Title: DIAGNOSIS MURDER - Ragnarok
Author: Clare
Email: clare@solomon29.freeserve.co.uk
Pairings: Jesse/Rick Brookes, Steve/Jack Stewart, Steve/Other, Steve/Jesse
Programme: "Diagnosis Murder"
Rating: NC-17
Series: None
Status: Complete
Archive: Write first
Disclaimer: The characters and location herein belong to Viacom and Paramount and no profit is being made from this story.
Feedback: Yes, please!
Summary: As Steve and Jesse grow up and meet, their lives are inextricably linked with that of a serial killer.
Warnings: M/M sexual interaction and violence. Some of the events in this story are told from the point of view of a serial killer which, while I've tried to keep the violence to a minimum, some people might find disturbing.
Comments: I've used several infrequent or one-off Canon characters: Rick 'Slick Rick' Brookes (from the fourth season episode "A Model Murder"), Wendy Windsor (same episode) and Police Chief Masters (who appears in various episodes beginning with "Murder Blues"). Jerry Levan and Lana Davis are original characters.
Notes: The title, Ragnarok, is a word from Norse mythology. It refers to a time when a great battle occurs and the world is destroyed in a fire. However, a new world rises up and the survivors begin again.
Thanks: A big thank you to Janet, William and Juli for all their betaing help, which has really helped this story :-)

***

June 1, 1971

Los Angeles

His former friends had betrayed him and thrown the world into confusion.

Because of them, brother killed brother and madness swept through the mortals in the land below. Two of his sons had been murdered and he had been tortured for a millennia. Now the gods would pay.

Sword in hand, he led his followers on. To his right side the wolf, Fenris, stalked forward, the hackles of its grey-gold silken fur raised, a mad light in pale green eyes. To his left, and even larger than the giant wolf, was the serpent, Jormungand, its mottled body writhing forward. These were two of his remaining children and the strongest of his army.

There was a movement ahead in the sweltering mist; the gods approaching to meet the challenge. Odin, as always, led them and for a moment his own gaze met the one-eyed stare of the king of the gods. Regret and bitterness warred inside him. There had been a time when they'd fought together, when they'd been closer than brothers, but Odin had then turned against him.

Fenris gave a howl so piercing that it shook the ground. He let the sound soak into him, renewing his fury. He took a step towards his old enemy, Heimdall, sword raised. At the same moment, Fenris leapt at Odin, biting deeply into flesh. As Heimdall met him and steel clashed against steel, he caught a glimpse of Fenris's blood-soaked fangs and of Jormungand locked in a struggle with Thor, then he was too preoccupied with his own fight to see any more. The fevered noise of battle around him gradually faded until the only sounds that reached his ears were the bone-breaking thuds of his and Heimdall's swords colliding, and his own laboured breathing. He was growing weaker: whenever Heimdall's sword struck his it sent a jolt of pain through his body. His own sword grew heavier by the second, until his arm trembled with the weight of it.

A scream caught his attention and he turned. A sea of blood-covered corpses surrounded him and, beyond them, a wave of flame swept closer. The fire blackened the land and slaughtered the people it touched as he stared into its moving depths. All around him people were burnt alive but his gaze was focussed on two particular forms. He couldn't see them clearly amid the smoke and bright flames, but there was something so familiar about them that it made his stomach clench and his skin turn clammy. They turned, faces contorted with pain, and he saw that they were his parents.

Their pain became his own. He tried to move, to help them, but his legs were rooted to the ground. He could do nothing but stand and watch them die.

At the Los Angeles Hospital for the Criminally Insane, Jerry Levan awoke.

He lifted a hand to the wooden headboard on his bed and wrapped his fingers around it, clenching them with all his strength until it felt as if his fingers would break and, for one blissful moment, the pain blotted out the nightly images and the layer of grief around his world. He shoved his young face into the pillow, so as not to wake those around him, and sobs wracked his body.

June 1, 1971

Los Angeles

"May I have this dance, Miss Davis?" John Tanner asked with exaggerated formality and gave a bow to complete the gesture.

Lana laughed at his behaviour, emerald eyes sparkling, and said, "Sorry, John, I hate to turn down such a charming offer, but I've promised to dance every dance with my date."

Steve Sloan grinned at the other boy and made a shooing gesture. John grimaced at his friend and left the couple alone. Steve resisted the desire to tug at the constricting collar of his rented tuxedo as he turned back to Lana. He'd never worn anything like this before and, if he had anything to do with it, never would again, but he'd wanted to do things properly for his girlfriend. So he'd worn the tux, borrowed his dad's car, and appeared on the doorstep of Lana's parents' house with a box of chocolates and a wrist corsage in his clammy grip. When Lana had opened the door he'd barely recognised the beautiful sophisticated woman as his normally jean-clad girlfriend.

Lana had been in his class at high school for years, but he had only plucked up the nerve to ask her out three weeks before. After tonight they would only have a few weeks more together until he had to go and fight in Vietnam, so he wanted their evening at the prom to be perfect.

"So would you like to dance with me?" he asked.

"Love to."

Tommy Roe's 'Dizzy' was playing as they put their arms round each other and it seemed to match how Steve felt. They barely noticed as it finished and another song began. Steve felt a shivery kind of longing as he held Lana's hand and her expressive eyes met his. When the event finished at midnight, it felt to him as if only seconds had passed since they'd arrived. A tingling silence accompanied them as he drove Lana home.

When he kissed her and said goodnight, it should have been the perfect end to the perfect evening. He told himself it was, and tried to banish the emptiness he'd felt when they kissed. He'd dreamed about Lana for over a year: how could anything be missing? He was just nervous about becoming a soldier, he told himself. It would be better when he got back.

August 10, 1985

University of California in Los Angeles (UCLA)

"Hi, Steve, it's Lana," she said into the phone receiver. "I realised this morning that it's been over a year since we last met up; I thought maybe we could get together for lunch some time. Tomorrow? Hang on." She leafed through her academic diary. "Yes, that's fine. I finish the morning's class at midday so I could meet you near the station? Great, I'll see you then. Bye, Steve." Lana was smiling as she put down the phone; she had just rung her old friend on an impulse and was glad he wanted to meet.

Their romance had barely begun before it ended. When he returned from Vietnam he just wasn't interested in her any more. At the time she had thought it was about his feelings for her, or something she had done but, over the years, she had realised how much Vietnam had affected many soldiers.

Besides, it many ways, the friendship that had developed from their romance had always seemed more real. Their brief fling had had something of a fairytale quality to it: it had seemed perfect at the time but, in retrospect, had lacked substance. As a friend he was someone she could really talk to. However, they'd lost touch during this last year - her new career at the University taking up all her time and, presumably, his police career keeping him occupied - and she'd wondered, when she called, if he'd want to resurrect the friendship.

She picked up her handbag and papers and left the office she shared with a couple of female lecturers to make some lecture notes in the library. However, she had barely got two steps towards her destination when Paul Lee, the Vice-Principal of the University, called out to her. She turned round and saw him standing with a stranger about her age.

"Lana, this is our new colleague, Jerry. He's beginning work here in two weeks. Could you show him around for me? I've got a class."

She smiled at the man. "No problem." As Paul walked away, she held out a hand to him. "Hi, I'm Lana Davis."

He took her hand and returned the smile. His otherwise ordinary-looking face was dominated by intense hazel eyes - partly hidden by thick lensed glasses - which had seemed to flash different colours when she first approached him. "Jerry Levan. I'm pleased to meet you."

"So what are you going to be teaching?"

"Mythology. I love the subject."

She nodded. "I can understand why. I teach English Literature and there are some amazing literary works in Mythology. Do you have any favourite cultures?"

He nodded, smile brightening. "I've always had a particular bond for the Norse myths. They're less popular than the supposed 'Classics' but ."

"Say no more," Lana said. "Beowulf is a wonderful saga and I've read parts of the Elder Edda."

"You have?" he exclaimed, pushing his glasses more firmly onto his nose, eyes gleaming behind them.

They talked for the next couple of hours as she showed him the University, and Lana decided that she liked the man.

December 8, 1988

University of Illinois at Chicago

"Slick, you've got tests; you have to study," Jesse told his roommate in a stern voice. At least, it was supposed to be stern. He had a suspicion that he sounded about as tough as a kid who was begging for a puppy, but he was doing his best. Rick had to pass his tests. If he didn't, he might leave college, and then what would Jesse do? The thought of not having Rick here scared him. He didn't know why his feelings were always so intense where the other boy was concerned; he only knew that Rick couldn't leave him.

The dark-haired boy was looking at him now with an expression of fond exasperation. "Fine, I'll study. There's just this party in the Epsilon Kappa House, then ."

"No!" Jesse exclaimed. "Your Design test is tomorrow and you've admitted that you've done no work for it so far. No parties! Work!"

Rick rolled his eyes and grumbled something under his breath, then he reluctantly nodded. "Yeah, okay; you're right." He frowned as Jesse pulled on his shoes and said, "Where are you going?"

"The party at the Epsilon Kappa House."

"You're off to a party when I have to spend half the night studying?" Rick queried in a scandalised tone.

Since he had a nasty suspicion as to where this conversation was heading, Jesse assumed his best whine to respond, "Well, I don't have a test tomorrow."

"But I need you to help me get ready for mine," Rick said, clearly determined that if he was going to suffer then Jesse would too. "I need your 'stay awake all night coffee', and for you to help me go through my books, then ask me questions about them." He slipped backwards from his sitting position to lie on the bed, and threw a hand over his forehead. Jesse's breath caught at the sight of the long slender body stretched out in front of him. Rick was adding in a teasing voice, "And for you to soothe my fevered brow when it all gets too much for me."

Jesse couldn't help but laugh at this, then he made one final attempt at escape, moving purposefully towards the door. "Sure, I'll do all that. Just as soon as I get back from Greg's party."

As he passed his best friend's bed, Rick grabbed him and they both fell across the bed, the brunet tickling him until he was breathless. Giggling helplessly, Jesse made a weak lunge for the other boy's hands, and pinned them against the bed. He then collapsed and tried to get back his breath.

As his gasps faded into even breathing, he became aware of Rick's cool, long-fingered hands entangled in his. They were sprawled together on the bed, Jesse half on top of his friend while Rick's dark hair tickled the side of his face.

Jesse's breath faltered once more, but he couldn't resist raising his head to look at his friend. Rick looked back at him with an expression of such deep affection that Jesse felt bizarrely tearful. Rick disengaged a hand from one of Jesse's and touched the blond's face, from cheek to chin, fingers gentle and caressing. Jesse had no idea who leaned forward first, but their lips met with dizzying accord.

December 8, 1988

Steve's Apartment, Los Angeles

Doctor Jack Stewart reached for his clothes, slipping his feet into his shoes before his pants were even zipped up.

"You don't have to leave," Steve told the man.

"Yeah, I do." Jack still faced away from the cop as he spoke and simultaneously buttoned his shirt. "I gotta go." He grabbed his jacket and left the apartment without a backwards glance.

Steve lay down on the crumpled bed and wondered why he felt so empty: he should be used to this by now. He and Jack Stewart had been friends for years; this new aspect of their relationship had only started a few weeks ago and it was destroying them both. It made neither of them happy, so why couldn't they stop?

Half the problem was that he really cared for Jack and couldn't understand why it wouldn't work between them. He wanted to fix whatever was wrong and make their relationship a good one. But Jack couldn't cope with feeling this way about a man and wouldn't talk about what they did together. Ever.

It didn't help that the one other person he wanted to talk to, his father, was Jack's boss and telling him anything would mean that Jack never spoke to him again. Steve had never had sex with a man before and it was a lot to deal with, coming to terms with the realisation that he was bisexual. He knew that he was lucky enough to have a father who would do his best to understand and accept this, but he couldn't talk to him.

He gave a frustrated sigh and got up to switch on the TV, hoping it would blot out his thoughts and cover up the loneliness of his apartment.

January 17, 1989

University of Illinois at Chicago

Jesse sat cross-legged on his bed studying. Many of his fellow students found it a real effort to do this, but Jesse loved it. He spent hours in his room reading medical texts, making notes and dreaming of the time when he could put the information into practise as a doctor.

The rest of his time used to be taken up with attending lectures, eating, sleeping and big-time partying, but he'd socialised less and got a good deal less sleep since he'd gotten together with Rick. Happiness flooded through him just at the thought of the other boy. He'd never dreamt that his life could be this good.

He hadn't enjoyed his childhood. He'd always been plain, tiny and shy so he'd found it difficult to make friends and had been bullied for years. Then, when all the other boys began dating girls, he was too shy to ask anyone out, which led to a different kind of name-calling. Just as he was beginning to get some confidence in himself, his parents' rocky marriage fell apart, their divorce devastating him. He'd never seen his father since he moved out, leading him to conclude that the man didn't care about him.

His mother had always been more interested in her career as a doctor than in him, so he had ended up feeling abandoned by everyone.

Then he'd left home to come to college, and his life had been transformed.

He loved studying and, to his amazement, he'd ended up with a large circle of friends. His relationship with Rick just made everything perfect. There was a part of him that was waiting for it to all go wrong but, mostly, he revelled in every second of happiness.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps approaching, then the bedroom door was flung open and Rick raced in. "I got a 'B'!"

"On a test?"

"*The* test." Rick fell down on the bed beside him, pulled the other boy closer and kissed him. "The one I was supposed to study for the night we first got together."

"And you got a 'B'?" Jesse said, smiling, then his expression changed.

"Hang on: you didn't do *any* studying for that and you got a 'B'!"

"Great, isn't it?" Rick grinned. "I did better with that than the tests I've studied really hard for."

Seeing where his lover's mind was heading, Jesse shook his head, his shaggy blond hair swaying with the movement. "There is not a lesson to be learned from this - you were just lucky."

"Spoil-sport." Rick grimaced, then hugged the smaller student and nuzzled his neck. "You wanna go out tonight or stay in?"

Jesse slipped a hand beneath the other boy's T-shirt, his fingers sliding up and down his lover's back, feeling the slight bumps in his spine beneath velvet soft flesh. Rick responded by wrapping his legs around the smaller boy so that their bodies were fully pressed together. "We could go out for a couple of hours then come back and have an early night together," he suggested in a distracted tone.

"Okay." Neither of them moved.

"I think John and the gang's got some kind of fancy dress party in the Beta Sigma House." Rick kissed down his neck then nosed his shirt out of the way and kissed his bare shoulder.

"Mmm," Jesse said, more in appreciation of his lover's kisses than in response to his words. He slid Rick's T-shirt up his torso and the other boy lifted his arms and tugged it off. The pendant he always wore gleamed silver against his tanned chest and Jesse touched it, his fingers sliding over the angles of the pentagram and feeling the cold metal and warm flesh beneath simultaneously. The two boys stared at each other for a moment with hungry eyes, then they were kissing as if their lives depended on it. When they finally came up for air, Jesse said hoarsely, "Or we could just stay here."

"Okay."

January 17, 1989

Steve's Apartment, Los Angeles

Steve opened his apartment door and found Jack Stewart standing there. The doctor's face was pinched and his chocolate-brown eyes met those of Steve with worry in their depths, before they slid away from his gaze, black eyelashes hiding further emotions. Steve knew what this was about without a word being said; he'd spent the last few months unsuccessfully trying to get the doctor to talk to him, but suddenly he just wanted an excuse to avoid it.

They walked into the living room where Jack stood with his arms folded.

Steve couldn't remember him ever looking vulnerable like this before. "Do you want some coffee?" he asked, for want of anything better to say.

Jack shook his head. "Steve, we have to talk."

The cop watched him fidgeting and sighed. "Yeah, I know," he said quietly.

"What we've been doing - it has to stop. You're one of my best friends and we're going to screw that up if we keep going on like this."

Steve sat down on the couch and ran his hands through his hair. One of them had finally found the courage to say it. He felt as if there was ice sliding down his body, leaving a cold numbness in its wake. "I can accept going back to just being friends - I don't want to mess up our relationship either - but I need to understand what went wrong. Do you really think it's so terrible to be attracted to a man?"

Jack stared at him, frowning, dark eyes hooded, then he shrugged. "Yeah, I do. I hate feeling like this."

Steve looked away from him to hide the flood of pain that the words produced. "Why?"

Jack walked to the window and pulled the curtains closed, then moved to straighten a framed picture. "In the neighbourhood where I grew up, I only ever knew of two gay kids. They were both beaten to death by gangs."

Steve stared at him, for a moment unable to take in the words. "God, Jack ." He stood and moved forward to put a hand on his friend's shoulder, but the doctor pulled away and returned to stand by the window.

"I was a young teenager the first time I heard that someone had died like that. It terrified me. I don't think there's something wrong with being gay but, whenever I think of you like that, I flash back to hearing about those kids and I can't cope with it."

"I understand." And he did. Jack's behaviour made sense now. But it didn't stop the pain and loneliness that seized him as Jack turned and let himself out of the apartment, shutting the door behind him with a thud.

July 5, 1989

University of Illinois at Chicago

"There you are," Jesse said to his lover. He'd looked all over the college before finding him here, sitting in the middle of an empty sports field. He sat beside the young man and put an arm round his shoulder. "How are you feeling?"

Rick glanced round. There were dark circles beneath his blue eyes and his face was pale, but it was the haunted look of pain in his eyes that scared Jesse. "It's the day of Dad's funeral and I still can't take in the fact that he's dead. It just doesn't seem real."

Jesse rubbed his lover's shoulder gently. "Maybe the funeral will help; give you a chance to say goodbye."

"I don't want to say goodbye!" Rick exclaimed angrily, then he took in Jesse 's worried expression, and the fight went out of him. "Sorry." He stared down at his clenched hands. "Jesse, there's something I . Gods, I don't know how to say this!"

Jesse kept stroking his shoulders and back. "It's okay, whatever it is, just tell me."

"You know I never told my parents about us, about me being bisexual or anything."

"Sure. It's a big thing to work up to explaining." He should know: his own mother had been horrified and tried to convince him he was just confused about his feelings. He still felt sick when he remembered that day. It was as if she'd seen him as some disgusting stranger. He also knew that his lover's parents had had a difficult enough time over the passed year understanding Rick's Wiccan beliefs and that he'd been afraid of alienating them completely with an explanation of his sexuality.

"I can't talk to Mom now; it wouldn't be fair on her," Rick said, still not meeting Jesse's eyes.

"Of course not. I wouldn't expect you to."

"But I can't lie either. Jess, I'm going to be at home a lot trying to help my Mom get through this and I can't pretend and lie the whole time to her about us. I mean . I-I need for us to stop being lovers, just for a while. Gods, Jess, don't hate me; I just can't handle mourning for Dad and lying about us and ."

Jesse pulled the other boy into his arms and held onto him tightly, tears in his eyes as he realised Rick was shaking. "It's okay. Ssshh, it's okay. I love you more than anyone in the world and we can do whatever you want. Hell, the sex doesn't matter; we can stop that side of things for as long as you need. Everything's okay."

Rick clung to him, as if the rest of his life was drifting away and Jesse was all he had to hold on to. "I was so scared that I'd lose you when I said that and I don't know what I'd do without you."

"I'm here. I'll always be here for you." Jesse rocked the other boy in his arms and Rick cried for the first time since he'd been told about his father's car accident.

August 1, 1989

Inglewood, Los Angeles

Steve asked himself what on earth he was doing as he walked into the man's apartment. A week ago he'd arrested a murderer in a gay bar and he'd been unable to get the place out of his mind since then. His experience with Jack should have well-and-truly put him off the idea of sex with a man but it hadn't. Instead, he wanted to prove to himself that it could be fun and guilt-free. He didn't believe there was anything wrong with having sex with a man but his times with Jack had always left him feeling ashamed and hurt.

When he'd walked into the gay bar tonight he hadn't known if he could see it through: leave and have sex with someone he'd never met before. Ben looked a little like Jack - tall and dark-haired - but he had a relaxed sensuality that made Steve think that this was actually possible. They'd bought each other drinks, chatted for maybe twenty minutes, then gone back to Ben's place.

Steve refused the offer of coffee so they went straight into the bedroom. It was a luxurious room: beige coloured walls, upon which hung several framed paintings of exotic places; thick fawn carpet; and, appropriately, a queen-sized bed which was covered with green silk sheets. They had to have been put on especially, Steve thought, but wouldn't silk sheets be a nightmare to clean? He recognised the thought as an avoidance tactic, his instinct telling him to turn and run, or at least ask to take things more slowly. *How the Hell did I end up here?* he asked himself, as Ben stripped off his jacket and shirt.

Up close and seen in proper lighting rather than the bar's murky glow, Ben looked older than he'd first appeared, close to Steve's own age. The man's sleek black hair had a hint of grey at the temples. His expression was confident to the point of arrogance as he undid the buttons of his black silk shirt, giving the undressing the slow sensual approach of a strip-tease, clearly certain that Steve would appreciate the view. The fact that Steve did enjoy it prevented him from minding the note of smugness in the other man's attitude. The cop removed his denim jacket and pulled off his T-shirt in one fluid movement, then paused, and the other man took the initiative by pulling him into a sitting position on the bed and kissing him.

The kiss felt good. Everything had always been such a rush with Jack that he'd never really had the chance to stop and enjoy any of it. He ran his hands up and down the other man's lean torso, getting to know the feel of the body, and Ben gave a murmur of pleasure, then began undoing the buttons on Steve's jeans. Full lips kissed his neck and nibbled on an earlobe and Steve finally forgot his doubts and began to actively enjoy the experience.

They lay down and his boxers, and the rest of Ben's clothes, were tugged off amid much kissing and rolling around. Ben produced two condoms from the bottom drawer of his oak bedside table and had eased one over Steve's penis and the other onto his own, more quickly than the cop could blink. He then lay back down, half across Steve's muscled body and they kissed again. The cop could taste brandy within the moist cave of Ben's mouth; he'd never been a big fan of the alcohol before but, as their tongues undulated like mating snakes, he became a convert.

Ben's right hand was beneath Steve's shoulder but his left moved over the cop's body, stroking, tickling and rubbing it to the peak of arousal. Then Ben stopped and leaned back on one elbow.

"What's wrong?" Steve gasped, his entire body aching.

The other man gave a slow grin and drawled, "Just enjoying the view," then he lowered his head to kiss Steve's shoulder, and work his way painfully slowly down the cop's torso. When he took Steve's cock into his mouth the cop exploded instantly.

It was the best sex he'd had with a man, and one of his strongest orgasms ever, and Steve happily returned the favour, going down on the other man until Ben yelled out his pleasure.

When Ben sat up, Steve yawned and said, "I guess we should clean up."

"Yeah. I'll just be a couple of minutes, then it's all yours." Ben got out of bed and paused to stand in front of the cop, naked and unselfconscious.

"I've got to be at work early tomorrow so you can't stay. You don't mind, do you?" He headed for the bathroom without waiting for a reply.

Steve stared after him, unwilling to believe what he'd heard. Nine minutes later he left the man's apartment.

He'd never considered that anything could make feel like a prostitute but Ben's casual dismissal had achieved just that. The shame he'd felt every time Jack left him straight after sex was back now, and it left a bitter taste. This was it, he decided. He'd given it a second chance to work and it hadn't: from now on there would be no more men.

May 10, 1993

University of California in Los Angeles (UCLA)

Lana collected her tray of food and looked around the staff canteen. Ted Maine, a professor of Philosophy, nodded her over and she went to sit down beside him and several other colleagues.

"You get on with Jerry Levan, don't you, Lana?" Ted said, scratching at his red beard.

She shrugged. "As much as anyone, I guess. I've never socialised with him outside work, but he's a solitary kind of man. We sometimes chat about Mythology. Why do you ask?"

"Meg thinks there's something strange about him."

Lana gave the plump woman a querying look as she picked up her sandwich. Megan Andrews pulled a face. "I didn't say that exactly. It's just . doesn't he give you the creeps at all? He's so intense and he talks about all this Viking stuff as if it were real."

Lana laughed. "I hate to have to tell you this, Meg, but when you've been in the academic world for a few more years you'll find that half the academic staff are a bit crazy." Ted coughed and she added, "Present company excluded, of course. Okay, maybe not half of the staff, but there are several professors who get so caught up in their books and the University that they're not really living in the real world any more. Come on, Ted; you know what I mean."

"All too well," he grinned. "But the likes of Ethel Westbridge and Charles Ward are so antiquated that it's not surprising they're a bit out of it. They've existed so long in the academic world that they've forgotten there's any other. But Jerry can't be more than, what, forty? Forty-five? He can't be senile yet! I know what Meg means; I reckon there's something a bit odd about him."

"He's just passionate about Mythology," Lana said, catching sight of the topic of their conversation sitting alone on the other side of the room.

For a moment, she felt a flicker of concern about the man, then she dismissed it and returned to her food.

November 19, 1995

Community General Hospital, Los Angeles

"Steve, this is Jesse Travis, one of Community General's newest residents. Jess, this is my son, Steve."

"Hi, nice to meet you," Jesse said, holding out his hand, and wondering why all the men in Los Angeles seemed to be so tall. He knew he was on the short side but this was ridiculous: he was going to end up with a crick in his neck from permanently peering up at people.

Steve shook the hand and smiled at the newcomer. "Hello, how are you getting on at Community General?"

*Nice smile*, Jesse thought. "It's great. I'm really thrilled to be here." *And getting more thrilled by the second: wow, that's a nice smile.*

"Good." Steve then turned to his father. "Dad, I just called by to let you know I'll be late getting back tonight, so don't make dinner for me, okay?"

"Work?" Mark Sloan asked in a sympathetic tone, then explained to Jesse, "Steve is a detective at the LAPD."

"Yeah? Hey, that must be really interesting," Jesse said.

"Sometimes," Steve told him. "Other times it's just a pain; I have less social life than my dad and that's just sad!" Mark and Jesse laughed, then the cop continued, "No, for once I'm not going to be working on a case. I'm meeting Lana Davis at the University and we're going out for a meal to catch up."

"Oh, that's nice," Mark said happily. "Say 'hi' to her from me, will you?" He turned to Jesse once more to explain, "They dated as teenagers; it was very sweet."

Steve rolled his eyes. "A *long* time ago." He glanced at his watch. "I gotta go. I'm due in court in less than an hour. Good to have met you, Jess."

"Yeah, you too," Jesse agreed, watching the man turn and stride to the elevator.

November 21, 1995

University of California in Los Angeles (UCLA)

Steve walked into the Humanities staffroom and looked around. He spotted Lana quickly, her long red hair making her stand out like a fox amongst chickens. She was wearing the kind of clothes she had worn when he'd first known her as a teenager: jeans which had seen better days and a black blouse. She caught sight of him and smiled, and for a moment he was sixteen again and she was the most important person in his life. Then the feeling melted into fondness towards an old friend.

They greeted each other with a hug and Lana gestured to the man she'd been talking to. "Have you met Jerry Levan?"

He took in the man, probably his own age, with brown hair, jeans and old-fashioned tweed jacket. The professor's face held an intense expression, hazel eyes earnest behind gold-rimmed glasses, the thin line of his mouth pursed. The man was attractive but there was something about him which Steve found unsettling. He hid the feeling and smiled. "No. It's good to meet you - I'm Steve Sloan."

They shook hands, the professor's tight smile doing nothing to change Steve's initial impression of him. As he and Lana left the staffroom together, he said, "I'd hate your job, you know. You have to work with some very odd people."

Lana smiled. "Poor Jerry. He's probably not done an unpleasant thing in his life and most of the people I know say he's creepy."

"Yeah, 'poor Jerry'," Steve agreed dismissively. "Now, where do you want to go to eat?"

November 28, 1995

Mark's Beach House, Malibu, Los Angeles

"You've made a lot of food for two people," Steve commented, as he took in the half dozen bowls of salad and quiche and jacket potatoes in the oven.

"Oh, didn't I tell you, I invited Jesse over. You know, the new resident."

Steve recalled a vague image of a small over-eager man who didn't look old enough to be a doctor. "Uh-huh."

"He's new to LA and doesn't really know anyone yet so I ."

"Thought you'd take him under your wing and look after him," Steve concluded with a smile. "It's every waif and stray with you, isn't it, Dad?"

Mark Sloan laughed. "I don't think I'm that bad!" The doorbell rang at that moment and, as he went to answer it, he told his son, "Be nice to him."

He returned with the new intern, both of them talking eagerly about some operating procedure. Jesse was wearing blue jeans and a black sweatshirt and he looked older than he had at the hospital; perhaps it was the long white medical coat which had given him the appearance of a kid dressing up.

When he saw Steve he smiled warmly and the cop found himself starting to like the younger man.

Mark got the quiche and potatoes out of the oven and Jesse made appreciative noises. "I'm not much of a cook myself," he confessed.

"That makes three of us," Steve said. "The quiche was bought."

As they went into the dining room, Jesse asked, "So what division of the police force do you work in, Steve?"

June 1, 1996

Levan's Apartment, Los Angeles

"Before you go, I've got a present for you both," Jerry told the teenage boys.

They looked warily at him and a part of him wanted to cry. His own sons knew so little of him that they were uneasy in his company. He put on a bright smile as he fetched two paper bags.

The boys opened them. Paul's lack of enthusiasm for his gift was poorly concealed. "Norse mythology?"

Jerry's youngest son, Eric, opened his own book and flicked through it. "I remember you telling me bedtime stories about Loki and Odin," he said and Jerry's smile became genuinely happy. The boy continued, "This is the kinda stuff you teach too, isn't it?"

Jerry put an arm round the boy. "Yes, that's right."

The figure standing in the background took a step forward. "Time to gohome, boys," she said, and Jerry felt a stab of annoyance: he wanted this to be their home too. Paul walked passed him to the front door with a quick goodbye; his disinterest a pain in Jerry's heart. Eric hugged his father before moving away.

"Janice," he said as she began to follow them. She turned back to him with a note of reluctance. "Can't the boys stay here for a whole weekend some time? I want to see more of them."

"You know the Courts said I had to be there when you saw them."

"That was years ago; I just reacted badly to you leaving. They're my sons and I want to get to know them."

The woman shook her head quickly. "You threatened yourself, me, even them. That isn't 'reacting badly'; that's unstable. I can't stop you seeing them, but I'll never leave them with you."

June 5, 1996

Downtown Los Angeles

Steve glanced at his watch. "I've gotta go, Lana. I'm meeting Jesse so we can go watch the baseball game this afternoon."

The red-head smiled. "This is the same Jesse who's been helping you all week with your latest murder investigation?"

"I'm not sure I'd use the word helping," he joked.

"And the same Jesse whose living room you helped re-paint last weekend?"

"Same one," he agreed.

"Well, don't forget to invite me to the wedding," she told him with a mischievous smile.

He stared at her in disbelief. "Excuse me?"

"Well, when you're happy to spend virtually twenty-four hours a day with someone, that's called a relationship."

He rolled his eyes. "And that relationship is called *friendship*." He looked at his watch again. "I really have to go."

"Young love: you just can't bear to be apart from him," she declared and he laughed.

"You don't give up, do you?" He got to his feet then bent down and kissed her cheek.

"Take care, Steve," she told him fondly.

"You too, Lana."

As he drove to Jesse's house, Steve thought about what his friend had said. He'd never noticed it happening but somehow Jesse *had* ended up becoming involved in every part of his life. When the doctor had first arrived in LA, Steve had tried to keep the man from joining in with murder investigations but, with Dad and Amanda to lead him astray, that had been a lost cause. The friendship had snuck up on him. Jesse had simply been an acquaintance for a number of months, then the two of them had begun socialising together. And now he couldn't imagine not having the young man in his life. If anything important happened to him, his father and Jesse were the two people he wanted to tell. If he had some time away from work, Jesse was usually the person he wanted to spend it with.

Lana's idea that there might be more than friendship between them had hit a nerve though. While he was certain that Jesse didn't feel the same way, he sometimes found himself watching the younger man, enjoying just looking at him. He'd even had a couple of erotic dreams about him, which he'd hated himself for. He was certain Jesse wouldn't stop being his friend if he ever found out about the attraction - the doctor was bisexual after all - but Jesse might feel uncomfortable about it and Steve didn't ever want that to happen. Or, worse, although a lot less likely, Jesse might return the interest and suggest they get involved and, given his own track record with men, that would destroy their relationship.

No, he and Jesse had a great friendship and he wouldn't let anything jeopardise that.

10 June 1996

Jesse's Apartment, Los Angeles

When Jesse answered his doorbell, he didn't need to be told that something important had happened. Rick's face was lit up and he was practically dancing on the spot in the doctor's doorway.

"Come on in," Jesse said, curious about the change, as he followed his friend into the living room. They'd never gone back to being lovers after the 'pause' in their relationship at college. If Jesse had known this at the time he would have been devastated, but their friendship had remained a strong one. Rick had proven this when he'd moved from Chicago to Los Angeles, to make this his home so he could stay near his former lover. When they'd first got here they had met up once or twice a week to chat or go clubbing together and, if that had now tailed off to every other month, it hadn't made Jesse doubt the strength of their bond.

Rick didn't even wait to sit down before telling Jesse his news. "Wendy and I are engaged. She's agreed to marry me - can you believe it?"

"Of course I can believe it: Wendy's a smart girl who knows a great guy when she meets him." Jesse hugged his friend. "It's fantastic news." Rick had introduced him to Wendy about six months ago, shortly after they'd started dating, and the three of them had met up several times since then. Wendy was bubbly, attractive and intelligent - the latter making him surprised to find out she was a model, although he'd instantly ticked himself off for finding it surprising. The fact that she had also clearly adored Rick had completed Jesse's good opinion of her.

He'd thought that the couple were serious about each other the last time he'd seen them, and having this confirmed delighted him. He searched his feelings for a twinge of jealousy and, not finding it, wondered when he'd stopped being in love with Rick. He'd still been head-over-heels when they'd first moved to Los Angeles, but then his new life and friends here had become increasingly important to him and, at some point, his feelings for Rick had become pure friendship.

"I want you to be my Best Man," Rick said.

Jesse was torn between happiness at being a part of this, and doubt about it being the right thing to do. "I'd love to but, um, are you sure that's okay with Wendy?"

Rick rolled his eyes. "Are you still worried about that? Wendy is fine about the fact that we used to be involved; she really likes you."

"I know. I think she's great too, the perfect woman for you. But she still might not want one of your ex's to be your Best Man - did you talk it over with her?"

"Yes, last night, and she thought it was a wonderful idea."

"Wow." Jesse beamed at his friend. "In that case, yes, I will very happily be your Best Man."

November 6, 2001

Levan's Apartment

"Wait in the car. I just need to talk to your dad a minute," Janice told her two children.

She closed the door behind them and turned to Jerry, her floral scent almost over-powering close-up. She took a breath before speaking and he knew from old that this meant she was nervous. "Jerry, I've had an offer of a job in Boston and I'm taking it. We'll be moving in a couple of weeks."

He didn't believe his ears for a moment. "You're taking the boys away from me?"

"I'm sorry, Jerry, but I think it's for the best. I know you've been trying, but you still make them uncomfortable. Paul, especially, remembers when we first got divorced, how you went off the rails."

"You walked out on me from out of the blue!" he exclaimed. "Of course I was upset!"

"You were more than upset: you scared Paul and Eric, and you scared me. Hell, you sometimes scared me when we were married. I don't want you in the boys' lives any more, Jerry." She had turned and walked out of the house before he could respond.

He stared at the closed door. "No," he whispered. She was leaving? Taking his children away forever? "No!" He reached out a shaking hand to the table in front of him, clutching it for support, rocking himself back and forth. He had to do something. He had to find a way to keep his children.

His eyes fell onto one of his numerous texts on Norse mythology and he grabbed it, like someone turning to an old friend.

"The gods are doing this," he muttered, turning page after page. He stopped on a full page picture of Odin. "Why have you turned on me? I'll fight you. I'll fight ."

He tossed and turned in his bed that night, and the fire burned, red as blood, in his dreams.

November 7, 2001; 2032 hours

Pacific Palisades, Los Angeles

It was growing dark outside and the woman, having just got off the bus, was in a hurry to get home. She didn't pay any attention to the sound of footsteps behind, but when someone touched her arm, she jumped and spun round.

"What the ..?" She stared at the man. "Jerry? I thought ." She gave a relieved laugh. "Never mind. Are you all right?"

He looked pale, ragged faced, in the moonlight. "I-I'm sorry."

"No, it's fine. I just didn't recognise you for a moment. You can't be too careful alone at night."

"I don't want to hurt you ."

"No, I ." She had been going to say that she knew that - that it was only the suddenness of his appearance that had scared her - but the look in his eyes stopped her. His expression had always been intense but there was something in his eyes now that was wild. She felt scared again and told herself she was being ridiculous. "Did you want to talk to me?"

"I . There's something I have to do; I don't want to, but I have to. I'm sorry."

November 7, 2001; 2210 hours

Pacific Beach, Los Angeles

Steve looked down at the corpse and pain ripped through him. The part of his brain that could still function thought about when he'd seen her last; thought that if only he turned away and refused to believe it, then somehow this wouldn't be true. He'd known her for nearly all his life - how could she be gone? How could some bastard have hurt her like this and then taken away her life?

The uniformed police officer at the scene was speaking and Steve took in the words without really hearing them. "The body's been really torn apart," the cop said in a tone that could have been discussing the weather, "and it looks like some kind of ritual was performed here, presumably with the victim as the sacrifice. We haven't got an ID on her yet."

Steve said, "She lived near Palisades Park and worked at the UCLA. Her name was Lana Davis."

November 8, 2001; 0615 hours

Community General Hospital

His father had phoned Steve when he hadn't come home that night and the detective had explained about Lana Davis's murder. It was an impulse that led him now to the Community General. The forensic team had come up with few clues and Steve was hoping that his father might get one of his famous, or infamous, hunches.

He found Mark, Jesse and Amanda on a coffee break in the main Hospital cafeteria and their sympathy washed over him like salt water in a wound: if he let go now he might never be able to regain control over his grief.

"I'm really sorry, Steve. I know Lana was a good friend of yours," Jesse said.

"And to have seen the body like that must have been terrible," Amanda added, a hand on his arm.

"I just want to find the bastard who did it," Steve said grimly.

"Have you got any clues?" Mark asked.

"There were some strange shapes carved into the body and marked in the mud all around it. I think it could be some kind of cult sacrifice, like Witchcraft or some other kind of devil worship."

"Real Witchcraft is a Pagan religion and the Devil is a Christian concept. They have nothing to do with each other," Jesse ventured. When everyone looked at him in surprise, he said, "A friend of mine is a Witch. Actually, he did some study of old religions at college. Do you want me to give him a call and see if he recognises what those symbols you found stand for?"

Steve nodded, a part of his mind digesting the unusual idea of Jesse being friends with a Witch, while the rest could think of nothing but Lana.

"Thanks. If he can translate them, that would be a big help."

November 8, 2001; 0830 hours

Police Chief Masters' office at the LAPD

Steve had a good idea what to expect when Police Chief Masters called him into his office. He knocked on the side of the open door as he let himself in, greeted the man behind the desk, and waited to hear if his guess was correct.

Masters lounged back in his chair, looking up at Steve with eyes that were said to recognise a guilty man at a glance. Steve wouldn't have put it that strongly but he believed in the officer's determination to reach the truth.

He hadn't trusted Masters when they'd first met, had even suspected the man of conspiring to commit murder, but that was long passed. They'd been wary of each other for a while after this incident, but Steve had now grown to like and trust his boss.

Masters came to the point at once. "Officer McKinsey's report indicates that you said you knew the victim, Lana Davis. How is that?"

"She was one of my oldest friends. We practically grew up together."

"In that case ."

"I know what you're going to say, Chief," Steve interrupted, ready for this. "You don't think I should be in charge of this case because of my personal emotions." The seated man nodded and Steve continued, "I can't stay out of this, sir. You've known me to be involved with cases in which I had an emotional involvement, and have there ever been complaints about me acting unprofessionally?"

"From time to time," Masters informed him.

Steve grimaced. "Sir, if you stop me investigating this officially, you know that I'll just start investigating unofficially. I have to know what happened. Tell someone to keep an eye on me; put someone else in charge: I don't care. Just don't take me off the case."

Masters narrowed his eyes for a moment, then seemed to reach his decision. He nodded. "Okay, you're in charge for now, but if your emotions take over I'll have you replaced."

"Yes, sir."

November 8, 2001; 0900 hours

Community General Hospital

"Hey, Rick," he said into the telephone.

"Jesse?" the voice answered. "Hi, it's great to hear from you. How are you? How's everything going?"

"It's all fine, for me at least, but I was wondering if I could ask a big favour."

"Just tell me what you need," the man said and Jesse smiled, remembering why he was so fond of his friend.

"It's a case Steve Sloan is working on. A murder case. There was some kind of ancient writing at the scene and I was wondering if you could take a look at the crime photos of it and see if it looks familiar. Steve thinks it could be some kind of religious sacrifice; something like that, anyway."

"Sure. I don't know how much use I'll be - it's years since I studied that kind of thing - but I'll have a go. Why don't you fax it to me and I'll find out what I can and drop round to your place this evening - is that soon enough?"

"That would be great."

November 8, 2001; 0910 hours

LAPD; An Incident Room

Steve stood in front of a group of officers and pinned the last of the photographs up on a board on the wall, before turning to face them. "At 2145 hours last night, the body of Lana Davis was found on Pacific Beach. The Coroner's report ." A feeling of nausea ran through him at the thought of what had been done to Lana. He subdued the emotion with difficulty and began again. "The Coroner's report indicates that the victim's throat was cut and the body was then dismembered and marked in a fashion that might suggest religious sacrifice. The victim worked in the English Department of the UCLA. Walker, Li and Kolovski: you'll be with me interviewing the victim's colleagues. Dent and Brown: I want you to set up house-to-house visits around the murder area, in case anyone saw anything ."

He ran off the list of instructions, then headed to the UCLA to begin the interviews.

November 8, 2001

Jesse's Apartment

"It's great to see you," Jesse told his friend. "How long has it been since we last met up? Over a year?"

"Nearly two," Rick answered and they hugged once more before sitting down on the couch. "Your hair's nearly as long as it was in college - it suits you."

"Well, you look shattered - great, but exhausted - so what've you been up to?"

Rick laughed. "Nothing fun, unfortunately. My current job seems to need twenty-four hour a day attention."

"Tell me about it," Jesse agreed with feeling.

As the small-talk trailed off, Rick opened his briefcase and got out the faxed crime photos and a page of notes. "I checked out the symbols you sent me."

Jesse moved closer and peered over the other man's shoulder. "Any luck."

"Yeah, they're Norse runic symbols."

Jesse blinked. "Huh?"

Rick grinned at him. "Do you know anything about Norse or Viking mythology? Thor, Odin, Loki, Freyr?"

"Oh, yeah, Thor: has a big axe."

Rick nearly fell off the couch, he laughed so hard, and Jesse swatted his arm lightly. "Get your mind out of the gutter! I didn't mean it like *that*."

Rick wiped the tears from his eyes. "Right." He giggled again then tried to be serious. "Yes, the axe - that's the guy. Anyway, the bad news, if Steve wants clues, is that the symbols could mean anything. Runes were often used to find answers to problems in life but, without knowing what the question was, the answer can't be guessed at. The symbols don't mean anything except to the killer."

"Is there any good news?" Jesse asked hopefully.

"A police profiler might be able to tell you a bit about the killer from this. The best I can do is say that the killer obviously has some kind of belief in the supernatural to use the runes in this situation. Very few people would know about these kinds of Norse rituals, but I've no idea how you could find out who those people are."

Jesse frowned. "How about academics? The victim worked at the UCLA?"

"It's very possible, but then I know a bit about it and I work in a Design department. If someone wanted to, they could find out all about the subject on the Internet."

"I take your point."

"Look, if Steve or anyone else on the case wants to talk to me about the runes, tell them to just call me." He searched through his wallet then handed Jesse a business card with his phone numbers on.

"Great; I'll pass it on." Jesse glanced at his watch and was surprised at how late it was. "Why don't you stay here overnight, or do you want to get back to Wendy?"

"Wendy and I have separated, Jess," Rick said with a grimace. "It's been eight months now and I can't see us getting back together."

"Why not? You two were so good for each other?"

"You remember what Wendy's mother was like?"

"Of course I do." Jesse vividly recalled Katherine Windsor who'd been so crazy and psychotic that she'd killed Wendy's previous two fiancés and tried to attack Rick.

"It never occurred to me that Wendy could ever act like that, but she'd get into these rages where she couldn't control herself and broke everything, hurt me, sometimes hurt herself. I begged her to see a psychiatrist but she wouldn't. In the end, I just couldn't cope any more. A part of me still loves her but I can't live like that."

Jesse put a hand on his friend's arm. "Rick, I'm really sorry. I wish I'd known you were going through all that - I would have done anything to help."

"I know." Rick smiled. "I've thought about our time at university together a lot recently. I was happier during those years than I've ever been before or since. You were really good for me. We could talk to each other about anything, couldn't we?"

"Yeah." Jesse thought back. It seemed like an incredibly long time ago but his memories from then were happy ones. "Life seemed a lot simpler. I guess we didn't have any of the responsibilities we have now."

"That's true." Rick stretched and said, "In answer to the question you asked ages ago, yeah, I'd love to stay here overnight."

Jesse only had the one bed and an extremely uncomfortable couch, so they shared the double bed.

"Now this is like old times," Rick commented as Jesse, having returned from the bathroom, got into bed beside him.

"Not quite." Their eyes met for a moment, then they both laughed, releasing the tension in the air, and they got some sleep.

November 9, 2001

Outside Jesse's apartment

Steve's determination to solve the case had kept him focussed the previous day but, when he'd closed his eyes that night, he could think of nothing but Lana's corpse. He remembered details that he'd not taken in at the time: the expression in her open eyes; the savage cuts over her body ... He quickly gave up on the idea of sleep and spent the next few hours reviewing the files he'd brought home.

He remembered that Jesse had an early shift at the hospital this morning, so he drove over to his friend's house in the early morning to find out if he'd discovered anything about the symbols on Lana's corpse.

He locked his car and turned towards Jesse's apartment block. A man was leaving the building and Steve frowned, recognising the face but unable to place it until he remembered the Katherine Windsor case and realised that this was the doctor's friend, Rick. Why would he have stayed the night at Jesse's place? he wondered, then a suspicion entered his mind. The doctor had said he'd first realised he was bisexual at University and he'd mentioned that he and Rick had been roommates there. Had they been lovers?

Were they lovers now? The thought sent a wave of shock and anger through him and, not stopping to think what he was doing, he hurried to Jesse's door and pounded on it.

Jesse opened it straight away, his expression sleepy. He was wearing a terry cloth robe and Steve had a horrible suspicion that there was nothing beneath it. Before Jesse could say a word, he said, "I saw Rick just leaving."

"Yeah, we talked over the case." Jesse stepped back from the door to let him in and, rubbing sleep from his eyes, followed him to the chairs.

"All night?"

Jesse sat down heavily on an armchair and stared at the older man, a confused frown creasing his forehead. "Excuse me?"

"If the two of you are involved, it's not very professional ." Steve said in a condemning tone.

Jesse reacted to the anger, his voice growing louder and hard-edged. "Hey, *you're* the cop, not me. I can do whatever the Hell I like!"

"Then you are lovers?"

"What business is it of yours?" Jesse queried, his whole body tense. "I can't believe you're suddenly acting like this. I thought you were okay about me being bisexual."

"I am."

"No, you're not! You're treating me like a criminal over just the thought that me and Rick might be involved. It's obvious that you've got a problem with it."

"Jess, I'm not prejudiced," Steve insisted tightly.

"How can you say that?" the doctor yelled.

"Because I've done that kind of thing with a guy myself!" Steve shouted back. The moment the words were out of his mouth, he cursed himself for speaking. Jesse was staring at him, stunned, and the abrupt silence of the room was unnerving.

"You're ..?" Jesse broke off, frowning, then started again. "You never said. I told you all about my past and you never said a word. Mark didn't say anything ."

"Dad doesn't know," Steve said quietly, not looking at the other man.

"Why? He's never had the least problem with me; you can't think he'd be outraged over you being bisexual."

"No." Steve turned to the couch and sank onto it. "No, it wasn't that."

Jesse leaned forward in his chair. "So why haven't you ever told anyone before?" The anger had left his voice and he simply sounded puzzled.

"I couldn't." Steve sighed and rubbed his face. "Hell, Jess, it's a long story."

The doctor shrugged. "I'm not in any hurry."

So Steve told him all about Jack and the one-night-stand and what a mess he'd made of the relationships. "That's why I decided not to get involved with any more men, and that's why I didn't tell anyone about it," he concluded.

"You shouldn't blame yourself for what happened," Jesse said, sympathetically. "You didn't do anything wrong except pick the wrong guys. I didn't realise how lucky I'd been until I heard that."

"You and Rick ..?"

"Yeah, he was my lover at college, but we're just friends now. He just stayed over because it was late."

"You don't have to explain," Steve said, embarrassed. "I don't know why I acted the way I did when I saw him - I guess it was just the thought that there was a load of stuff I didn't know about you."

Jesse laughed. "Steve, I don't think there's anything you don't know about me, so you don't need to worry about it, okay?"

Steve nodded, then glanced at his watch. "I should be getting to work soon. I just called in about those symbols."

Jesse told him what Rick had said, ending, "It's not much help, is it?"

Steve shrugged. "I'm not really sure, but I do appreciate you asking Rick for me." He got to his feet and Jesse followed suit.

"Look, why don't you come round for dinner tonight and tell me how the case is going. You know it always helps you to talk over the facts in a case and I know you probably wouldn't want to let Mark get too involved, as he knew Lana too."

"I think it has shocked him."

"And what about you? Did you sleep at all last night?"

Steve smiled at the doctor's concern, then the happiness melted away as he thought of Lana again. "Not really. I can't really take in that she's dead. I just need to somehow get the case solved, then I'll figure out a way to cope with what's happened."

"I'm here any time you need to talk, or just need some company."

"That means a lot, Jess." Steve tried to swallow the lump in his throat, and realised how relieved he was that the doctor knew the truth about him. Well, relieved that he could be completely honest now, but a touch disappointed at Jesse's matter-of-fact reaction to the news. A part of him, usually smothered, had hoped the doctor would fall into his arms at this point. As he looked into the sapphire eyes of his friend, he tried to remember why revealing his feelings would be such a bad idea. "I'll take you up on the dinner tonight."

"Good." The round eyes crinkled as the doctor smiled. "I'll see you later then."

November 10, 2001; 0900 hours

LAPD: An Incident Room

Steve hadn't realised how little the investigation had found out until the officers involved met to discuss it the next day. None of the interviews, either at the University or the murder scene, had provided any new information: no one had seen the murder and no one had a clue why it had been committed. And the coroner's report, going into explicit detail about wounds and cause of death, made Steve feel sick but didn't lead anywhere.

Ignoring with difficulty the photos on the walls around him of Lana's corpse, Steve said to the other officers, "The only real clues we have at this stage are the forensic evidence and the symbols cut into the victim. Forensics have collected clothing fibres and hairs from the crime scene, some of which are likely to be the murderer's. Psychologically speaking, we know that the killer believes in these Norse runes and perhaps other aspects of Viking mythology."

Kolovski cleared his throat, and said, "How does that help us? Do you think the murderer's an academic?"

"It's one possibility," Steve answered. "I want you and Li to visit shops in LA which specialise in this kind of thing: get lists of anyone who's bought books on Norse mythology, or Norse runes, or anything else to do with the subject."

"I don't know much about it," Dawn Li said, "but could there be some kind of cult group involved? I mean, is this religious?"

"I thought originally that this might be linked with devil worship or something of that nature, but apparently not. A friend of a friend knows a bit about it and has agreed to help with any questions: his name is Rick Brookes and this is his work number." Steve handed the business card to Li.

"Get in touch with him if you want to find out more about what we're dealing with."

"Okay," the woman said, nodding.

"I want the rest of us to work on the unproven assumption that the murder was committed by someone the victim knew. I'm going to talk to her family again as they weren't up to talking much yesterday. Dent, Brown and Walker - you're to talk to her friends and find out if anyone had any kind of grudge or showed any hostility to her about anything. You know the drill. I want suspects for this murder."

November 10, 2001; 1200 hours

University of California in Los Angeles

Jerry was on-edge. There had been police at the college for most of the previous two days, their presence enough to bother him even without the interview he'd had with the blond-haired cop Lana had been friends with. He hadn't realised the man was a policeman before and, for some reason, was frightened by the thought that the man was working on the case.

He hadn't considered that there would be a murder investigation; it certainly hadn't occurred to him that he might be caught and put in prison.

Nerves frayed, he decided that he had to ensure the help of the gods with another sacrifice.

Now it was just a matter of deciding who should die.

November 10, 2001; 2220 hours

Jesse's Apartment

They didn't talk about the case as they ate take-out pizza. Steve had put the evidence file to one side and had been relieved when Jesse hadn't immediately asked questions about the investigation. Both men were quiet, concentrating on the food, but every now and then Steve caught Jesse throwing a concerned glance at him. He felt a numb exhaustion with a nagging of emotional pain behind it; he wondered exactly how much of this Jesse could read from his face.

He finished his last slice and wiped his fingers on a napkin, then moved the file in front of him and opened it.

"Have you got any leads?" Jesse asked.

"Nope."

"A hunch?"

"Not even that," Steve admitted with a sigh Jesse leaned forward, across his vision, to glance at the information. The cop tensed as the doctor's leg touched his, feeling the heat from the man's body, inhaling his cologne, unable to tear his eyes from that profile of the doctor's face. Jesse seemed to sense a change in him and glanced round. Steve met his eyes and the moment lengthened, filled with only the sound of a heartbeat.

"Steve," Jesse said, a note of wonder in his tone, then he sat back down, a hand reaching out to touch the other man's chest. The caress was light, hesitant, and Steve's own reaction mirrored the uncertainty, as his hand moved to touch Jesse's face, the lightest stroke down the younger man's face and through the silken hair against his neck.

They leaned forward, lips barely touching at first, yet that contact was enough to bring every part of Steve's body to life. The next kiss, when it was clear that neither of them was going to pull away, was hungry and never-ending. Jesse's hands moved from their feather-light neutral position on Steve's shoulders, one of them slipping around his waist while the other caressed his neck and hair. Steve's arms completed the clinch, their two bodies now pressed so tightly together that, even through his own clothes, he could feel the buttons on Jesse's shirt leaving a horizontal pattern down his torso.

His left hand slipped beneath Jesse's shirt, poised to move away if the doctor showed any reluctance to move on so quickly. Instead, one of Jesse's hands began to work on the knot of Steve's tie, undoing it with ease and, still kissing him deeply, unbuttoning it. The rest of their clothes followed and a frantic coupling on the couch was followed by a leisurely exploration of each other's bodies in Jesse's bedroom.

Steve had no idea when he fell asleep, only that it was late, and he was feeling incredibly happy at the time.

His pager went off in the early hours of the morning and Steve had to search round, naked, until he finally found it by a chair in the living room. He answered it then hurried to clean up in the bathroom, before returning to dress in Jesse's bedroom. Not fully awake until he phoned the Station, his mind was then filled with thoughts of the case, and it was the most tempting sight in the world that stopped him in his tracks and brought every aspect of the previous night vividly to mind.

Jesse was semi-awake and peering at him over the top of the quilt in a dazed fashion. The thick brown and green checked quilt was crumpled and askew after the two men had made love on top of it as well as beneath it. It hung half off the bed so that Jesse was only partially covered by it. The left side of his naked body was revealed: long golden leg, slim hip and smooth tanned chest. After seeing Jesse fully clothed, a person might have been forgiven for assuming that, naked, he would have a skinny body. It wasn't the case. His body was slim but with a hint of muscle all over. Steve recalled lying beneath that body, revelling in the passionate strength of the man's embrace. He could state categorically that Jesse was no wimp.

And as for the doctor's face . Steve didn't understand how anyone could resist the man. Much as he'd denied it to himself, Steve had always found Jesse attractive, but as the years passed the sight of the man had become increasingly beautiful to him. It became not just the wide azure eyes, but the joie de vivre and caring that shone out of them. Jesse's happy grin was contagious, but Steve had learnt to recognise all the different smiles and the myriad of feelings they conveyed. The blond hair perfectly framed his face and had proven to be as silky soft as it had always looked.

Steve's smile grew. The other man's hair was currently so mussed up that it stood up on end in various places, while being pillow-flattened in others.

The azure eyes were barely open and looked ready to surrender to gravity at any moment. And the man was *still* a more incredible sight than anyone else

Steve could imagine.

"Work?" the doctor croaked and rubbed his eyes.

Steve's entire body was begging to return to his lover's arms. "Another murder," he answered, turning his back so as to resist the tempting sight, and reaching for his clothes.

"Damn," Jesse said with a grimace. "Is it the same MO as Lana's death?"

"Yeah."

Jesse paused, biting his lip, then crawled forward on the bed and touched Steve's shoulder. The cop turned and Jesse said, "Are you sure it's a good idea that you handle this case? I know you want to solve it for Lana's sake, but given how personally involved you are, could it be better if someone else took over?"

"My captain suggested it, but you just answered the question yourself. I have to do this for Lana; I'd never forgive myself if I didn't."

Jesse put his arms round the older man and Steve sank into the embrace for a moment, his head against the other man's shoulder. He could feel Jesse's sympathy and desire to help him and it made him feel unexpectedly protected.

He wanted nothing more than to stay here, letting Jesse take away all thought of how painful the rest of the world could be, but he had to get to a crime scene.

He pulled away. "I have to go."

November 11, 2001

University of California in Los Angeles (UCLA)

For the first few hours of work, Steve's mind was focused solely on the murder case. The corpse was a colleague of Lana's, a middle-aged professor from the English department, so there was a link between the murders; it was up to Steve to find out what else they could have in common that could lead to their deaths. He returned to the UCLA.

At 9.30am, in the middle of yet more interviews, he caught a glimpse of a young man with blond hair, and thoughts of Jesse flooded his mind. When they'd made love the previous night it had seemed like the best idea in the world, but now he was having serious doubts about it. He didn't want to wreck their friendship and his track-record with relationships, especially relationships with men, was enough to make him doubt that it could work.

Besides, how soon would it be before Jesse regretted getting involved with him, if he didn't regret it already? What exactly did he have to offer the doctor? A fear of commitment; a 24 hour working day; and the fact that he was more than a decade older than the other man!

He had to tell Jesse it was over before it blew up and hurt them both.

"Lieutenant," Kolovski said, distracting him from his thoughts. "You know that list we've been compiling, of people who've bought books on Norse mythology?"

"Yeah?"

"One of them is a lecturer here at the UCLA."

Steve's attention was focused solely on his colleague now. "Who is it?"

"A man named Jerry Levan."

Steve recalled the man at once - he'd interviewed him less than an hour ago - and several of his colleagues had described him as 'odd'. Steve remembered that Lana had introduced Levan to him years ago and he was sure there had been mention then of the professor being a strange man. If only he'd taken it seriously. Lana might still be . He cut off the thought and accompanying emotions. "Let's go get him."

"You want to arrest him?" Kolovski queried, doubtful. "On what evidence?"

"We'll wing it."

November 11, 2001; 1400 hours

Police Chief Masters' office at the LAPD

"What the Hell are you playing at, Sloan?"

Steve grimaced and didn't bother asking for clarification of this remark from his superior. "Levan's guilty - I know it. He knew both victims ."

"So did hundreds of staff and students at the UCLA," Masters interrupted.

"He's fascinated by Norse mythology and bought numerous books about it."

"He's a mythology professor: of course he knows about the subject."

"He's unbalanced. He was in a mental hospital when he was younger."

"Thirty years ago? Have you got anything that links him directly with these deaths."

Steve sighed, frustrated. He knew in his gut that they'd got the killer; he also knew he couldn't prove it. "No, sir, but if you'll let me put a tail on him or at least collect hair samples to compare with those found at the crime scenes ."

"And have him run to the nearest newspaper with a story about police harrassment? Not a chance. You've got nothing on him, Lieutenant, and you should never have arrested him. Now, get him out of the Station before I start questioning the wisdom of letting you handle this case."

"Yes, sir."

November 11, 2001; 1920 hours

Jesse's Apartment

Jesse opened the door and his face lit up at the sight of Steve. "Hi, I wasn't sure what time you'd finish at work but I was hoping you'd come over. You're actually in perfect time for dinner."

"You've cooked?" Steve queried, with a touch of disbelief. Jesse tended to reheat or microwave or eat take-out or live on snacks.

Jesse looked at him blankly. "I was about to phone for take-out."

Steve couldn't help but grin. "Figures." He followed Jesse into the living room and they sat down on the couch.

"So what do you feel like?" The doctor raised an eyebrow and gave him a suggestive grin. "Apart from me."

He leaned forward to kiss Steve. For a fraction of a second, the older man knew that this was the time he should stops things if he intended to, then their lips met and desire raced through him. He sank back against the couch, Jesse on top of him.

Four hours later, Steve looked down into the sleeping face of his lover. Jesse looked gorgeous and ironically innocent in sleep. The younger man didn't seem to have the slightest concern that they could make their relationship work and Steve wondered what exactly he himself had been so concerned about earlier. *I worry too much*, he decided with a smile, then leaned down to kiss the lips of his sleeping lover, and settled down beside him, arms round the younger man.

November 15, 2001

Levan's Apartment

Jerry slammed down the phone. Why wasn't anything getting better? Two of his enemies were gone: Ragnarok should have been averted and there shouldn't be anyone to keep his children from him. Instead, his life was more of a mess than ever. When the police had arrested him he'd thought that the gods had all forsaken him. He'd been released, but he couldn't stop looking over his shoulder, waiting for them to pounce once more.

He thought about the first killing and shuddered. He'd liked Lana. When she died he felt as if he was fulfilling his destiny but later he'd been plagued by more of the dreams. He'd convinced himself that he just had to see it through and rid the world of the other gods who were posing as humans.

Ice slid through his body as he wondered if he could possibly have been wrong about the identity of the gods. It had made sense that his colleagues must be the ones thwarting him, but then why wasn't anything getting better? He ran into the lounge for his Norse mythology books and began to pour over them.

Two hours later he began to weep. The gods played cruel tricks: he hadn't avoided Ragnarok; he'd set the events in motion that would lead to the destruction of everything. The killings had led his enemies to him. How could he not have realised? That detective, Steve something, was Thor's human disguise; it was obvious. He was tall, strong, a protector. Of course he had to be Thor!

He thought of Lana's meaningless death and felt sick. The only way he could put events right was to kill his real enemies. He would find the detective and follow him until the man revealed all the gods to him. Then they would die.

November 16, 2001

Rick's Apartment

Rick had been thinking about Jesse all day. He'd had a bad feeling about the case the police were working on from the moment his friend had told him about it. He'd dismissed the niggling feeling at first but, when the two police officers had contacted him for information about Norse runes, the sensation had come back, stronger than before.

As soon as he got back home from work, he changed into a T-shirt and comfortable jogging pants, then brought various objects into the living room. He used a broom to sweep the area, a ritual to purify the room, and something which always put him into the right mindset for casting a spell.

He then lit the candles scattered around the room and the incense burner of mixed oils. He sat on the carpet, cross-legged, meditating and clearing his mind of all thoughts for half an hour before he was ready to do the spell.

He then collected a photo of Jesse, from their shared college days, and his wand. He drew an invisible circle around himself with the wand and moved clockwise around the circle, murmuring the words that would make it a safe sacred place for him, then he sat down once more.

He took several deep breaths, the burning oils making the air pungent, then picked up the picture of Jesse. He concentrated on it, imagining his friend, and began speaking the words of a protection spell. From out of nowhere he felt a darkness all around him . no, not around him, he slowly realised: around Jesse. He tried to reach out with his mind, to understand what was going on, but the darkness slipped away. He continued with the spell, then put out the candles and oil, and put away the magical items.

He had never encountered anything like this while he was making a spell, and wasn't sure what it meant. The spell which had been supposed to allay his concerns and protect Jesse had only increased his worry. He picked up the phone and called his friend, saying only that he had a bad feeling about the case, and telling the doctor to be careful. He didn't know enough to say more than this, and was sure the doctor didn't take him seriously.

He hoped the protection spell had worked because he had a feeling Jesse would need it.

November 17, 2001

Community General Hospital

The two of them sat opposite one another in the hospital canteen. Jesse played with his food for a while then launched into an explanation of what was on his mind: "Steve, there's something I want to talk about and, if you don't want to yet, that's okay. It's just bothering me a bit 'cos I don't like keeping secrets. But, I mean, Mark is your father so if you don't want to talk to him yet, I understand. I'm not trying to talk you into it ."

The cop waved his hands in front of his lover's face to try to stop the flow of words. In the pause, he said, "Are you saying you'd like to tell dad about us?"

"If you do. If you don't, that's ."

"Jess," Steve interrupted, "I think that's a really good idea."

The doctor stared at him, blue eyes round. "Really? You're not just saying that to please me?"

Steve didn't dare kiss his lover in such a public place so he said softly, "There are a lot of things I'd do to please you ." He paused to admire Jesse 's blushing smile then continued, "but I'm not keen on secrets either. I've kept my sexuality to myself for too long as it is. I really hope dad will understand."

"Of course he will," Jesse reassured him. "Um, if we don't tell Amanda at the same time, she'll be really offended."

"Tonight?" Jesse nodded and Steve went on, "I'll talk to dad and say we've got something to tell him and Amanda at the Beach House."

"I'll invite Amanda," the doctor said.

November 17, 2001

Los Angeles

He'd been following Detective Steve Sloan around for a day and a half now. He wore a baseball cap and shades so as not to be recognised, and kept a fair distance between himself and his quarry just to be on the safe side.

He yawned. He'd had a late night last night, sitting outside an apartment, expecting Sloan to leave, and not believing, until several hours later, that the man was remaining there all night. He returned in the early hours of the morning and watched with a clinical curiosity as Sloan kissed a short blond-haired man in the doorway of the apartment.

He then trailed Sloan to the LAPD, then to various places in Los Angeles. One of these included a book shop where he'd bought several books on Norse mythology. Could it be a coincidence? He got out a cigarette and lit it, but it failed to calm him. More deaths would solve everything, he told himself.

At midday Sloan went to the Community General Hospital, where Jerry saw him meet his lover. When Sloan left, Jerry remained at the hospital, asking questions about a doctor named Jesse Travis.

November 17, 2001; 1900 hours

Mark's Beach House

"What's going on? What's happened?" Amanda asked.

Jesse and Steve exchanged nervous glances then the cop cleared his throat and said, "Dad, Amanda, Jesse and I, we- er ."

"We're involved," Jesse finished for him.

"In what?" Mark asked helpfully.

In other circumstances the answer might have been amusing, but Jesse's stomach was filled with butterflies and his hands were clammy. He loved Mark more than his own father and knew how important a part of Steve's life he was. Abruptly, any more words eluded him.

Steve seemed to be having similar problems. "Er, no, we mean, the two of us, Jess and me, we, um ." He gestured to the doctor and himself and, against all odds, Amanda got the picture.

"You two are involved? As in: lovers?"

Mark laughed. "No, of course they're ." He caught sight of the faces of the two men then Jesse confirmed matters by slipping his hand into Steve's and clutching it tightly. "You two are lovers." He said it less as a question than as a way of getting the concept into his mind, but the men nodded anyway.

"Since when?" Amanda asked.

"A week ago," Jesse said, looking from Amanda to Mark then back with enormous worried eyes.

Mark looked away a moment, a frown of confusion on his face, then he said, "I know that it sounds incredibly stupid to ask 'why' but . I mean, I know Jesse's bisexual but, as far as I know, you've never considered a man in that way, Steve."

"Actually, dad, I've done more than consider it before." Steve's face was pale; he looked as if he was about to be sick.

In the light of Steve's death-grip on his hand, and Mark's hurt expression, Jesse blurted out, "Steve wanted to tell you in the past, really he did, but there was a reason he couldn't ."

Jesse paused and Steve took up the story, "It was someone you knew, who never would have forgiven me if I'd told you."

"Oh." The wounded look had thankfully left Mark's face and he'd gone back to confused. "Why?"

"He worked with you and he was never comfortable with having feelings for a man. I can't tell you who ."

"Jack!" Amanda exclaimed.

Steve grimaced and wondered if she'd taken up telepathy. "Well, yeah."

When the astonishment from this revelation faded, Mark said, "So when did each of you realise you had feelings for each other?"

"Always, I think," Steve said. "I just spent a long time in denial. After Jack, I stupidly had this one-night-stand with a guy which was a massive mistake, and at that point I decided never to get involved with a man again. I mean, I was really certain about that. I didn't think it could ever make me happy. But, um, no relationship has ever come close to feeling as good as it does with Jess."

The doctor blinked a couple of times. "I love you too," he said quietly, squeezing the hand he held.

Amanda smiled at this and said, "Then I'm happy you've realised how you feel about each other."

"Really?" Jesse checked, a note of hope amid the doubt.

She walked forward and hugged him, then embraced Steve. "Me too," Mark said and followed suit.

"Do you mean that, Dad?" Steve asked. "I know I should have talked to you about a lot of things sooner ."

"Steve," Mark patted his arm. "We've got all the time in the world to talk. If you and Jess can make each other happy then that's all that matters."

November 17, 2001; 2330 hours

Jesse's Apartment

At Jesse's place the two men opened a bottle of wine and began to work their way through it to calm their nerves.

As they sat down on Jesse's couch, the doctor said, "That was the most terrifying moment of my life but . Mark and Amanda are great, aren't they? I knew it would be okay in the end."

"Did you?" Steve still sounded shell-shocked.

"Well, no." Jesse finished his first glass of wine in one go and helped himself to more. "But I'm really relieved it was."

"Yeah," Steve agreed with feeling and reached for the wine bottle.

November 18, 2001; 0000 hours

Los Angeles

*A fire was raging. He could see Jesse beyond it along with Steve, Mark, Amanda and others he didn't recognise. They were fighting a battle and losing. A man he didn't know was screaming something he couldn't hear. Someone was going to die .*

Rick Lawson came out of his meditation gasping and still with the sensation of flames licking at his body.

There was a danger from Steve's murder case that was about to turn back upon the investigators. He knew with certainty that Jesse, Steve and others involved with the case were in mortal danger from the killer: death was lapping at their heels.

He had to talk to Jesse.

November 18, 2001; 0030 hours

Levan's Apartment

Jerry was confident that he'd correctly identified all of his enemies this time. Steve Sloan was Thor; Mark Sloan, Odin; Jesse Travis, Heimdall; and Amanda Bentley, Freya. The question was which of them should die first.

Jerry's instinct was to protect his children. Thor and Odin would kill them given the chance, but Jerry had to be sure he would survive to protect them and that meant getting Heimdall out of the way.

He looked at the instant photo he'd taken of the blond doctor. Heimdall was the watchman of the gods, and he was destined to kill Jerry's other self.

Jesse Travis would be killed first.

November 18, 2001; 0830 hours

Community General Hospital

"Hi, Mark," Jesse greeted his friend with a note of cautiousness in his voice.

Mark stopped in the hospital corridor and smiled at him. "Hello, Jess. Are you all right? You look pale."

"It's self-inflicted." The doctor grimaced. "Steve and I got through a couple of bottles of wine last night."

"I guess it must have been a bit unnerving for you both having to talk to me and Amanda about your relationship," Mark said with understanding.

"A bit. How about you? I mean, this must have been kind of a shock."

"Well, I did have a pretty sleepless night. It's just a lot to take in."

"I know Steve wants a chance to really talk to you properly, about his past and me. And you know you can talk to me about anything you want to know," Jesse said awkwardly.

"I appreciate that." Mark patted his shoulder.

Jesse's pager went off and he excused himself to answer it. The message was from Rick. He went to a hospital phone and called his college friend.

"Can I meet you?" Rick asked. "It's about the case and it's pretty urgent."

Surprised, Jesse said, "Um, sure. Do you want me to get Steve to the hospital too?"

"Yeah, that would be a good idea. I can come to the hospital any time today or meet you later anywhere. Just let me know when's convenient."

"I'll speak to Steve and call you back."

November 18, 2001; 1130 hours

Community General Car Lot

Jerry saw the doctor enter the empty parking lot. This was his chance. It wasn't perfect as someone else might see him, but it would have to do.

Jesse Travis was rarely alone and was apparently involved with Thor, so Jerry was unlikely to be given a better moment than this.

He hurried forward, sneakers making his steps silent. Travis had his back to him so Jerry got out his knife. His other hand was in his pocket, touching his rune stones. One clean kill and he could begin to make amends for his failures. He couldn't perform a proper sacrifice, not here, so a stab through the heart, killing the man instantly, would have to do.

Travis was practically within touching distance now, still unaware of his hunter. Jerry brought the knife up to position for the fatal cut .

"No!"

Jerry glanced round, startled by the shout, and the doctor turned and managed to knock him over. He quickly recovered and punched the doctor then raised his knife. It was ripped from his grip by a newcomer, a stranger to him. They fought and he stabbed the stranger.

He turned to his real quarry, desperate to finish this. The young man was bending over the stranger, but then he looked up at Jerry, pale-faced with shock. There was another shout, this time from behind him, and he turned to find that a couple more people had entered the parking lot and were runningtowards him.

He ran, escaping while he could.

November 18, 2001; 1200 hours

Community General Hospital

Rick returned to consciousness in a hospital bed with his college friend hovering worriedly over him.

"Hey, Jess," he said, his voice sounding weaker to his ears than he'd expected.

"Rick, how d'you feel?" Jesse asked.

He cleared his throat. "Not too bad. What happened?" The memory returned to him as he spoke. "Someone attacked you. It was the serial killer."

"What makes you say that?" a new voice asked and Steve Sloan moved forward from the back of the room, his father and Amanda at his side.

"It was why I wanted to see you all. I knew the danger was going to coil back upon you."

"How?"

Jesse stopped the questions with a hand on the cop's arm. Steve looked at the doctor and Rick watched the two of them. Something had changed between them since he'd last seen them.

"He needs some rest, Steve. He was stabbed, for goodness' sakes!" Jesse was saying.

"No, I'm okay," Rick said. "I won't be able to rest until I've told you what I saw." He took a deep breath. "I expect Jesse's told you I'm a Witch."

November 18, 2001; 1230 hours

Los Angeles

Steve got out his police radio as soon as he left Rick Brookes' room. As soon as Rick and Jesse had given a description of the man who'd attacked them, Steve had recognised it as Levan. He cursed himself for not getting the evidence to keep the man in prison when he'd first arrested him. "The suspected serial killer is a man named Jerry Levan who works at the UCLA," he told the officer who answered. "He's armed with a knife and has already injured a civilian. Put an all points bulletin out for him and let people know he's dangerous. He was last seen at the Community General Hospital an hour ago."

"Yes, sir," the officer answered and, moments later, he heard his message relayed over the police radio.

Having determined that Levan had not returned to the UCLA, he got the man's home address and drove there, adrenaline coursing through him at the thought of finally catching Lana's killer. He wanted to kill the bastard with his bare hands, but would settle for knowing the man would spend the rest of his life in jail.

He was first on the scene at the house. There was no answer to his repeated knocks on the door, so he kicked it open, gun in hand.

It took him just a couple of minutes to ascertain that Levan was nowhere in the house. He was in the living room when Kolovski and Li arrived.

"No sign?" Li asked rhetorically, holstering her gun.

"Not of him, but we need to get a warrant to collect evidence. I don't think we'll have any trouble proving he's the killer."

Li glanced round at the numerous books on Norse mythology, and the scraps of paper with rune symbols scrawled all over them. She saw Steve was staring, pale faced, at the table in front of him and she followed his gaze: it was covered in photographs. There were pictures of Lana Davies; Ted Maine, the second victim; Steve himself; Steve's father; colleagues of Steve's father .

"I'll get some uniformed officers to go to the hospital and protect your father and his colleagues."

"It's already done," Steve told her. "Levan tried to attack Doctor Jesse Travis and, instead, wounded a civilian. I've got a couple of officers there now." He punched his fist into his palm. "I just want to catch that bastard before he tries anything else - I should have kept him in prison."

"We didn't have any proof against him," Li said. "If only we'd been able to search this place earlier, we'd have had all the evidence we needed."

"We'll get him soon enough," Kolovski added. "We know where he lives, where he works, what car he drives. Everyone's out looking for him. He can't stay hidden for long."

Steve looked again at the photographs on the table. He felt sick. This madman wanted to kill Jesse, Amanda, his father. If Rick hadn't showed up when he had, Jesse would be dead; he and the doctor had only just gotten together and he'd nearly lost him . could still lose him. No! He wouldn't consider that possibility, he told himself, fighting down the urge to ring Jesse to make sure he was okay. The uniformed officers would protect them.

"I hope you're right."

November 18, 2001; 1500 hours

Topanga Beach, Los Angeles

Jerry crouched on the sand, rocking back and forth. It had all gone wrong. He hadn't been able to kill Heimdall and now he, Thor and Odin would be hunting him down. He couldn't go back to his home because they'd be lying in wait there. They would also be wary now, expecting another attack.

He had one more chance at best and he couldn't make any more mistakes. The stranger had been one of the gods and if Jerry had been more prepared, he would have known about him.

Ragnarok was coming. He couldn't stop it any more, but perhaps he could turn the battle to his own advantage. He had to think. He stuffed his fist into his mouth, biting hard on the flesh, the pain helping to clear his mind.

He had one more chance.

November 18, 2001; 1700 hours

Community General Hospital

Jesse walked into the hospital room and smiled at his friend. "How are you getting on? Do you need anything?"

"No, it's fine," Rick told him. "So what's going on between you and Steve?"

Jesse stared at him for a long moment, then said, "What do you mean?" Rick just raised an eyebrow until the younger man took the hint that stalling wouldn't work. Jesse grimaced then grinned. "We haven't told many people yet, but we're together."

"Serious?"

"Oh, yeah," Jesse said in a contented tone.

"I'm glad. I admit that I had wondered about you and me getting back together, but I don't think it could work twice."

"It's a great memory, though."

"And a great friendship. Steve Sloan had better treat you right ." he began, but Jesse stopped him by laughing.

"You'd have to get in line. Mark and Amanda will be watching our progress carefully and making sure we don't mess up."

"Good."

Jesse was feeling good when he left the room, thinking how lucky he was to have Steve, then someone brushed against him as they walked passed, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. He'd kept the thought to the back of his mind that he'd been the intended victim of the attack this afternoon. He has work to do and couldn't afford to get nervy when there were patients depending on him. But he knew that, if he closed his eyes now, he would re-live the moment when the killer had held out that knife and lunged at him.

Los Angeles

November 18, 2001; 2100 hours

Steve had searched everywhere he could think of. He and his police colleagues had interviewed everyone Jerry Levan knew but apparently no one had known him well. Ironically, they said that Lana had been the closest to him of his co-workers.

Steve had even called Jerry's ex-wife. She had told him of their argument over the phone three nights ago and claimed that had been the last she'd heard of him. His instincts said he could believe her, but he'd sent a couple of uniform cops to watch her just in case. Jerry might well go to see her, with or without her prior knowledge.

There was still no sign of him by the evening. He'd arranged to meet Jesse, his dad and Amanda at the Beach House to up-date them on his progress on the case - or 'lack of progress' as better suited the situation - so he headed over there.

He parked his truck in front of the house and let himself in.

November 18, 2001; 2200 hours

Mark's Beach House

Jerry watched Thor arrive at the house with savage satisfaction. He'd known the man would have to return home at some point and it was as if the gods were finally on his side: all four of his enemies were together.

There'd been officers roaming around the house and grounds for several hours earlier. He'd begun to despair of getting near his enemies, but then Odin had sent them out. They were still nearby, sitting in two patrol cars outside, but Jerry could get to the back of the house without being seen.

He did so now, holding on tightly to the items he'd bought this afternoon.

November 18, 2001; 2203 hours

Mark's Beach House

"I don't think I'll be able to completely relax until he's caught," Jesse said as he sipped from a glass of lemonade.

"I wonder why he swapped from killing his work colleagues to targeting you," Amanda said, frowning.

"He's targeted all of us," Steve reminded her. "There'll be officers watching the three of you until Levan's arrested, but be on your guard just the same."

November 18, 2001; 2205 hours

Mark's Beach House

Jerry looked through the window at his four enemies. They were sitting, talking, drinks in their hands and snacks in front of them, as if they didn't have a care in the world. That was about to change. "Time to die," he whispered.

He backed away, closed his eyes for a moment, then hurled himself at the French windows.

November 18, 2001; 2206 hours

Mark's Beach House

Officer John Fry heard the breaking glass and dropped the cigarette he'd been holding out of the open car window. He and his colleague, Mary Obadu, exchanged glances as they reached for the car doors, then they sprinted towards the house.

November 18, 2001; 2205 hours

Mark's Beach House

Jerry had thrown most of the can of petrol over the living room before his enemies could do more than jump to their feet, fear and horror on their faces. He poured the rest over himself. He couldn't avoid his own death - he knew that now - but in sacrificing himself in this way perhaps his children would be spared.

"You don't have to do this," Odin said with a placating gesture of his arms. Thor took a step forward, but Odin stopped him. "Don't go near him, Steve, for God's sake."

"We all have to die," he told them. "It's Ragnarok."

"No, it isn't," Odin said. "Please think about what you're doing, Jerry ."

He lit a match.

November 18, 2001; 2206 hours

Mark's Beach House

Fry heard a scream as he and his colleague reached the back of the property, then there was an explosion of flame inside the house.

"We can't get in this way," Obadu yelled as she peered into the flame filled room. "Quickly - we'll have to break in at the front."

By the time they had got to the front door their fellow officers had arrived and, between them, they smashed their way into the building. Fry got on his radio for an ambulance and fire engine to urgently be sent, before following his colleagues inside. In the smoky interior, he almost ran into Obadu who was leading two civilians back out.

"Steve?" yelled the dishevelled young man, Fry recognised as Doctor Travis.

The man had his arm around Doctor Bentley.

"We're right here, Jess," Detective Sloan called back.

Fry and his colleagues got them outside, then he checked, "Is anyone hurt?"

"Well, there's the corpse of one severely charred serial killer in the remains of the living room," Detective Sloan said in a dry tone.

"Steve's arm is burned," Mark Sloan said and the other two doctors promptly rushed to his side.

Over the dual clamour of an approaching ambulance and fire engine and several worried voices, Detective Sloan said, "It's fine, dad. Jesse, really: it's nothing bad . I'm okay."

"I'll drive him to the hospital, Mark."

"Okay, Jess."

"But I'm *fine*!"

November 19, 2001; 1000 hours

Mark's Beach House

Steve and Jesse approached the side of the Beach House and grimaced at the sight of its blackened exterior. Mark stepped out of the hole which had been the French windows to meet them. "How's the invalid?" he asked Steve.

The cop rubbed his bandaged arm self-consciously and rolled his eyes. "As I told you over the phone, it's nothing."

"It's a nasty burn," Jesse said, "but it'll heal up okay. How's this place?"

"It's not nearly as bad as it looks. Amanda came over first thing and spent a couple of hours helping me clear up the glass and soot. Someone's coming to fix the windows this morning and I'm getting estimates for the rest. It'll be fixed in no time."

"Well, if you both need a place to sleep until it's sorted out, you're welcome to stay at my place."

"That's kind of you, Jesse," Mark told him, "but it's really okay here. The living room and hallway are the only places badly affected. The smell of smoke everywhere is the only unpleasant thing, and that'll quickly go."

"Are you sure?" Jesse looked doubtfully at the house.

"Positive."

"I think I might take you up on that offer," Steve said and ignored Mark's knowing expression.

"Careful, Jess: you might never get rid of him."

The doctor smiled. "I can bear that thought."

November 19, 2001; 0900 hours

Boston

Janice Darren put the phone down and stood staring ahead of her in bewilderment.

"Mom, are you okay," the deep voice of her oldest son asked.

She turned to him. "I-I need to talk to you and Eric. It's about your father."

"What's he done this time?" Paul asked in a weary tone.

Janice put a hand on his arm and led him through to the kitchen where her younger child was eating. As he looked up at her she was struck as always by how much his intense brown eyes resembled his father's. She sank into a chair.

"Mom?" he said leaning forward, worried, and Paul crouched down beside her.

"Your father's had a terrible accident," she said. "He died."

"No!" Eric shook his head, face pale.

"What happened to him?" Paul asked.

"He died in a fire."

"No!" Eric repeated. He pushed passed her and ran to his room, reaching automatically for the book on Norse mythology his father had given him years before. He stared down at it. "A fire ."

November 19, 2001; 2200 hours

Jesse's Apartment

"Why do you think he killed himself?" Jesse said.

Steve didn't need to ask who his lover was talking about. "I don't know. He was crazy. None of what he did made any sense to me."

"Rick said it was all to do with this battle in Norse mythology, but I don't understand it either." He shivered and Steve moved closer to him on the couch and wrapped an arm round him. Jesse snuggled closer, then sighed. "I keep feeling relieved that he's dead and then I feel guilty."

"Why should you feel guilty? He wanted to kill all of us and any others who got in his way," Steve said. Jesse looked up at him and the cop smiled. "I know. You're a doctor; any death is a waste to you. But think of it this way: he didn't have any peace in life; in some ways it would have been more cruel to send him back to a mental hospital."

"That's true." Jesse shook off the pensive mood and looked at the older man with a warm gaze. "I love you. Wanna have an early night?"

Steve grinned. "I love you too. And *yes*."

Thoughts of recent events vanished as they kissed then, slowly undressing each other, moved towards the bedroom.

The End.