, running over the things he and Tommy had talked about before in his mind. This was something else Gus really wanted. The story was practically writing itself. He knew he should be putting the final polish to the presentation but he was more afraid of overkill; he got twitchy every time he thought of it.

But he didn't get very far in the story. It was too hard to get Tom off his mind. What was he doing? Had he been able to fall asleep? Was he sitting there thinking of Gus? Maybe he'd gone back downstairs or out to a bar. Gus closed his eyes a moment to try and erase it all but it was no use. He couldn't work anymore.

He closed his file and, coming down the steps, he saw a light under Danny's door. When he opened it, Danny was laid out, practically sideways in his bed sound asleep. Stepping quietly over, Gus turned off the lamp. He thought of fixing a drink before going to bed, but what good would that do? Nothing was going to quiet his mind.

Chapter Thirty-one

Jesus, he hated the car-rider lines at Danny's school. All week they'd been on Gus' last nerve – but then, what hadn't. Soccer moms turning into Formula One drivers blocks from the school, jockeying for any position that would mean getting their kids five minutes sooner. Maybe that was important to some people, not to him. If anyone wanted to take part of the load off Gus, he was just about ready to let them and to make matters worse, he'd forgotten Oscar again.

Big surprise – he couldn't seem to keep anything straight these days. He didn't even mind the cold shoulder from Danny.

When they pulled up to the house, Tommy's car was there and he was shooting hoops in his topcoat.

"Hey, counselor, you lost?"

"What? I can't stop by to see my best friend?"

Busy lawyers didn't visit in the middle of the day and shoot hoops in their Oxford shirts, ties, and wing tips. Gus gave him a look as they took the few steps up to the door. "How's Charley?"

"She's great. I think she's still bored and maybe a little scared."

Gus nodded and slipped the key in the lock. "Aren't we all?" he mumbled to himself.

"The dive shop seems to be working out for now, so…" Tommy shrugged, then clapped Danny on the back. "How's it going with the Danmeister?"

"I got an A on my math test," Danny replied, giving Tommy a high-five.

Oscar bounded in from the kitchen at the sound of Danny's voice, sniffed at him, then jumped to lay dusty paws on Tommy's chest.

Gus tried to pull him away. "Awww, he remembers you."

"Lucky me," Tommy said, avoiding the dog's friendly tongue.

Danny dropped his bookbag beside the couch and called to Oscar. "Are you staying for dinner Tommy?" he asked.

Tommy brushed the outline of paw prints from his shirt and walked over to set his briefcase down on the dining table. "Hey, now, I'd like that, but I've got to get back to the office soon. I have to work until midnight so some other lawyer can look brilliant at a hearing tomorrow." He leaned toward Gus and lowered his voice. "Actually, this isn't just a social call."

"I thought as much," Gus said, pushing Oscar away again. He watched Tommy's gaze shift from Danny to him and back. "Hey, Sport, why don't you take Oz out before he ruins the carpet."

Danny's gleeful cries and the dog's yelps followed them out to the kitchen.

"Okay, what's up?" Gus asked.

"How are you, Gus?" Tommy's face crinkled the same way it did every time something heavy was on his mind.

Gus sensed it might be best for both of them to just shoot for the heart. "You said you needed to get back, remember?" He didn't like the look of the manila envelope Tommy pulled from his briefcase, but he took it anyway when Tommy handed it to him.

"Since I represented you in Probate, this was delivered to my office today."

"Christ, what now?" Pulling a face, Gus slid the papers free.

Tommy took a protective step closer. "They've asked me to accept service for you. It's a petition for—"

"Bitch!" He threw the papers onto the table.

"Gus, calm down. That's not going to help anything."

"She wants custody? Jesus fuck, Tommy, she can't be serious. When is this shit gonna end?" It was a rhetorical question; he knew the answer anyway… it was never going to fucking end.

"Do you want me to accept? Otherwise, someone's going to have to serve you personally."

That black hole feeling started in his chest, his breathing shallow. Gus dropped heavily into one of the chairs, voice as empty as those logbooks. "Whatever. I mean, it's not like I have a choice. Whatever you think is best." Danny would be back inside in a minute; Gus knew he had to pull himself together. He looked up at the face he'd trusted since they were seven years-old. "Fuck me… Why is she doing this? Can she do this? I mean, what are her grounds?"

Tommy slid into a chair and gathered the paperwork. "That's just it Now, I don't practice domestic law, but I don't believe it's proper for a third party to make a claim for custody from the natural parent, that parent having custody rights established. I mean she can bring the action, but outside of finding you to be the worst parent since the Borgias, the chances of her case proceeding to a final hearing are close to nil."

"Don't you guys advise your clients?"

Tommy gave him a look. "I've got it on good authority that she went to three big-name attorneys before ending up with that shyster Pitmann."

Gus had seen the name on the papers. "Is that the same David Pitmann from school? The one with a face like a diseased pug dog?"

Tommy grinned. "With a disposition to match. He goes by Dave now – you should see him trying to schmooze his way with the country club set. Word is he only took Sandy's case because she offered to pay him up front."

"Christ, Tommy… after the hell we've been through to get this far? Now? She wants to take my kid away from me now?" Gus reached for the pills in his pocket just as he heard the back door slam. Oscar bounded in ahead of Danny.

"Listen," Tommy said quietly, standing up. "I can accept service, but I can't help you with this. You need a domestic practice attorney."

"No, but you're—"

"We could play a quick game of Madden," Danny offered. He gave his dad a worried look then looked to Tommy.

Tommy checked his watch. "Sure, run set it up," he said and waited for Danny to clear the room. "I'll find you somebody, Gus, I promise. Listen, I don't think Danny needs to know about this, not yet anyway. Just don't worry."

Tommy's hand was heavy on Gus' shoulder before he walked to the hallway. "Yeah, don't worry." Gus absently flipped the top on the bottle he'd taken from his pocket and shook out one of the tiny tablets. "You don't worry."

Chapter Thirty-two

Pizza Arcade. Gus liked a name like that. It was straightforward. No guesswork needed. One knew what they were getting themselves into with a name like that. Something simple in a world chock full of grunge lyrics, religion, the IRS, and free agency.

Accepting Tommy and Charley's invitation was something he'd done for Danny more than for himself, but it was nice to get away from the house for a change. Gus had more than barely picked at his meal, though, and had ordered iced tea instead of a beer, his stomach bubbling fire up into his chest.

"Are you all right?" Tommy asked. "You look awful." Charley had taken Danny into the arcade side, leaving Gus and Tommy alone at the table.

"Fine, a little indigestion maybe." Gus waved off the concern. He'd felt like shit for days. To him, it was just more of the same.

"But you've hardly eaten. I don't think I've ever seen you take less than three slices."

"It's this thing tomorrow – the meeting with the author to go over the sketches. And my boss will be sitting in."

"I thought you had this all wrapped up. You nervous?"

Now, Gus was nervous as hell, but he could be a damn good liar if lying was needed to keep Tommy from talking about it. "I'm fine, really," he said. "I'm just so ready for it to be over so I can move on to the next fucking crisis – dealing with Sandy." Gus fidgeted while Tommy finished his beer.

"How're things going with you and Tom?"

Gus shrugged and craned his neck to look for Danny and Charley.

"All right, that's it." Tommy put his hands flat on the table. "Dude, that's the second time you've blown off talking about Dr. Wonderful. Now I know something's up."

"It's nothing." Gus rolled his eyes. He'd already stepped in it and he knew Tommy wouldn't give up. "Truth is, I really don't know how it's going… it's not going, okay. Happy now?"

"Shit, Gus, what did you do?"

"Nothing! With all the stress I've been under and Tom working on a grant application, we—we thought maybe a little time..."

"We?"

"Okay, I thought. I decided. After the fight, I just needed some time to—"

"You guys had a fight? Over what?"

"I've said it's nothing like three time; are you having trouble understanding? Something silly. Isn't that what most people fight over." Gus grabbed what was left of Charley's beer and drained it. "I mean, it's not as if this thing was headed down the happy ever after path anyway."

Tommy stared at him and slowly sank back in his chair. "Well, you sure as hell could have fooled me."

Gus huffed a half-hearted laugh and shook his head. "You know how my life is... one big mess... couldn't let anything happen... Tom's plans, and I sur—"

"I swear to god, if you say this has something to do with that damned curse, I will beat your ass right here in front of Mr. Mushroom and your own kid."

Gus didn't say anything, just looked warily at the man in the embarrassingly creepy mascot suit standing off to their left, then shifted his gaze to study the pattern on the crumb-covered carpet.

"I knew it." Tommy's voice had that edge to it, just a hint of really fucking annoyed. "When are you going to—"

"Christ, Tommy," Gus shot back with a force that cut Tommy's words off at the knees and left him wide-eyed. He was just so tired. Tired of running into brick walls. Tired of trying to please everyone and living in a closet world, but mostly so fucking tired of the need to explain himself. With the tiredness came the anger – quick and sharp. A microburst that blew thoughts and words past his brain and out of his mouth with a fierceness that colored and pulsed the vein at his temple.

"I don't even know if I'm going to be able to raise my son. Tomorrow, I have to make the presentation of my fucking life… Do you understand? That's more important. Danny is more important than what I want."

The face staring back at him was not one Gus had seen often – the last time had been on that Coast Guard cutter. Though his eyes were bright and intense, Tommy's voice was surprisingly calm. "Gus, you're my best friend, my oldest friend. We talked about this when you and Dede broke up." He paused, as if he wasn't sure where or how far he wanted to take this. "Fuck," he breathed. "I hate watching you stand around while your life cuts in front of you. You're important, too, god damn it!" He reached over and grabbed Gus' wrist. "Sometimes, what you want is important."

Gus was already shaking his head. "Not this time. Seriously, Tommy, we are not having this conversation. Please, just let it go. Bitch at me all you want after the presentation, but for now…" His words trailed off and Tommy seemed satisfied to give the matter its space.

"Danny's really taken with Charley," he said, letting go of Gus. His tone changed completely, which was why he'd always be Gus' friend.

"Yeah, he really misses Dede so much. Sometimes, I can't help thinking maybe being with Sandy would be the best thi—"

Tommy banged his beer on the table. "Fuck that!" he said, reaching across the table to put his finger in Gus' face and causing several people to turn their way. "I know who you are, Gus, and you've waited so long to be that person. So be that person. That's the best thing for your son. He loves you whether he knows or realizes it. He loves you. He needs you. Forget Sandy. Why can't you have Danny, your job, and Tom? What's wrong with taking something for yourself? You've spent your entire life trying to please other people and getting fucked over for it."

Gus half-smiled and shrugged. He was so god damned tired. "That's just it… I don't know how to do anything else."

~~~~~

Tommy's words kept him company on the drive home. Danny was very quiet beside him, probably asleep. He brushed the child's shoulder with the back of his hand. Unfortunately, even Clarence Darrow himself didn't have the eloquence to sway Gus from thinking he'd done the best thing by his son. He hadn't talked to Tom in days – not since he'd hung up on him that night.

Tom had said he hadn't gone looking for a relationship. Well, Gus had presented him with an all-expense-paid out, neat and tidy, complete with a handful of loosened knots Houdini could master using only his big toe. Why the hell wouldn't Tom have taken all that and run?

Driving through the underpass on South Highland, where the halogen lighting etched everything into a sepia-toned rotogravure, the clarity as well as the gravity of what he'd done struck him. "Good job, Gus," he mumbled. Danny shifted in the seat beside him but didn't say anything. Gus reached over and held the small hand in his. It was sticky and warm, the pulse feathering against his fingers. He recalled Danny's face as he'd raced against Charley in the arcade. The spicy scent of pizza hovered in the car. Yes, he'd done the right thing, and he'd do it again.

Back at home, he put Danny to bed, let Oscar out then in, and then went on a mad tear in search of antacid. The Maalox bottle was empty, which prompted him to toss it against the bathroom wall. A search through dirty clothes hampers, pants pockets, and junk drawers yielded one lint-coated Rolaids which, at the moment, was something like finding enough change in your dad's recliner for banana fudge pops for you and your brother. Although he was sure having to rinse it off was going to wash away some of its magic. Even so, he crunched it between his teeth with the highest of hopes.

Thinking of taking a shower before bed, he stopped at Danny's door first.

"Dad?" Danny called to him.

At first, Gus just stood and stared. It was like a scene out of the Exorcist, or Fatal Attraction. The lamp on Danny's dresser was… it had to be a short circuit. There was no other explanation for the way the light was going off and on by itself.

Were they having an earthquake? He stood still and tried to feel any vibrations – stranger things had been known to happen – or something that would explain the phenomena. As soon as he touched the lamp, the blinking stopped. The bulb blazed brighter for a split second and then stayed lit – back to normal. He futzed around with the cord, the switch, rocked the dresser back and forth trying to duplicate the action but he couldn't.

"It's okay," he told Danny. "Probably just a short or something, I guess. Do you want me to leave it on?"

"Mom always left it on 'til I went to sleep," he said. "But you can turn it off." That last came out with a most courageous waver.

~~~~~

Two days of dirty dishes sat on the counter. Not wanting to leave them another day, Gus filled the sink. The ringing of his phone lit a fire in his belly that had nothing to do with food or nerves. Since leaving Tom in the City, he went through the same thing every time the damn thing rang.

Deftly, he tucked it into the crook of his shoulder. "Yes… are you still there? Yes, everything's okay. I've made a few revisions based on something from the preview notes…I'll email that to you as soon as I've finished the dishes. I know it's last minute, but that's why I'm emailing it to you…it's all done. Nothing to worry about." Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Gus. "Right. I'll see you in the morning. Jesus, I'll wear the suit…get some sleep."

He set the phone on the counter, but as soon as he picked up another dish, it rang again. This time he didn't even look.

"Gretchen, will you just chill, I told you… Hello?"

It was Tom. "Hey. I was on my way to the med-center library before my shift, trying to complete that grant application, and thought I'd stop by and check on you guys."

"Danny's in bed; I was just about to do the same." Jesus, Tom's voice was acid in the pit of Gus' stomach; he had to force his next words. "And I've got…maybe it'd be better another time." He raked his hand through his hair.

Tom made a little humming noise. "Thought you might say that. That's why I waited until I was outside to call." By the time Gus closed the phone and wiped his hands, Tom was at the back door.

Gus opened it, but only allowed Tom to step inside. God, he looked good.

"I know you've got a big day tomorrow. I wanted to come by and wish you luck – not that you'll need it."

"You could have done that on the phone." Gus swallowed down the words he really wanted to say.

"Darn it… you mean I wasted a trip?" Tom's smile was like a room full of lit candles, the glow flickering and dancing over every surface. Gus once said that smile could stop time. Right then, he wished that were true. "Okay, then, I needed to see you were all right."

The feeling that he needed to find a place to put his hands crept over Gus. "Fine, I'm just kind of nervous. Jumpy."

"Well, I'd be surprised if you weren't. How about Danny?

"Danny's fine; he's been real good." A little grin quirked one side of Gus' mouth even as he tried to stop it. "I think he knows something big is up, so he's being nice to me. Even Oz is behaving."

"He's a great kid, Gus."

The lump in Gus' throat felt like rising dough as Tom's gaze held him hostage. He reached up to tug at Tom's sweater, his voice a little raw when he managed, "He misses you."

"He doesn't have to." Tom bent his head closer, his breath deep and full. He smelled of spice and over-chewed Spearmint gum. It made Gus think of them lying in bed together.

Gus put his hand flat against Tom's chest. Yeah, if time could stop right now – just for an hour, two. "Maybe when this is all over," he whispered. Maybe when this was over he'd take something for himself. Tom's heart was pounding and Gus wanted so bad to lean in and kiss him. Just once. Just once more. Say something, damn it, don't let him walk away with just…

"Look, I need to go. I've really got to get to the library." Tom let his fingers graze the inside of Gus' wrist. "You know where I am," he said. "Even if you just want to talk… no pressure."

He closed the door and made it to the front room in time to see Tom drive away, feeling a little nauseous as he watched until the tiny red lights were no longer visible. Gus didn't think he ever wanted anything so much in his life. But Tom would have to wait. The presentation was the difference in having a great job and just getting by, in having to kiss Sandy's ass or taking care of his son himself. He just needed to concentrate. When all this was over…

Chapter Thirty-three

"Travis, my man." Tom bumped fists with the jovial, but authoritative man at the main desk. "How's life in the ER?"

"We got two inbound, the bed are maxed out, and intake's working on another half dozen or so." Travis Pepper was the best charge nurse Tom had ever seen. The guy owned the ER and everything in the ER bent to his command; the place ran like Swiss clockwork when he was on duty. He handed over one of the intake sheets to Tom.

"Business as usual, then," Tom said, scanning the page. "Is this what you've got for me?"

"Female, Caucasian, no ID, age undetermined at this time. Dr. Beckham's having a look-see to make sure nothing's broken then she's all yours."

"What happened to her?"

"Took a helluva beating. Kinda looks like a working girl, but it's hard to tell. Screaming bloody murder when she came in. The girl that brought her in was babbling right along with her. No English, though, lots of consonants, Czech, Russian maybe." Travis was logging stats from the chatter of the in-bound EMTs.

"Where is she? Maybe I can talk to her while I wait?"

"No can do, doc. She skipped in all the commotion, probably knew we'd call the cops."

"So that's a Jane Doe with possible neuro…"

The doors from the ambulance bay blew open and a team of EMTs rushed past. Tom noted the blood, lots of it, and immediately thought gunshot.

"Trauma 2, gentlemen, Dr. Navarro will meet you there," Travis turned to Tom. "Beckham's ordered scans. Gotta run, Doc; my other incoming is pulling up now."

"Later." Tom set the chart back on the desk and turned around in time to see the second paramedic unit coming through the door.

One technician was on a walkie and shouting vitals while Travis wrote everything down. Another was performing CPR, while yet another followed pushing a crash cart. On the gurney, a heart monitor sat between the patient's legs. …coarse v-fib en route… unable to convert… Several nurses ran out to meet them as Travis steered everyone into the nearest cardiac bay.

He took a step or two in the direction of the retreating gurney, unable anymore to hear above the din of his own pulse. There must be hundreds of pairs of purple Converse low-top sneakers in the area. Wait, had Gus been wearing his? Jesus, he'd just been there, why couldn't he remember? Tom's heart slammed against his ribcage sending a rush of blood to his head and made his feet take him closer to the bay.

Nurses checked IVs, the EMT was still doing CPR, and Tom watched, feeling each one of compressions. One of the EMTs – the one on the walkie – handed a doctor the readout from the monitor; they were talking but Tom couldn't hear the words.

Tom's eyes locked on Travis as the other nurses continued to obey the doctor's calmly barked orders. He swallowed to clear his ears.

"Gus, can you hear me? My name is Dr. Schwartz, you've got a lot of people here taking good care of you…"

… need to get this rhythm stable before we can move him… Someone wheeled the crash cart over; it sounded like a power saw hitting a nail. Such a god awful squeal followed by the hum of the charge and the warning: "Clear!"

He couldn't take his eyes off those shoes. This couldn't be Gus but the tightness in his chest was much too convincing. Another charge. Another "Clear!" and then people started to move.

"Bingo! That's it, people, let's go. Mr. Pepper?"

"Cath lab's ready and waitin', Doc."

Tom backed up to let them pass, still not able to see the face that went with the shoes. He grabbed Travis. "I think I know him… he's a friend. Is he—"

"They restored normal sinus rhythm and they're taking him to the cath lab to take some snaps." He took a few steps back to the desk then turned. "Good chance to save this one, Doc," he said before picking up another chart and heading off down the hall.

Good chance. Tom could almost breathe again and then it hit him. Danny. Where was Danny?

"Dr. Arquette, they're ready for you now." A nurse appeared at his elbow. "The Jane Doe?"

Tom turned. The tag clipped to the rose-colored scrubs read D. Desai, CNS beneath the University Medical Center logo. He had to go to work now, but his heart wasn't in it; it sank to the pit of his stomach to writhe with the nausea twisting his insides. Otherwise, he could barely feel his body. What he could feel was his lungs seizing with the need to breathe. He nodded to the nurse and managed to make her understand with gestures that he'd be right with her then he bolted for the door into the waiting area.

Broken bones, sprained ankles, auto accidents, DIY mishaps – they were all there amid the din of crying babies, griping, and television. Bits and pieces seeped in from the wave of it that washed over him on his way to the automatic doors where the flickering of the red neon EXIT matched the fluttering in his chest.

Outside. Just get outside.

The air attacked him like hot daggers. Breathe. Oh, god. Gus.

Breathe!

After a minute or two, hope, warm and promising, began to circle him. There was a chance – Travis had said so. He wouldn't think any other way, even though rigid medical knowledge tugged at his coat sleeves and pelted him with statistics. He threw up counter after counter from his own heart. Gus was going to make it, dammit. He had to. He and Danny were so close. So close to getting it right and Danny… Tom scrubbed his hands over his face, and with one more cleansing breath, turned to go back inside.

He shoved a handful of change into the coffee machine, wondering if anyone had called Dr. Simms. Travis would have pulled a records check. What had happened? How much time had gone by? Had Gus been conscious? Who had called the EMTs? Where was Danny? He needed to be back inside taking care of his own patients but his limbs were fast becoming roots. The coffee was beyond bitter and went down like hot shards of broken glass.

"Dr. Tom!"

He took another big gulp of bitter liquid and searched for his game face. When he turned around to Danny, Tom was sure it was firmly in place.

Sandy hurried up to them, reaching out for Danny, but she seemed not to be addressing them. "I still don't see why we had to bring him down—"

Tom glared at her just the same, cutting her off with a look and a protective hand on Danny's shoulder. Surprisingly, she backed off.

"They brought my dad here," Danny said. His skin was pale and his eyes wide, but the tears welling up there didn't fall. "Can I see him?"

Tom bent down, swallowing rapidly, trying like hell to keep his own shit together. "Not yet, buddy. The doctors and nurses are still helping him and, you know, he'll be resting for a while, but I'll be right here with you." A tall, bear of a man was standing with Sandy now; he was holding on to two children. Tom looked back into Danny's eyes. "Everything's going to be okay."

"Now why would you tell him that? You don't—" Tom stood up, placing himself between her and the boy, ready to do whatever it took. He could feel the heat boiling through his veins. He didn't expect the man, whom he assumed was Sandy's husband, to step up and forcefully pull her away.

She tried to disengage in a ladylike manner, but the man's grip was sure. "You can't have him, too, Sandra," he said in a low but firm voice. His cheeks were reddened yet he treated her gently. "Danny's in good hands. There's no need to be your sister's keeper anymore."

Looking at Sandy, Tom thought they might need a stretcher any minute. The scarlet flush seemed to set her eyes aflame – a look directed squarely at Tom. "Let's go," the man prodded, and Sandy pulled free and walked away.

"Are they mad at me?" Danny asked.

"No. Sometimes when things like this happen, grown ups get very worried, too. It makes them nervous and sometimes they can say things they don't mean. They're worried about your dad, just like we are."

Danny looked over to where Sandy sat with her family then back at Tom. He squared his little shoulders and took Tom's hand. "Don't worry, my dad's going to be okay. He promised me and he never breaks his promises."

Tom sucked in a deep breath and bit down hard on his lower lip. He thought of his own promise… when this is all over, and squeezed the boy's hand. "No, he doesn't." Danny was trembling, squeezing Tom's hand trying to hold it together. He bent down again, level with the boy's face. "Hey, you remember what we talked about before? Being a family?"

Danny nodded. Tom ran his hand through the boy's hair and smiled. "Your dad has to be okay. We can't have a family without him, can we?"

The "no" was so small and quiet, at first Tom thought he'd imagined it. The boy's feelings about his mother were still too close to the surface, and Tom would just about have given up his practice to spare the kid seeing Gus like that. Gus had to make it. There was no room for anything else. This boy couldn't take another blow… maybe he couldn't either.

One thing was certain, he needed to get back to work. It was going to be hard to convince Danny to go with his aunt and uncle, and he was about to try when Sandy walked over to them.

"Will you make sure Gus gets this?" She handed him a nondescript key chain holding a single key. She then told Danny they were leaving and tried to gather him up. Not surprisingly, Danny refused.

Tom took the key. "I'll see to him. He'll be okay here until my shift's over. There's a private waiting area in the CCU. They'll move Gus there after—"

"I really admire your confidence, but I think it's best if…"

She fell quiet, content to glare at Tom, when the husband stepped up. "Ed Scharfenstein," the man said, handing Tom a business card. "This is our address. You can bring him back tomorrow."

It took Tom more than a beat to move. He looked at Sandy, who lowered her eyes, then spoke to the husband. "Fine. We'll stop by the house and pack some things," Tom said, taking the card from Ed's big, calloused fingers.

Ed nodded and clapped Tom on the shoulder. "Dan the Man, catch you tomorrow." His voice was hearty and upbeat as he ruffled Danny's hair.

Danny gave up a weak grin and waved as they walked away. Tom watched Ed collect his family and shepherd them to the exit. He looked back once, simply nodding again, and Tom returned the gesture.

Chapter Thirty-four

He woke to semi-darkness, eerily lit by the glow of monitors and low wattage. Gus blinked a few times and tried to swallow, but it felt like trying to down a softball with no chaser. What the hell? His first thought was someone had taken a super-sized syringe and aspirated all his energy. As he gained more of a sense of things, he realized he wasn't alone in the room.

Dr. Simms stood at the foot of the bed. Her intense eyes shone even in the dim light. "Jesus, you look like hell," Gus croaked.

She looked up from the chart she was holding and swept a wisp of hair back. "Well, I wish I could say that saving your ass was hard work but I didn't do very much. And as long as we're sharing, you don't look so hot yourself."

Reality chose that moment to dump all over him. "Oh, god. Danny? Where's…"

"Tom has him." She took a few steps closer. "His Auntie brought him down, but I've talked to Tom. Danny's going to stay in the private family lounge until Tom's shift is over, then he'll take him home to pack some things and take him to his Aunt's tomorrow. Don't worry, Tom's taking care of him."

Gus looked away, not meeting her eyes.

"Uh huh," she said, arching an eyebrow. Tom had, no doubt, told her about the fight.

"I'm in no mood for a lecture." His throat felt like a gravel pit. Dr. Simms reached for something on the table beside him.

"And when have you known that to stop me?" she asked, offering him a spoon of ice chips. "Here, try this first. No, don't sit up. You need to lie flat for a while."

The ice dissolved instantly, soothing his throat a bit.

"In case you missed it, I just had a heart attack. Can I sleep now?"

"Gus, your attitude is going to play a big role in your recovery. Whether you want to believe it or not, you've got a life to live…"

"Seems we've already been over this ground."

"… and with my help and your cooperation, I think it'll be a long one. The happy part's up to you."

He tried to wave her words away. "Just… save it, will you. News flash, my crazy-ass sister-in-law wants to take my kid away from me, I may not have a job for much longer and now this," he pointed to his chest. "I've got so much baggage, who in their right mind would want to be saddled with me?"

The good-natured barbs and ribbing had been one of the things he liked best about this weird relationship. He enjoyed giving back just as good as she could dish it out, but he'd never seen fire in her eyes like he saw now.

"I told you I wouldn't put up with any of that lame-ass, feeling sorry for yourself crap from you. Now, I can help you but you gotta want it." Gus' eyes widened as she pointed to the door. "There's a child out there worried sick about you and a man who wants nothing more than a chance to be 'saddled' with you. You should see his sorry ass dragging around here the last few days."

"He paying you much?"

"Suit yourself," she said, flipping through the chart again. "Throw this away if you want. I'm not here to fix your love life anyway."

"Good. Can we talk about what happened now? What did you do to me? I feel like shit."

Dr. Simms stopped fussing with the papers and sat down on the edge of the bed. "All right, you suffered a mild heart attack caused by a blockage of your left descending artery. On the way to the ER, your heart went into a dangerous arrhythmia called a v-fib – that's where the heart is literally quivering with no regular rhythm. That was our main concern, to stabilize you before they could get you to the cath lab."

Her voice was calm and smooth, soothing like Tom's could be at times. He almost felt bad for being a pain in the ass.

"Once they restored you to a normal sinus rhythm, they took you to the lab to determine what had happened. You tolerated the angioplasty well, even though you may not remember it now. After opening the artery with the balloon, a stent was inserted to keep it open. The reason you need to lie flat is to prevent any damage to the catheter site, and you make sure to call a nurse if you feel any pain there.

"Fortunately for you, and I mean fortunately, this attack wasn't fatal. We'll keep you in CCU overnight to monitor your rhythm, but your O2 levels have improved and right now you're showing great vitals. If you keep it that way, tomorrow we'll move you to a regular room. There's a few more tests I want to run while I have you here."

Gus took it all in. "You mean I can't go home yet? I thought those procedures were like out-patient."

She took his hand. "What does it take to get through to you? You were lucky, Gus. As in someone smiling down on you lucky. Think of Danny… do you want to take a chance after this?"

"But my job… I've got a… Oh, Christ, what day is it?" He began to thrash around. "The date, the date… what's the date? I've got a big presentation tomorrow, today, I've got to—you've gotta sign me out… just for…"

"Now, you just hold on, and I told you not to sit up. You're not going anywhere."

"You don't understand." Jesus, he felt so helpless.

"Oh, I understand I'm not letting you out of here. What do you need me to do? Who do I need to call? I'll do whatever I—"

"Jesus, no. I don't want them knowing I'm sick. Who wants to hire a company or an illustrator if they don't think they'll make it through the series?"

"And how much illustrating you figure to do dead or disabled?"

Gus blanched; he felt it all the way to his toes.

"You still suffered damage to your heart, Gus, no matter the mildness of the attack. I want to make sure you're completely out of the woods before I let you go," she said. "Now do we have an understanding?"

That glare of hers always made him feel uneasy, but it began to dawn on him that she was genuinely concerned and maybe just a little protective of him. "Did you save my life? Do the… whatever?"

"No, but I was there. I leave the catheterizations to the experts."

Gus tried to screw his face up in mock disbelief, but it was incredible how weak just talking had left him. "Are you telling me there's something you can't do?"

She smiled. "Yes, and it kills me to admit it. How about we work together on this and celebrate when you're, oh, 85 or so."

"Deal," he said and smiled. "When can I—can I see Danny?"

"Let's wait 'til morning. You may not think so, but you need to rest. I'll tell Tom; he can bring him by before they leave." She flashed that dynamite smile and patted his hand before getting up. "I think I'll go get some rest myself."

Lying in the bed surrounded by all the monitors and equipment, the hums, whirs, and beeps of the equipment, he felt small yet totally safe in the hands of this woman. She wasn't just a doctor, but also someone who cared. For some inexplicable reason, she cared.

~~~~

He felt better waking up the next day. The smell reminded Gus where he was and the low din of the nurses moving in and out was surprisingly reassuring. Lying there with his eyes closed, he didn't pay much attention to the movement near him, or the feeling someone was standing there. But when no one poked or prodded him, he opened his eyes.

"Hey." It was Tom. Jesus, where did those lines around his eyes come from?

Gus started to ask, but then got kind of lost in Tom's smile. A shot of adrenaline pushed through Gus' veins; it was laced with relief and a longing so deep he was afraid it might set off all his monitors.

Gus' voice creaked a little when he spoke. "Danny?"

Tom nodded; there was look there in his eyes, as if he needed to convince himself that Gus was really there first. He sat down on the edge of the bed and in a move that almost took Gus' breath and left him with a shiver, Tom took hold of his hand. "Danny's fine," he said, then had to clear his throat. "I think he finally got to sleep around three. If it's okay, I thought he could stay home from school, then I'll take him to Sandy's. I'd stay with him, but—"

"No, that's good. I know you have to sleep and I think I'll be here a few days." They were both silent a moment except for their eyes. "Thanks for…" Gus began, but he didn't finish and when Tom squeezed his hand, deep down, Gus knew he didn't have to.

It was as if the argument had never happened and he was glad they weren't doing the whole I'm sorry, you're sorry thing. Tom's smile was a good cover and Gus knew he relied on it a lot, but right now, it didn't match the look in his eyes. There was a whisper right there – a glint of ohmygodIalmostlostyouwhatthefuckdon'tyoueverdothattomeagain. He knew he was right when Tom threaded their fingers together.

"Jesus, Gus, I—" The door swung open, cutting Tom off.

"Mornin', gentlemen."

Speak of the devil. Gus was sure Tom would move away but he didn't; that told him volumes about where he might be in trying to salvage things.

"We're going to move you to a room this morning." Dr. Simms beamed at both of them. "And then they'll take you for a few more procedures – I'd like to get a Doppler venous scan and a CT – just like to cover all the bases while you're here. I see you've already met your coach."

"Coach?"

"Oh, I've got plans for you," Dr. Simms said to Gus, her eyes twinkling. Seriously, twinkling. "It's the University's cardiac care lifestyle modification program. You'll have some rehab and physical therapy – exercise to you."

Gus pulled a face. "You're serious?" He shot a glance at Tom then back to Dr. Simms. "You are so evil," he told her.

"I had nothing to do with it," she replied. "I was perfectly happy teaming you up with a therapist on staff but Tom volunteered and, you know me, that's the best way I know to keep up with you. Now I won't have to worry so much."

"Oh, sure, because between him and Danny, I'll never have any fun."

"I wouldn't count on that," Tom said. Gus wanted so much to grab on to the promise in that voice; it pulled at him low in his groin when Tom looked at him. "I figured I could provide a certain incentive." Tom leaned in close and kissed him. To Gus, the feeling was something like shade and a breeze in the desert; it filled all the places that needed filling. "Call it the personal touch," Tom mumbled into Gus's mouth.

Doctor or no doctor, Gus felt the heat spread across his chest and shoulders as he grabbed Tom's lab coat and pulled him in for more.

"Well, now, that's downright rude," Dr. Simms said with a hefty slice of satisfaction in her voice.

Gus drew back, smiling at Tom as though both of them might break into giggles like a couple of kids. Then he looked past to Dr. Simms. "Are you still here? Shouldn't you be scrubbing up or saving somebody's life? What about all those people in your waiting room? Some are probably still there from last Tuesday."

Tom laughed. Dr. Simms looked at him and shook her head, but her smile was full with a fondness Gus could feel. "You have my deepest sympathies," she said to Tom, then pointed to Gus and arched a well-defined brow. "I'll see you later." She made sure to pull the door shut behind her.

"This coach thing," Tom said, waving his hand between them. "If you want me, that is."

Gus slid a hand onto Tom's knee; he needed to touch. "It was never about not wanting you. Tom, I—"

He put a finger to Gus' lips. "There's someone outside who really needs to see you… I wanted a few minutes with you first and to wish you good luck with those tests."

"Thanks a lot," Gus said. "Look what happened that last time you did that."

That smile stayed dutifully in place. "You ready?"

"Oh, wow, I just got this weird feeling of déjà vu, only like it's reversed and not really the same feeling, but sort of a full circle kind of thing."

"So… not déjà vu."

Gus heaved an exasperated sigh. "Do I look okay? Okay, yeah, I know how I look, like death warmed over—"

"You look fine. Danny doesn't care. Neither do I."

Gus hummed and thumbed across the tanned knuckles. "Coach, huh? With Danny on the B-team, somehow I know I'm gonna live to regret this…"

"And that's the point," Tom said, leaning in for one more kiss.

Chapter Thirty-five

Danny had the look of a skittish rabbit at first and Gus understood that. The monitors, tubes, and wires had to be intimidating, no matter how many scenes like this the kid had seen on television and in movies. There was nothing like really being there.

Gus warmed to the sight of Tom's hand on Danny's shoulder and the tone of his voice. His outstretched hand seemed to make those last few steps to the bed easier. "I'm all right," Gus said as the boy took his hand. "The doctors and nurses took real good care of me."

"Were you scared?" Danny asked, his eyes wide and darting back and forth.

"Yes, but now that you're here, I'm not anymore."

Danny fingered the plastic band on Gus' wrist. "Will this happen again? Are you gonna have to stay? When can you come home?"

"In a few days. My doctor wants to run a few more tests, make sure I won't have to come back. How about you? You okay?"

Danny nodded. "I'm gonna go stay with Bradley."

"So I heard. And you get to skip school today. I bet you're pretty happy about that."

Danny smiled and put his little hand on Gus' stomach. "Me and Tom are gonna go to the movies before he takes me over there."

Gus cocked he head. "Tom?"

"He said I could call him just Tom now."

"I see," Gus said, glancing up. "Well, it sounds like fun; wish I could join you."

"In time," Tom said. He sat down on the bed at Gus' knee and put his hand on Danny's shoulder.

"And when you come home, Tom's coming to live with us." Danny beamed.

Gus shot Tom a look – that damned grin.

"I'm moving in," Tom said.

Gus narrowed his eyes. "Don't you have to be asked first for something like that?"

"Danny asked. Besides, as your coach, I'll be able to watch you more closely."

"Except for that part where you're always here or asleep." Gus was pretty sure his smile was sucking all the petulance from his words; he turned to Danny. "You asked?"

His son gave a little half-nod and fiddled with the IV line. "Are you mad?"

"Yeah," Tom chimed in, "are you mad?" The identical puppy-dog faces were definite overkill – they must have practiced – but deadly just the same.

Gus pulled his son's hand to his lips. Goddamn emotional wells – they'd back up on you at the damndest times. Gus swallowed a few times to keep the tide back. "No, I'm not mad."

Danny smiled and hugged his dad.

"So this is the way it's going to be? Decision by committee – and ad hoc at that?" But he didn't care. Gus really didn't care; he was going to go home with Danny and Tom and Oscar. Life had finally cut him a break, however tenuous. He'd still have the sword of a custody issue hanging over his head, but now wasn't the time for that.

"I love you, dad." The sound was kind of muffled against his chest, but Gus heard it just fine.

He looked up at Tom. From the way he was chewing on his bottom lip, he'd heard it too.

Gus put his arm around his son. "I love you, too, Sport," he said, looking into Tom's eyes.

~~~~~

Gus managed a shower and dressed himself, thankful that Tom had grabbed some clothes for him as well as packing for Danny. They'd returned his other clothes, though he had no idea what he was going to do with them since the EMTs and hospital personnel had to cut them. There was a soft knock at his door as he was stuffing them inside one of the hospital bags.

Dr. Simms breezed in, smile at the ready. She was holding what he assumed was his chart and discharge papers.

"Even you can't ruin my day," he said and smiled back. He was going home.

"Glad to hear it. What are you so chipper about, besides going home?"

"I talked to my assistant this morning. They went ahead with the presentation; she knew everything I would have said anyway. The author was very impressed and said we'd have her decision in about two weeks. So maybe I won't end up in the unemployment line after all."

"That is good news." Dr. Simms laid his chart on the rollaway tray table.

"She also said that someone called my boss and filled her in but wouldn't say who – you wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

Dr. Simms looked down, intent on her paperwork. "If you've got someone to drive you, I'll let you out of here today. You'll get a handful of paperwork from the discharge nurse, but do you have any other questions for me?"

"No, nothing we haven't already… oh, any idea when I can… you know, how long until I can resume... having sex?" There was really no way to say that without blushing, but he was glad she didn't draw attention to it.

"Looking at these test results, I can't see where you'll really have any restrictions. Now, that doesn't mean rough sex. Maybe you want to ease back into it with masturbation, your prostate health is very important, then you and—"

"Jesus. I only wanted to know how long… I didn't want to discuss it. Ewww."

She flashed him a quick smile. "If all else fails, trust Tom; he's a doctor, he'll know. And I'm sure he'll be more than happy to help in any way."

"Oh, thank you. Just knowing you have the capacity to form a mental image of that… I can't tell you how comforting that is."

"The doctor-patient relationship does afford some unexpected advantages."

"Oh, god. Please. Can we go back to you describing how you can crack a chest in seconds flat, or how many times you've literally held someone's heart in your hands?" Gus looked at her hands, marveling at the way this amazing woman could be so funny and charming and yet so fierce and dedicated at the same time. He just hoped he never had to personally find out how good she was. "And don't skimp on the gore."

"You're going to do fine, as long as you—"

"Do as you say… yes, I know." His voice softened. "I think that's going to be a lot easier now."

She smiled. "Good. I want you to bring Danny with you on your follow-up."

"Why?" Gus sat down on the bed.

"I'd like to show him a little video of what we did, see if he has any questions. Do what I can to ease his mind, about you and about himself."

"You've been talking to Tom again."

Her eyes were bright and intense as she made a "key locking" motion with her fingers against her lips then gathered up his chart.

"That's actually a pretty good idea," Gus said. "Tell me something. Do all your patients get the royal treatment? How come I'm so lucky?"

She smiled and patted his knee. "You should know the answer to that by now."

"Uh huh, that's just what I thought. You try to hide it, but I can tell. You like me."

He loved her laugh. It was warm and inclusive and made him feel special. He'd bet a month's pay that while all her patients got the royal treatment, not everyone got to hear that laugh.

"And that's okay," he said, getting up to walk her to the door. "Because I like you, too. You know, for a doctor and all, you're not so bad."

She handed him a few of the papers from the stack. "You take care, Gus. I don't need to keep people waiting while I stand around here making mooneyes with you. Just let me see you in my office in two weeks – with Danny."

She hesitated and Gus took the opportunity. "Thank you," he said and held out his hand. She looked at him a moment then took it. Her grip was the same as when they'd first met.

"Anytime. And you tell that handsome coach of yours I said he better take good care of you or it's his ass."

Gus laughed; god, if felt good. "I'll be sure to do that."

Chapter Thirty-six

The cool air from the half-opened window cut across naked skin making his shiver as the sweat dried. Gus watched Tom wipe the corners of his mouth and make a pillow of Gus' damp thigh. "What?" he asked of the look in Tom's eyes.

"Nothing… you should see your face after you come… like you don't have a care in the world."

Well, fuck, that's just the way it felt, too. He couldn't say that every time now was like a gift and that he was so happy it was Tom doing the giving. So he just said, "Christ, blowjobs as therapy… not a bad gig, except for that whole heart attack thing."

He felt Tom's smile curve into his skin. "Strengthens your heart. Pretty soon, I won't even have to take it easy on you."

Gus threaded his fingers through Tom's damp hair. "Can I tell you how much I'm looking forward to that."

"Yeah," Tom replied. When he nodded, the tip of his nose brushed the hair on the inside of Gus' thigh.

Lying there together, Gus drifted, holding Tom and not quite believing how implicitly he trusted this man. The coach thing was working out. Bed was the only place Tom let him off easy though.

"You know, you've contracted to illustrate an entire series, be nice if you lived long enough to complete it."

Gus laughed. He was all for that. "I never thanked you or Dr. Simms or whichever of you two conspirators called Gretchen." He shifted his weight, the cool damp of the sheet oddly welcome.

Tom didn't answer right away and Gus thought he might have fallen asleep, but he blew out a long breath and looked up. "I called Valerie – I'm gonna testify."

He didn't have to tell Tom it was the right thing to do, didn't have to give him a gung ho speech. Gus had made his feelings clear already. He figured Tom was one of those people who had to arrive at things in their own time. He never thought Tom would just let the matter go. Gus nodded as if Tom could see him and grazed his fingers along Tom's shoulder.

"When?" Gus asked.

"Couple of weeks. She's getting back to me with details. I'm hoping to get in and out... depends if the state wants a piece of my hide as well."

"What do you mean?"

"For not reporting the first incident. Consensual or not, it was my duty. I can be sanctioned for that. Worst case, I could be barred from practicing in California." Gus felt Tom stiffen at the mention of his home.

He brushed the hair back from Tom's face. "You'll be so close – you could—"

"Yeah. I'm thinking about it. We'll see how the hearing shakes out – if I have time."

Gus left it at that. The air was almost too cool now but there was no way he was moving; his eyelids were too heavy. "C'mere," he mumbled, barely able to make a coherent sound, slipping fast into the twilight.

Tom pulled himself up and slipped his arm around Gus. Using the last of his strength, Gus bent down for a kiss, then pulled the covers up with his foot.

Danny was at Sandy's. Tom was already breathing steady. The alarm was set. Gus' last thought as he watched the curtains ebb and swell was that his life might actually not suck at all – his entire life. Like everything he'd been through had been a path or a side road or even an expressway leading him right to this place. And that had to count for fucking something.

Chapter Thirty-seven

"Are you done with that yet?" Tom asked.

"Last batch." Gus pointed to the stack of clothes on the bed. The brown-burnt odor of scorched cotton hung in the air. "Take those. Half of these labels won't even stick," he said, pressing the tip of the iron to yet another pair of boy's briefs. Tom scooped up the clothes, grabbed the underwear from Gus, and headed down the hall. They almost had Danny packed and ready for camp. Seeing the kid's face light up whenever they talked about it replaced any resentment Gus felt for Sandy's stealing his thunder.

He was finishing the last pair of briefs with a pointed blast of steam when Danny walked in. "Hey, Sport. You need to be thinking about getting to bed. We need to get up early."

"Are you sure we have everything?" Danny asked, looking at his lined and tattered list.

Gus smiled. "You've only checked it off about a hundred times." Danny didn't smile back, or even grin, just sat down on the edge of the bed with hands limp in his lap.

"Hey, you aren't worried about me are you?" Gus asked, unplugging the iron. "'Cause I'll be fine."

Danny shrugged. "Not really."

"Well, you can't be worried about Oscar – I'll be here to take care of him. You're going to be having so much fun, you'll hardly even think about us."

Danny folded his list. "I know."

"Then what's wrong? You've been bouncing off the walls for weeks."

"That man today," he began.

Gus took a deep breath and sat down beside his son. "You shouldn't let that bother you. Some people don't understand—they'll never understand."

The boy turned and looked Gus in the eye, his face so earnest. "He was a jerkface."

"That's a nice way of putting it. Unfortunately, there are a lot of closed-minded people in the world and it probably won't be the last time you hear someone voice their opinion." Danny seemed to think about that, creasing the folded list back one way and then the other.

"But I don't understand. Why is it different from kissing mom? What's wrong with that – you said you and Tom like each other."

Gus brushed the hair back from Danny's face. "There's nothing wrong with it. Just some people see it as wrong and they aren't satisfied unless everyone else sees things the way they do."

The incident was mild compared to what it could have been – although no display of hatred was too mild to be ignored, especially if it affected Danny. They'd all been out running errands earlier. Amid the derisive looks, the word 'faggot' had been used, tossed out with virulent disregard, and all because Tom had kissed Gus. A quick, dry, be-right-back kiss that had seemed more of a reflex at the time. Danny had seen the same kiss a dozen times or more since Tom moved in. The three of them had even discussed displays of affection, but this was the first time anything had slipped past the safety net that was their home.

Tom stuck his head in the door and told them they needed to get to bed. On seeing solemn faces, he excused himself, but before he could retreat, Gus motioned for him to sit down. He took a small chair opposite the bed.

"What happened this afternoon," Gus said, and caught Tom up.

Tom leaned forward. "What's important here is how you feel, Danny. If our showing affection makes you uncomfortable, Gus and I will be more careful."

"It doesn't. I just don't understand why you should have to?"

"Because everyone doesn't think like you," Tom said. He glancing at Gus and smiled. "There are people who view couples like your dad and me, even Aaron's moms, as wrong and a few are so adamant about what they believe they lose sight of common sense and decency – they say and do hurtful things, and if there's any way I can keep that from touching you, I will."

Danny shifted and looked up at his dad.

"It won't change anything," Gus told him. "What a few people think won't make Tom and me bad people and it certainly won't change how we feel."

Tom nodded.

"But doesn't it make you mad?" Danny asked. "Nobody ever says anything when people act like jerks."

Tom and Gus exchanged glances again. "Sure it makes us mad," Gus replied. "We're not saying bigotry and wrong thinking should be rewarded or passed off, but if we lash out in pure anger, if we're all in their face, how are we any different from the jerks?"

"Because we're right!"

Gus laughed out loud. "And the jerks think they're right… and there's our problem."

"Well, that's not fair." Danny's little eyes were full of fire.

Gus looked at Tom. "You want to take the life's-not-fair argument?"

"I'm gonna be late for work," he said, standing up.

"Oh no, you've got time." Gus caught his arm and drew his thumb across Tom's wrist.

Tom knelt down, put his hands on Danny's knees, and blew out a long breath; he seemed to be thinking of what to say. "I could probably give you a thousand greeting card clichés about life being unfair but the simple truth of it is… life is unfair. Sometimes the ones with the loudest voices and the bigger numbers win, even when it doesn't seem right." Danny looked to Gus as if he wasn't expecting that answer and certainly not from Tom. "But life can also be extraordinary. Sometimes life throws you pearls instead of a bunch of smelly oyster shells and empty beer cans. How else can you explain how I ended up with you and your dad?"

Chapter Thirty-eight

Gus grimaced but kept up his pace. The sun wasn't even out but it had been an unusually warm July. The rain earlier had done nothing but add weight to the air; still he wasn't struggling. He wasn't. There was something off with his shoe but they were almost home and he wasn't about to ask Tom to stop again; he'd never hear the end of it.

Up ahead, Tom slowed to a fast walk so Gus could catch up. He turned around to face Gus. "Meant to tell you, I'm flying out to San Francisco on Thursday."

"Really," Gus puffed. "I was counting on having you all to myself."

Tom smiled. "Plenty of time for that, plus you've got enough to keep you busy. Don't you have a first draft to finish, query letters to write…"

"Places to go, people to see… yeah…" He caught up and fell into a walk at Tom's pace.

Tom swiped across his mouth. "I still can't believe you wrote a book and I didn't know about it... how is that even possible?"

This is something that's, well, it's personal and it's like I had this need to write it out of me. Does that make sense?" Gus shrugged, "Who knows, maybe that's all I'm doing. It may not go anywhere. Still, it'll be nice just to hang out and work on it... first time I've been alone since—"

"I think Oscar might take offense to that," Tom said, holding up the leash. Oscar barked in agreement.

"I wouldn't be surprised; you and Danny have certainly taught him well. I expect he'll take up the bitch-patrol, probably won't be able to get a decent piece of red meat by him."

Tom jogged a bit ahead. "Are you worried? You know being alone?"

"No. Not really. Dr. Simms says there's no reason to be."

"Well, that's as good as a final decree, then."

"Damn right. Still, you think I could teach Oscar to dial 911?"

Tom laughed. "You'll be fine. Besides, I'll only be gone a few days… 'Course they may send my head back on a platter."

"Don't even think that way."

"Doesn't really matter. You've already seen how bad I cocked things up, how perfect I am not."

"Bullshit. You're Dr. Tom," Gus huffed, gaining on him again. "Able to leap tall medical centers… single bound…"

Tom slowed and let him pull even. "Those are Danny's eyes you're looking through."

"Yeah, so. What's wrong with that?" Better than seeing you through your dad's.

"Even Superman had his kryptonite," Tom said, using his forearm to mop sweat.

They both slowed to a walking pace. "I'll take my chances. Seriously, Tom, you're putting an awful lot on the line by agreeing to testify and you're walking right into the fire. That's all I need to know about you."

Tom stopped and grabbed Gus. They were sweaty and hot and right there in the middle of the street, but Tom pulled him close anyway. Mouths locked together, Oscar jumped on one then the other of them. For just a moment, nothing else existed. Nothing but the way Tom felt in his arms, the way he tasted – salty and sweet – even the way he smelled.

Tom broke away first, tossed the leash to Gus and started to run. "Last one home gets to bottom."

"Oh, please," Gus said, beginning a slow trot with Oscar right on his heels. "Is that supposed to challenge me? I'm surprisingly good with that." He looked down at Oscar. "Three guesses who's spending the afternoon in the back yard."

~~~~~

"It was late; the kitchen was quiet except for Oscar's snuffling. Gus watched him sleep and wondered if dog's could dream, if finding Danny had replaced any of the old horrors. Then there were the normal sounds of the house, pops and cracks Gus had come to find comforting.

Lying on the table beside him was one of Tom's framed diplomas. Gus had taken it from the box sitting on the counter – a few things Tom had finally remembered to bring over from his apartment. Looking at the name, Thomas Shulford Arquette III, reminded Gus of a earlier conversation, one that felt like light years ago.

"Shulford is an old family name."

"I kinda like Tom."

"Me too. I never use the bars. They're just for legal documents – makes me feel a couple hundred years lighter."

He smiled thinking of the way Tom had described his family that day. "Christ, we made Dynasty look functional." Gus ran his fingers over the rosewood frame. Family discord aside, Shulford suited Tom in a way. At least it wasn't something horrid like Elban.

"Jesus, Gus, you scared me. Do you know what time… hey, are you all right?"

Gus had heard the creaking of the floor so Tom's voice didn't startle him. "I'm fine. Just couldn't sleep and didn't want to disturb you. Go back to bed, you need to rest."

"So do you. Me, I spent years living on catnaps."

"My point exactly. You've got time now, so take it. Sleep. I said I was all right."

Tom padded over to the sink and filled the shiny, new stainless steel teakettle, then put it on the stove to boil. "Sometimes I think you forget who you're talking to."

Gus looked up. No, he never forgot. Tom's sweat pants hung low on his hips; he was getting mugs and tea from the cabinets. He watched Tom and listened. Listened to the slow-building hiss and roll of the heating water, the clink of the spoons against the mugs, and the knowing silence between them as Tom first poured the water, then brought the tea to the table. He could even hear the caring in Tom's hand on his shoulder before he sat down.

Gus put one spoonful of unrefined sugar in his mug and stirred, then leaned over to welcome the warm, honey-lemon aroma curling into the air. He met Tom's gaze as they both brought mugs to their lips.

Tom put his down first. "Can I ask you something, something personal?"

Holding his mug with both hands, elbows on the table, Gus took another sip and nodded.

"Danny saying goodbye to Dede… why was that so important to you?"

"I didn't get to say goodbye either, you know."

"Gus…"

Tom's do-not-even-bullshit-me voice was always very effective; now, it made a lump gather in Gus' throat. His first inclination was to shrug it off, make an excuse, change the subject, but what Tom was asking was the reason the two of them had met in the first place, and they'd never talked about it since. He had held onto the answer to that question for a long time, but Gus could feel his resistance crumble. Maybe it was time he told someone.

"Because I never got the chance," he said before he changed his mind. "With my mother. And a day hasn't gone by that I haven't regretted it." He took another sip of tea. "For all intents and purposes, my mother had left us long before she died, but I guess I always thought there'd be… I don't know."

Tom set his mug on the table but kept his fingers curled on the handle. He was the one who'd set things in motion and Gus imagined he was willing to wait for an answer if it took until morning.

"I was away at school, but I'd try and come home at least once a week to see her. My dad went as often as he could. By that time, he was on several boards and traveled quite a bit—took consulting jobs to keep busy and make a little extra." He put his own mug down and leaned back in the chair. "It got easier and easier for him not to go. I'd tell her about the meetings and the traveling, but she'd still get ready for him, like he was going to come whistling through the door any minute. Every day she'd get ready. He'd been in Des Moines for some job—suffered a massive coronary and he was gone."

Gus stopped a moment to inhale and met Tom's eyes as he did so. There was a flicker of understanding there and maybe of promise, like Tom would never leave, but Gus knew better. Everybody leaves eventually.

"So I took care of all the arrangements and continued the excuses. Only now, they were lies. I just never told anyone at the hospital. I figured she couldn't remember anyway. I could have told her the same thing everyday and she wouldn't have known the difference. And every day, Tom, every god damned day I was there, she'd have her makeup on, ask me to help her with the white lace robe my dad had gotten her, and wait for him. No matter that I was there, she was waiting for him. Kyle she'd handled, sort of… I didn't know what she'd do if I'd told her about Dad."

Tom's gaze went to the cup he was twirling back and forth. He still hadn't said a word.

"Then one week – a week from hell – I'd had exams, Deeds and I had been bickering, and I was still dealing with probate shit and insurance companies. I came home for a long weekend and it was like all my buttons were hot and ready to blow. I'd been using the Nitro… well, you get the picture.

"Everything just set me off. That blush on her cheeks seemed more intense as well as that blood-red lipstick and she couldn't find her robe. She was pacing and seemed more agitated than normal. Since Deeds and I were on the outs, I'd been with the guys the night before and my head was pounding. I was helping her look and she kept talking about my dad; how he liked to see her in it and that he'd be there soon and she needed to find it. After an entire fucking year of excuses, she still believed he was just gonna waltz right in. I wasn't thinking— or maybe I was—I just lost my shit. Completely went off." His throat tightened around the words now hell-bent to escape.

"I told her no, he wasn't coming, he was never coming, because he was gone. Just like Kyle, he was gone. Dad was gone and now she was stuck with. Just me." He stopped and bit down hard. "I'd never, ever spoken to her like that."

Tom's chair scrubbed the floor as he got up. When he came back into the kitchen, he had the bottle of bourbon in his hand. Neither one spoke as Tom poured a couple finger's worth into Gus' mug.

He started to make a crack about breaking training, but Tom did the same with his cup before he stoppered the bottle. Gus took a big drink and savored the burn.

"A week later they called me from the hospital. She wouldn't eat – hadn't eaten all week and could I come and see if I could do anything with her. She looked like she hadn't changed clothes since the last time I'd seen her, or had a proper bath. One of the nurses told me later that she wouldn't let any of them do anything for her.

"She still had on the robe, sitting there on the edge of the bed worrying the lace from one hand to the other. The color on her cheeks was faded but not completely and her lips were almost as pale as her skin. I—I crumpled at her feet like a broken toy, sobbing. Wailing. Like total strangers coming in to find out what was going on sobbing. I told her I was sorry, that I hadn't meant to hurt her… and you know what she did?"

"What?" Tom asked softly and Gus took another gulp of the spiked tea.

"As I knelt there in a heap, head on her knees, crying 'til I thought I'd be sick… she combed her fingers through my hair and told me it was okay. 'It's okay, Gus,' she said. 'It's all okay, now.' Her voice was calm and sweet like in my memory, but by the time I looked up, her hand was back in her lap and her eyes fixed on something on the opposite wall.

"I managed to get her to eat a little and drink some water, then I gave her a bath. She said she didn't want anyone else to do it." Gus took a deep breath and bit his lip. "She was five foot nothing and I picked her up like she was hollow and took her to the tub. I… Afterward, the nurses promised they'd keep an eye on her, so I went home. Real home, thinking I'd ditch classes for a day or two. I was so drained, I almost didn't pick up the phone when they called the next morning. She'd passed away during the night… she was gone."

"Jesus."

"And it was all my fault. Because I wanted what I wanted for a change, because I wanted to do things my way, because I wanted just one little break from the responsibility after—"

"That is not true. What happened to your mother was not your fault. You have to let it go, Gus. For you and for Danny. You have to let—"

Gus held up his hand and Tom stopped. "Let's not do the Freud thing, okay? My mother died alone thinking her son was a liar. I'm not sure I've got enough time left to sort this out – but it's mine to sort."

Tom reached over, took Gus' hand, and held it tight. "She may have died alone, but she did so knowing her son loved her. It will be okay, Gus. You, me, Danny, we're going to be okay."

If only it were that easy. "And if wishes were horses, we'd all be eating steak." Gus smiled to himself and, seeing Tom didn't get the reference, squeezed his hand. "Go back to bed. You've only got a couple hours before your meeting."

"The grant, yeah."

"Duh… yeah, the grant. Only the thing you've been working on for months."

Tom stood up and kneaded Gus' shoulders lightly. Then he bent and pressed a kiss to the top of Gus' head. "Come with me." The voice soft, Tom's lips warm as they brushed his neck. Gus reached up to twine their fingers together.

"I'll be there in a minute. Promise."

Tom sighed and gave Gus one last graze of his stubbly chin, the sound of it like a whisper in Gus' ear before he pulled away.

"What?"

"Hmm?"

"What did you say?" Gus asked.

"Nothing."

Gus whirled around. "No, you said—did you just say what I think you said?"

Tom threw his hands up and headed for the hallway. "I don't know what you're talking about. I didn't say a word," he said, a smile dancing a jig in that voice of his. "You must be getting old, Gruber. You're starting to hear things."

Gus smiled after him, a great tightness warming and growing in his chest, but not one he feared. Not anymore. "Not too old I can't take you to the mat, doc."

"Oh, yeah?" Tom called back. "Prove it."

"Careful what you ask for." Gus smiled to himself. Telling Tom had helped. There'd always be parts of it he'd need to deal with, but his shoulders seemed a lot lighter now. Maybe Tom was right – and when wasn't he – maybe everything could finally be okay.

He stood, gathered the mugs, and set them in the sink on his way back to bed.

Chapter Thirty-nine

The day promised to be a hot one. Already, sunlight flooded the kitchen thanks mostly to the removal of the diseased Maple in the back yard. Not that Oscar minded; he no longer had to follow that one rectangle around the room. He was pretty much good with any spot up until 2:00 in the afternoon.

But now the aroma of breakfast cooking kept him glued to Gus' hip. Gus whisked the eggs once more and waited for the pan to heat. A 'rite of passage' gift from Tom, he had come to love the professional non-stick cookware with an odd possessiveness just short of the line over into obsession. He'd wash and dry them as if they were precious metal and displayed them on the new rack beside the pantry.

"Seriously, Oz, what part of 'I've already fed you' are you having trouble with?" Oscar's tail began to sweep across the floor at the sound of his name. "That's right, these are real eggs," Gus said, pouring the mixture of eggs (three whites, two yolks), chopped peppers, and low-fat cheese into the pan. Tilting and swirling, he added, "And if you rat on me, I know a certain mutt that will go treat-less for a month."

As if to acknowledge, Oscar barked and nudged Gus' thigh.

"Ah, it smells good, but I promise you turkey bacon is slightly above your rawhide chew on the taste scale. Wouldn't kid ya." He flipped his omelet and ground a bit of fresh black pepper over it before sprinkling on a little more cheese. When Oscar whined, Gus glanced down. "Don't judge me."

It was nice to be in the house alone for a change; it'd be a good atmosphere for working. He'd come a long way from a morning trip to the deli, coffee and a roll, and taking the subway to work. Jesus, that all seemed a lifetime removed from him now. At the table, Gus set his plate amid the strewn pages of his completed first draft. He was ass-deep in the middle of a final read-through and edit – an intensely tedious task that taxed the boundaries of his self-esteem and left him balanced precariously on a beam between fucking genius and no-talent hack, with absolutely no middle ground.

"How good are you at spotting typos?" he asked Oscar, who'd settled his muzzle practically in Gus' lap, that pink eye like a blinker silently moving back and forth from Gus' plate to his mouth. "Yeah, I know, you're just a dog. All you care about is piddling and a goofy red-haired kid whose dads miss him like crazy." He bent down and scratched behind Oscar's ear. "Yes, you do, don't you?"

As he ate, Gus paged through the stack. He had a few query letters ready to go and his plan was to get all the edits done over the weekend. Gretchen had hooked him up with a few contacts at a self-publishing outfit and a couple of e-publishing houses. He'd leave the self-pub as a last resort, thank you, but online publishing was growing and Gus thought it might not be a bad idea to get in relatively early on. Still, he felt strongly about trying to find a print publisher first.

About halfway into his omelet, Oscar's head jerked up followed by the muffled thump of a car door. Oscar looked from him to the direction of the front door. Warily, Gus got up from the table: he wasn't expecting anyone, nor was he really dressed for visitors.

He peered out the side of the front window as the doorbell rang. Sandy's rolling fortress sat in the driveway. Oscar ran to the door barking. "Oh, thanks. So much for avoiding her now," Gus whispered, waving the dog from the door. "What do you think? Any chance she'll give up and go away?"

Oscar barked again.

"Yeah, you're right. She'd think something was wrong and next thing we know, there'd be paramedics, fire engines, and god knows what all." Then he heard Ed's voice. Why was Ed with her? A flash of panic hit him square in the gut. He jerked the door open.

"Sandy. What is it?"

She walked past him. "Are you… alone?"

"Yes, I'm alone," Gus rolled his eyes and blew the words out in a whiny sigh. "Danny, as you know, is at camp, and Tom's away for the weekend. Ed?"

Ed took Gus' hand. "We really won't stay long, there's something—"

"There's something I need to take care of," Sandy said. "So I may as well get right to it." She held out her hand toward Gus. All he could see were a few colored beads spilling from the closed fist.

He took a few steps closer as she slowly opened her hand. She looked like she wanted to say something and couldn't find the words. She just stared at him, and for the first time, Gus noticed the dark circles and how tired she appeared. He glanced at Ed then back to Sandy.

She had in her hand a necklace that had belonged to Dede. Gus had bought it on one of his beer-swilling vacations. He'd gotten it for her because it reminded him of them. The smooth island stones were mottled with individual blemishes, some going all the way to the core, like him, and the tiny shells between the stones perfect, like her. The colors were subtle, earthy; he'd always called Dede his 'Earth girl', maybe because she was always so reasonable, or maybe because, clearly, he was the alien in her life. He smiled to himself – children of the Eighties.

It wasn't expensive and the only value came from the fact that Dede had worn it often. It had gone missing about a year before their divorce. Gus recalled they'd looked everywhere and had finally marked the disappearance down as one of those unexplained occurrences.

"Where did you…" He didn't finish his question. The look in Sandy's eyes was all the answer he needed. As much as he'd have loved to be the one to twist the knife for a change, what good would it possibly do to continue their war now. It needed to end and if Gus had to be the one to cry "uncle" then so be it.

"Yes, I took it. When she and I went on that shopping trip. She loved the silly thing so much – it was only a trinket – and…" She turned her head toward her husband. "…maybe I was just the tiniest bit jealous of that happiness. I realize it was wrong and I thought it was something you might want to have returned. It's really of no use to me," she added haughtily.

He couldn't have heard right, but a glance over to Ed set it in stone. And, again, as much as Gus had every right to revel in Sandy's defeat, the look on Ed's face was more than enough evidence that Gus' small victory hadn't come easy. So, he settled for relief instead and tried to push down the warm lump in his throat before it could overtake him.

"I also wanted to tell you that I'm dropping the custody petition. My lawyer tells me it's one I'm not likely to win anyway." She clutched at her purse, eyes not really on Gus as she spoke. "Besides, I think Danny really needs you."

"Thank you." Gus knew better than to offer anything more. Sometimes a simple acknowledgement really did suffice. But there seemed to be more.

"Along those lines, I've had a few discussions with my broker, and with your permission, I'd like to add you as a trustee to Danny's accounts. I'll remain as the sole signatory and decisions will still have to be discussed and mutually agreed upon, but you'll be—"

"I accept that," he said matter-of-factly. It was sort of a backhanded way for Sandy to see where she was wrong, but still, Gus couldn't work up any malice. He didn't want to be unduly antagonistic and, for the love of all that was holy, he didn't want to say anything mushy.

"Oh, there's one more thing. Do you have plans for Labor Day?"

Gus looked puzzled. "None that I'm aware of. Of course, I've yet to check my extensive social agenda… why, what's up?"

"I'd like for Bradley and Haleigh to stay over with Danny. Eddie and I, we're going to take some time for ourselves. We're flying to Paris for the long weekend."

"Nice little getaway." He smiled at Ed, who smiled back with a look that let Gus know he hadn't chosen the location.

"Well?" she asked. She kept clutching her bag between her hands and it made Gus wonder if saying she was sorry had really been so hard for her.

He acted as if he was thinking for a moment, not able to resist that look in her eyes. "And you're comfortable leaving them in the den of iniquity? Aren't you afraid something will rub off?"

"You're Danny's father, Gus… you're family…I…"

"Yes, I am. It may not be very satisfying to you, but Danny is a part of me – he's a part of who I am – and Tom? I respect your feelings, but Tom's a part of my life and a big part of Danny's. There's something good there if you ever care to look for it, maybe ask Danny about it."

Sandy nodded, sort of.

"Thanks, buddy." Ed stuck his hand between them and Gus took it. "Means a lot."

"No problem." His gaze shifted to Sandy. Her smile was crimped and tight, but it was there.

"Thank you," she said, then made a lame excuse why they had to leave.

Gus walked them to the door. As they walked to the car, Sandy reached for Ed's hand. Strangely, Gus found himself rooting for their weekend and hoping Sandy might stop feeling haunted by whatever stalked her from the past.

He closed the door and immediately heard a noise from the back of the house. The dog must have knocked something over – it was definitely breakage. But when he passed the kitchen, Oz lay curled up in a sunny spot, dead to the world.

He looked in several rooms before discovering the source. In Danny's room, the lamp from the dresser lay in pieces on the floor – its worn and battered shade crumpled like a broken limb. That's when he felt it: a light shimmering veil skimming his skin, dancing around him. It drew near, catching and raising the hair on his skin, then retreated, finally lifting over him.

He shut his eyes; his mouth watered and his stomach felt like he was going to be sick. The dizziness made the panic start, but then as soon as it had come, it was gone. He was warm again and without thinking too much about it, he knew it was only the last of Dede's presence in the house – the very last time they'd be together.

He unclenched his hand and looked down at the beads and shells. That part of his life was over for good and he'd use the weekend to mourn it… all of it. Because when Tom returned from beating back his own demons, a new part of his life would begin. Curses be damned.

He bent to gather the broken pieces. "Don't worry, Deeds. It really is going to be okay, now," he said, without one iota of doubt.

Epilogue

The agent had been helpful, despite the fact that he and Danny had clearly been an intrusion on her day. Whoever said customer service was a thing of the past must have tried to book a trip with Crossroads Travel. As if to protect all involved, Gus' phone buzzed before he could begin the process of venting his frustration. It was Tom; Gus always swore he was psychic.

He gave the agent a quiet nod and stood up, pulling Danny with him. "Sorry..." he said unapologetically, "...call I have to take. We'll be in touch."

"Where are you?" Tom asked.

The sidewalk outside was considerably brighter and warmer but breezy. Awnings along the street flapped with the wind as he and Danny walked back toward the parking garage. "I'll tell you later; what's up?"

"Guess where I'm calling from?"

Gus pulled a face. Didn't Tom realize he was in no mood for more frustration? "Jesus, I don't know... sub-orbital flight on the space shuttle; is that why there's such good reception."

"Good guess," Tom said dryly. "I'm calling from one of the unused ancillary buildings on campus, soon to be home of the David L. Parrish Clinic and Research Center."

Gus broke out in to a wide grin. He stopped walking and held onto Danny. "You got the grant!"

"Not only that, but the Fellows were so impressed by the abstract of the program, they're looking at having a more permanent presence. They're donating the building and, if all goes well, want to include the facility as part of the University's curriculum on obsessive/compulsive behaviors."

Gus' chest swelled to bursting for Tom. This was what Tom had wanted; it was what he was meant to do. "Hey, we need to celebrate." He lowered the phone and told Danny that Tom had gotten his grant so he'd stop asking.

"My thoughts exactly, you guys want to take me to lunch?"

In the worst way, Gus thought, having another sort of celebration in mind. But that would have to wait. "Sure. Danny and I are out here on Cicero; want to meet somewhere in between?"

~~~~

After some haggling and lots of input from Danny, they all agreed on Geppetto's. It was nice, had a touch of Italian ambiance, and a family menu. Tom was already there when Gus and Danny arrived, and he pulled Gus close when he saw them.

"I'm really happy for you," Gus said. "Good job."

"Well, it's a research grant. Now I've got two years to prove myself."

"You'll do it. In spades." Gus leaned in to kiss Tom's cheek, but Tom turned his head so their lips met.

"Just keep that coming," Tom said when the kiss ended.

Gus grinned. "The encouragement or the kissing?"

"Both," Tom answered, and kissed Gus again.

"Dad..." Danny's voice had that tone; the same one Gus always used when shopping with Dede. He pulled on Gus' jacket. "The lady's waiting on us."

The hostess seated them and someone came around to take their drink orders.

Gus picked up his menu. "Wow, they've got a Cuban sandwich." He looked over at Tom. "How good could a Cuban be in an Italian restaurant, though?"

"No processed meats; too much sodium," Tom said without looking up.

"Hmmm, what about the seafood pasta?"

"Creamy sauce," Tom noted. "But that does look good, think that's what I'll have." He set the menu to the side and grinned at Gus.

"Sadist. The Flat Iron steak comes with grilled vegetables."

"No meat, Dad."

"I can have lean meat."

"Flat Iron comes from the infraspinatus – the steer's rotator cuff," Tom clarified when Gus stared at him blankly.

"How appetizing." A waiter walked by with something sizzling on a platter; it smelled like steak. It smelled damn good.

"In other words, not lean."

"I want pepperoni pizza," Danny announced, handing the menu to his dad.

"Excellent idea. Look, they have a personal size, I can—"

Tom was shaking his head. "Cholesterol."

"Veggie?"

"If you can get it without cheese, that'll work." Tom said, his eyes shining in the low ambient light.

"Then what's the point?"

Tom leaned over and pointed to a section of the menu. "You can have the Ultimate Chicken Sandwich on rye bread with no pepper mayo or artichoke hearts."

Gus scanned the items and read the description. "Then what exactly am I supposed to taste? I'm sure Dr. Simms would be okay with one little…" He balked at the look on Tom's face. "Right. I'll have the Cobb Salad. Does that pass inspection?" He looked to Danny for the second opinion.

"If you hold the egg and the bacon bits, you're golden," Tom said, motioning for their waitress.

While they ate, Gus explained where he and Danny had been earlier.

"I've never really fishing," Tom said. "My brother does some sport fishing, but I don't like boats."

"Well you don't have to fish, but the boat thing… that's kind of mandatory." Gus dipped a forkful of salad into his dressing. "You can stay below, you don't have to stay—"

Tom shrugged and spread his pasta around the plate. "I'll go, of course, it's just… I had a pretty bad experience once, sort of put me off, you know?"

Gus looked at him and grinned. "Yeah? Remind me to tell you some day about my unpleasant experience." Tom cocked his head, but Gus waved it off.

"You guys want to see some pictures?" Tom had taken Gus' camera with him that morning. He handed it to Danny and Danny held it out so Gus could see. There were shots from the outside and several of the hallways and the abandoned rooms. "Of course, it's going to need some work to get started." Tom looked very proud. "The program will be under my supervision. I'll get to interview applicants and have final approval of the staff."

Gus couldn't help thinking of the similarities to San Francisco. He leaned in close and smiled. "Now, this is a feather."

Tom smiled back and Danny interrupted the moment with a loud and extremely long belch. Gus and Tom both turned to him. "Who taught you that?" his dad asked.

"Aaron." Danny wiped his mouth. "He can burp his whole name and address."

Gus took Danny's napkin from the table and put it in his son's lap. "Well, that doesn't mean you have to."

"That is kind of cool," Tom said, glancing at Gus, clearly amused. "C'mon, didn't you always want to be able to do that?"

"You're encouraging this?"

Tom shrugged and addressed Danny, his tone a bit too conspiratorial. "Your dad's right," he said. "You shouldn't do that in public, better to practice at home instead."

Gus rolled his eyes and shook his head. "I may as well give up now. I see I'll always be outnumbered."

Tom reached out and took Gus' hand then Danny's. "One big happy family," he said. Gus knew that look on Tom's face, that look of belonging and being stupidly happy about it. He squeezed Tom's hand and mouthed, Me too.

The End

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