Title: Through the Fire

Author: Candy Apple

Email: blair_lady@yahoo.com

Website: https://www.squidge.org/~candy_a

Permission to archive: Yes

Fandom(s): Nip/Tuck

Genre: Slash

Pairing/Characters: Sean/Christian

Rating: FRAO/MAO


Summary: In the aftermath of The Carver's attack on Christian, and in the final stages of Sean's disintegrating marriage, the two men attempt to put their lives back together with some interesting changes in their relationship. Meanwhile, The Carver has other plans.


Warnings: Violence, Rape Theme, Language, Sex...um, pretty much the kind of stuff you see on the show every week.


Notes: The song lyrics are not mine–they were written by We*l, F*ster, and Ke*ne. This story takes into account canon through the end of Season Two. Only Detective Fishman's name was taken from Season Three–all other similarities are coincidental!


Acknowledgments: Many thanks to Lucy for answering some medical questions on lacerations. If I messed something up with that or the other medical issues, it's not her fault!




THROUGH THE FIRE


by


Candy Apple



I know you're afraid of what you feel,

You still need time to heal,

And I can help if you'll only let me try.

You touched me and something in me knew

What I could have with you,

Now I'm not ready to kiss that dream goodbye.

When it's this sweet, there's no saying no,

I need you so, I'm ready to go

Through the fire, to the limit to the wall,

For a chance to be with you, I'd gladly risk it all,

Through the fire, through whatever come what may,

For the chance at loving you,

I'd take it all the way,

Right down to the wire, even through the fire...


Sean unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off his shoulders, planning to toss it on the empty side of the bed. He smiled a sad, ironic smile. The bed had been empty for a long time. All that had been there was Julia's convincing acting, covering the fact that he wasn't man enough to make her come on a regular basis, or her unconcealed disappointment in him...or maybe Kimber. Limber Kimber, warm and willing, a kind spirit inside the body of a nymphomaniac porn star. He'd been kidding himself with that one. If she belonged to anyone, it was Christian. Another woman who would probably marry him because he was kind, safe, and dependable, not because he was exciting or enchanting or dangerous or overpoweringly sexy.


After all, he was no Christian Troy.


That thought made him snort and shake his head. Sometimes he felt as if he were as beguiled and bewitched as one of Christian's one-night conquests. The man had too many faults to list. He was narcissistic, greedy, materialistic, and his ethics could be a bit shaky...but he was gentle, sweet, caring, and shockingly giving when he loved someone. And Sean had never questioned that Christian loved him. Of all the people in his life, Christian treasured Sean more than anyone else ever had. He'd endured torture to protect him, gone through surgery without anesthetic to get Sean back on his surgical horse when his confidence was shot, and never attempted to hide his caring for his old college friend and current partner.


On an impulse, Sean held his shirt up to his face, breathing in the scent that lingered there. There was a tinge of his own deodorant and the cologne Annie had bought him for Father's Day. And then there was the almost hypnotic fragrance of Christian's obscenely overpriced cologne lingering in the fibers from their brief embrace before Christian left.


They had a bizarre family, the two of them. They shared Julia in a strange and dysfunctional way, and Matt was their son–Christian's nature and Sean's nurture. Annie might have been Sean's daughter, but biology couldn't have made Christian love her any more. Tonight's "family dinner" had been therapeutic for all of them. There had been so much strain on all their relationships in the last year, and yet sitting around the table together had seemed as natural as ever. They'd laughed, talked, shared, reflected...sure, the thorny subjects had lurked beneath the congenial surface–they always did bubble and churn like a hidden pool of rancid swamp water beneath an illusory clear blue surface–but that didn't matter. The bonds that tied them all together were too powerful to snap even under such enormous strain.


Taking in another breath, Julia's words haunted him. Why can you forgive Christian but you can't forgive me? Why, indeed...


The truth was always there, undeniable as it was forbidden. He'd blurted it out at the worst possible moment, as he finished beating Christian in a rage after learning about Matt's paternity. I loved you the most. He'd always loved Christian the most, something that unsettled him even now as he took an illogical comfort in the scent of his partner captured on a shirt from a fleeting brotherly hug.


Laying the shirt on the bed beside him, he toed off his shoes and stretched out on the bed, clad in his t-shirt, pants, and socks. He held the revolver in his hand, trying to muster the courage to simply lie there and wait to see that nightmarish white mask with its painted features.


********


The shrill ring of his cell phone sliced into hearing that was on full alert. The hours of silence and darkness had set him on edge, and Sean jerked at the sound, the involuntary motion shifting the position of his fingers ever so slightly on the revolver he held.


Bright move, Sean. Get scared by the telephone and shoot your own dick off...


Setting the gun on the night stand, he picked up the phone and checked the caller ID. He didn't recognize the number, but he answered anyway. Even though the first rays of the gray dawn were seeping through the windows now, this was still part of a night of being open to contact from The Carver, even if he chose the telephone as his means.


"Sean McNamara," he said, wanting to be sure the caller knew exactly who he'd reached. Bracing himself for the eerie, mechanically-altered voice, he was surprised by the normalcy of the one that greeted him.


"Dr. McNamara, this is Detective Fishman. There's been another attack. I just got the call."


"Oh, no," Sean said, sighing. "Damn it. I thought for sure he'd take the bait."


"In a way, maybe he did. There's no easy way to say this. The attack was on your partner, Dr. Troy."


"Christian? Where is he now?" Sean demanded, shoving his feet into his shoes and grabbing his shirt with his free hand.


"EMS is at his apartment now, but they're getting ready to transport, so you might as well meet them at the hospital. I'm on my way over to the crime scene. I'll be over to the hospital in a while."


"Thanks, I'm on my way. Detective?" Sean asked quickly to keep the man from breaking the connection. "How bad is it?"


"I don't have all the details. He's been cut...they think he may have been sexually assaulted but apparently he hasn't been very responsive to questions."


"Son of a bitch," Sean muttered, more to himself than the detective. "Thanks." He broke the connection and quickly finished dressing, rushing out the door to his car.


********


In his career, Sean had seen some horrible things. He'd seen people so disfigured that even he didn't know for sure if he could "fix" them. He'd seen flesh destroyed by fire, deformities that had plagued people since birth, and the very nature of his work had eliminated most of his squeamishness about slicing, stretching, tugging, stitching, and otherwise manipulating flesh, bone, muscles, and nerves. In spite of all that, nothing could assuage the cold, sick dread he felt about seeing the monstrous destruction The Carver had no doubt inflicted on Christian's handsome face. It wouldn't have mattered if Christian were handsome or ugly. The thought of how he'd suffered was the worst. The thought of how he would suffer through the aftermath...


Sean made good time getting to the hospital. He beat the ambulance by a few minutes, giving him time to find the attending physician.


"I'm Dr. Sean McNamara," he said, shaking hands with the middle aged woman who introduced herself as Dr. Mitchell. "I'm a plastic surgeon, and my partner was just attacked by The Carver. They're bringing him here by ambulance, and I want to be the one to work on him."


"We're preparing Trauma 3 right now. They're expected any minute. I admire the way you and your partner have put yourselves at risk to help this maniac's victims. I'm so sorry this happened."


"It was my decision to take on the cases, and to keep taking them even after I was threatened. I thought he'd come for me...I didn't know I was putting my partner at risk."


"The Carver hasn't gotten away with what he's doing this long by being ignorant. If you want to get revenge on someone, you target their loved ones."


Great. Someone else assesses that risk in thirty seconds. The cops and I both missed it by a mile.


Just then, the ambulance arrived, and both doctors rushed outside to meet the incoming patient as the EMT's unloaded him and began wheeling him quickly toward the hospital, updating the doctors on his vital signs and obvious injuries as they all rushed toward the trauma room. Phrases like "lacerations to the face" and "probable sexual assault" hit Sean like acid in his heart as he struggled to remain cool enough to work on his best friend.


Christian would need the best facial microsurgeon in the area, and Sean had that well-earned reputation. He had done flawless surgeries on The Carver's other victims, restored the damaged nerves in their faces, given them back their smiles and rescued them from a future looking like escapees from a slasher film. No one else could be trusted to touch Christian's tattered face, and when he regained consciousness, he'd be expecting no one but Sean to be there.


The EMT's had given him morphine, and that combined with the shock of what he'd suffered seemed to have given Christian some blessed moments of unconsciousness. Sean was concerned about that, but relieved at the same time as he and Dr. Mitchell unveiled the damage concealed beneath the bloody bandages.


Sean felt tears stinging the insides of his eyelids as he evaluated the cuts. The usual ghastly cuts rising from each corner of the mouth sentenced Christian to a bloody, demonic, ear-to-ear smile.


He wiped an escaped tear from his face on his sleeve, not wanting to contaminate the surgical gloves he was wearing to make the examination. When he lowered his arm, two dazed eyes were looking straight into his.


"Sean." The word was badly slurred, but unmistakable.


"I'm here, partner. It's over. You're going to be okay."


"You're operating," Christian slurred, his eyes still riveted on Sean.


"Nothing but the best for my best friend," Sean responded, taking Christian's hand and giving it a squeeze. "I have to ask, Christian. Did he..."


Christian just blinked once, firmly, and Sean knew the answer was not the one he'd hoped for. He squeezed Christian's hand.


"Just relax. You're in good hands now," he said gently, resting his hand on the top of Christian's head.


And then Sean was all business, directing the medical personnel and dealing with the necessity of the police and their rape kit, while keeping everything moving swiftly to attend to the potentially disfiguring facial lacerations.


"He's bleeding internally," Dr. Mitchell stated urgently after palpating Christian's abdomen. "We need to get him to surgery now."


Sean pushed down the guilt he felt. He'd played the hero, gone on television, defied The Carver by undoing his heinous work, and Christian had paid the price. All he could do now to make it up to him was to help save his life and restore him to what he was before. To make Christian his greatest masterpiece. To challenge himself to not only perform outstanding surgery, but to perform a miracle.


********


Everything was a red haze of fear and pain. Still, in the middle of it all, there was a lifeline. He squeezed the hand in his, and felt it squeeze back. He didn't need to open his eyes. He knew the feeling of that hand and could feel the presence of the man attached to it.


"Christian?"


Sean's voice was anxious, and he was moving closer. Christian forced his eyes open and looked into his partner's worried face, which was very near his own.


His face. He shuddered at the thought of it, and what it must look like now. The Carver had made him into a monster even Sean couldn't salvage, and then violated and humiliated him in the worst possible way. It hurt to talk, to move any part of his face. The lacerations burned like acid.


"My face," he managed. Sean had that anguished and sympathetic look that in one way comforted him and in another, terrified him. He'd hoped to see Sean look a bit happier.


"The surgery went fine. The slashes on your face did no damage to the nerves. I repaired it, and there's no reason to believe you won't heal as well as Naomi Gaines did–or as well as I did, for that matter," Sean added, managing a slight smile. "There was some internal bleeding from the sexual assault," he said, his voice strained.


"Am I all right?" Christian asked, averting his eyes at the mention of the rape.


"You'll make a full recovery. There was tearing, and a small perforation in the lower intestine..." Sean swallowed, his eyes filling. "That's what was causing the bleeding, but it's repaired now," he said, blinking. "God, Christian, this is all my fault," Sean blurted, a couple tears escaping down his cheeks. "I had to be the big hero. Go on TV and defy The Carver. Me and my pro bono heroics. And you pay the price."


"The TV thing was my idea at the outset, so quit beating yourself up. Nobody predicted she'd go after me," Christian said, wishing he could smile reassuringly at Sean, at least make him feel everything would be okay, even if it wouldn't. "It wasn't your fault, Sean."


"She?" Sean straightened, looking stunned. "The mask is feminine, but–"


"The dick wasn't real." He swallowed, relieved not to feel his own blood running down his throat. "Strap on." He shuddered at the words, remembering against his will the pain and terror of the violation. He never let a woman touch that part of him willingly, and the last one who had found herself none-too-gently ejected from the bed to the floor. He wondered sometimes of that's why he avoided long-term intimacy with anyone. Eventually, a sexually liberal and adventurous woman–the kind Christian liked–would want to involve that part of his body in the fun.


"You saw him...her...put it on?"


Christian nodded slightly.


"Are you sure it was a woman, and not just a man with a...device?"


"I know what a woman feels like. It was a woman. I think she had something around her breasts to bind them down. I'm not sure, but I know I felt a woman's body on me."


"The cops want to talk to you as soon as you're awake. Matt and Julia were here earlier, but I sent them home once you were out of surgery. I thought you'd want some time..."


"I don't want to talk to the cops yet," Christian said. "Can't you just tell them what I told you, and say I'm asleep again?"


"Is there anything else you can tell them that would help them catch–are you sure it was a woman?"


"I think I'm a pretty good judge of that. It was a woman, and the dick was a fake."


"There's a cop outside your door, and I'll be back in just a couple minutes. Try to get some sleep." Sean lowered the bed a bit to get Christian in a better sleeping position. "If you want to talk...about what happened..."


"Maybe later," Christian said, feeling the fatigue of his ordeal, and the relaxation that Sean's presence and reassurance had brought him.


"Sleep now." Sean's hand felt good on his shoulder, and without even thinking about it, Christian inclined his head in that direction. He was surprised when Sean leaned down and kissed his forehead. "I'm glad you're still with me," he said, and then he was moving swiftly toward the door of the room.


I'm glad, too. You're the only reason I can think of that would make me want to live through this...

********


Sean approached Detective Fishman, who had waited at least an hour now for their witness to regain consciousness. He'd processed the crime scene and interviewed any potential witnesses in the area, and finally come back to the hospital several hours later in hopes that Christian would be awake an able to make a statement.


"Is he awake?" Fishman asked, standing.


"He was, briefly. He lost some blood, and he's still weak and exhausted."


"We've got a maniac loose out there, Doctor. Your partner could hold the key to finding him."


"Her," Sean corrected.


"Excuse me?" Fishman asked, frowning.


"Christian insists his attacker was a woman...wearing a strap-on."


"How can he be so sure?"


"He saw the attacker put the device on, and he also said it felt like a woman's body pressed against him. My partner's had a lot of experience in that regard."


"With all due respect to your partner's experience," the detective said with a bit of a sneer, "don't you find it a little odd that none of the other victims noticed this strap-on device or even mentioned the possibility they were raped with something other than a human penis?" Fishman asked.


"You said yourself this person is a maniac. How would I know why he...she behaved one way with Christian, and a different way with the others? Maybe she wanted to be sure he knew. Maybe she wanted to give him a clue to her identity."


"We should consider the possibility of a copy cat attacker," Fishman said, sighing. "You attracted some media attention. Maybe this is some other nut." He paused. "You were up close and personal with The Carver. Did you ever consider the possibility it was a woman?"


"No, I didn't. But I just assumed it was a man. I didn't try to analyze him...her..it for gender traits. What have you done to find this lunatic, anyway?" Sean asked, and Fishman shook his head.


"I know it's different when it's personal, Doctor, but this is a top departmental priority."


"Beauty is a curse on the world. It hides who the real monsters are," Sean said, quoting The Carver. "Who would have a reason to feel that way? Someone who's physically disfigured, someone who feels ugly..."


"We're on it, Dr. McNamara. Let me do my job, and you do yours. Between the two of us, we're going to shut this asshole down. You patch up his handiwork, and we're putting all our resources to work finding him."


"Her," Sean corrected.


"That has yet to be proven. I'm not even convinced your partner was attacked by the same person, given the heightened violence of this attack and the introduction of the strap-on and gender issues."


"Maybe no one else questioned the attacker's gender," Sean protested. "If someone rapes you, you assume it's a man. What if you can't see the equipment, and you're being traumatized, or you aren't very experienced? One of the victims was a man who was a virgin to anal sex–a straight guy who wouldn't necessarily know what a real penis in a condom would feel like versus a phony in that context–and there are some excellent prosthetics on the market, not to mention what's probably available in top of the line adult stores. A high school girl who was a virgin before she was raped isn't going to know what a real penis feels like. And then there was Naomi Gaines, but she was so horribly traumatized while it was happening, she might not have made that fine distinction. Christian saw the device. And he's convinced a woman was wearing it."


"As soon as your partner's able to answer questions, we'll get the story from him. Meanwhile, we have the crime lab going over his apartment with a fine-tooth comb. We'll definitely be sure the evidence is analyzed to search for any indication the attacker was a woman."


"I guess that's all I can ask."


"I'll stop by this evening to get Dr. Troy's statement. We have a unit at your wife's apartment."


"She said she was keeping Annie and Matt out of school today."


"Good thinking. We can only spare so many units, but I'm concerned about another attack on people close to you. The last two attacks, one on a girl from your son's school and now on Dr. Troy, have focused on giving you a message."


********


Sean sat slumped in the chair a few feet from Christian's bed. Painkillers and a strong sedative were giving his partner some undisturbed sleep. On one hand, he was honestly trying to rebuild Christian's strength, but on the other, he was protecting him a bit longer from the rigors of making his statement to the police. Telling Sean what happened was one thing, but describing it for the cops would be something else again.


Christian pursued his sexuality with the passion and drive Sean had used to pursue his medical credentials. There were times he thought his partner should come with a warning label, cautioning every woman he met that she'd probably end up sleeping with him, or on her back on his desk. He didn't really bond with any of them, though Christian was capable of deep emotion. Sean had seen that side of him. He knew only too well that Julia had seen it. Their son, Matt, was the result of that union.


After the initial shock and horror of finding out that his son was not his son at all, close on the heels of Julia's recent miscarriage, Sean had only seen red and wanted both Christian and Julia out of his life. And yet, when he thought about it, it made Matt Christian's and his son together. The thought was oddly appealing. Maybe that was why he forgave Christian before he could consider forgiving Julia. He'd told her that he wasn't sure he'd forgiven Christian, but he had. He didn't want to, but his heart had done it for him, against his will.


This attack had shattered so much of what was the core of Christian's persona–at least, the face he showed the world. His good looks and ardent promiscuity seemed to define him, at least to those who didn't know him any better. Christian had a soft heart and loved deeply when he finally did love at all.


"How is he?" Julia's voice startled him from behind. Fortunately, the cuts were bandaged again, so Julia's indrawn breath only reflected her fear at what lay beneath them.


"He's on painkillers, and I gave him a sedative that should floor him until sunrise. He needs the sleep. The surgery went well," he said in a whisper as Julia leaned closer, carefully pulling up a chair to sit next to Sean. He'd seen to it Christian was in a private room, which would make his hospital stay a bit more bearable until he could be moved to the McNamara/Troy recovery quarters or be released.


"Liz called. She wanted to know what to do with your appointments."


"Cancel them."


"All of them? All of the procedures?"


"Yes, all of them," Sean snapped, then rubbed a hand tiredly over his face. "I'm sorry," he said, taking Julia's hand. "But yes, all of them. I wouldn't be concentrating on the other patients right now."


"He is going to be all right, isn't he?"


"I don't know, Julia. He was raped and his face was sliced up. That bitch tore him apart. Jammed that thing so far into him he had a tear in the intestine and bled internally."


"What? You said, 'that bitch'–are you saying it's a woman who's doing this?"


"That's what Christian told me. A woman with a strap-on."


"My God."


"He'll recover physically, and the cuts on his face weren't as bad as some we've repaired. He may have a faint line or two, but maybe not if I did my best work and he heals well. But how do you heal from something like that?"


"With a lot of time and the love and support of your family." Julia withdrew her hand from Sean's and patted his arm as she sat back in her chair. "We'll all be here for him."


"I just hope that's enough," he said.


"You should get some sleep. You won't do him any good if you're passing out."


"There's a doctors' lounge on this floor, so I can get some sleep there. I want to be here if he wakes up through the night."


"Matt and Annie want to see him. What do you think?"


"Matt, fine. Annie–she's pretty young for all this."


"She's a smart girl, Sean. I'll talk to her, prepare her. As long as he has the bandages on, I don't think it'll be too much for her."


"Maybe seeing Annie would cheer him up."


"She's already making get well cards," Julia said, smiling. "I should go. It's getting late."


"Did the police bring you here?"


"The unit that's watching the apartment is still there to keep an eye on the kids. But don't worry. Kevin brought me. He's downstairs."


"Good," Sean said, nodding. The speed with which another man had slipped into position with Julia was still a sore spot, but Sean knew he'd rebuffed numerous attempts she'd made to reconcile, so now he'd simply have to lie in the bed he'd made, by himself. "I'm glad you're not out alone."


They walked out of the room and down the hall toward the elevator.


"Why do you suppose he went after Christian instead of me or the kids if he was trying to get at you?"


"She."


"What? She, whatever," Julia retorted, seeming annoyed that he'd deflected her question by taking issue with her pronouns.


"He was the only person I loved who was alone and unprotected. I don't know if she'd planned this all along, or it was just opportunity..."


"I better go. I'll tell Matt and Annie maybe tomorrow for a visit?"


"Yeah, I'll call you in the morning."


She hugged him quickly and stepped into the elevator, pressing the button.


"Get some rest," she said.


"I will. You, too. Hug the kids for me," he said as the door closed, just barely seeing her answering smile.


********


"What'd you give me? A triple dose?" Christian asked, forcing his heavy eyes open, focusing on Sean, who was just waking from sleeping at a bad angle in the chair near his bed.


"Let's say I might have stretched the AMA protocols just a little," Sean answered, smiling. "You needed some solid sleep.


"I could say the same for you. Tell me you didn't sleep in that thing all night?"


"Most of it. I got up and stretched once in a while. I wanted to be here if you woke up during the night."


"You made sure I didn't do that," Christian quipped. "Thank you," he added.


"Anytime, pal. How're you feeling?"


"Like a train ran over my face and then came back to drive up my ass. When can I get out of here?"


"Tomorrow, if all goes well. When you're released, you'll stay with me, so I can keep an eye on your recovery. I'm alone in the house most of the time. Matt's in and out, and Annie likes to stay with Julia quite a bit. The guest room's yours for as long as you want it. Truth is, I'd like the company."


"I've got to face my place sometime."


"Doesn't have to be right now."


"Okay, I won't argue with you."


"Smart man. You know I always win the arguments I'm the most serious about."


"When can I see my Frankenstein face?"


"Hey, I resent that, " Sean responded with mock indignance. "I did a masterful job on that face, I'll have you know."


"I don't doubt it," Christian responded, the little flash of humor in his eyes making up for the fact he couldn't smile normally without irritating the sutures.


"I'll be checking out my handiwork this morning, so you can thank me then," Sean teased.


"Dr. McNamara?" A nurse looked in the door. "Detective Fishman is here. He'd like to get Dr. Troy's statement, if he's awake."


"Dr. Troy's awake," Christian said. "Send him in."


"Wait a minute," Sean objected, holding a hand up toward the nurse. "Are you ready for this?" he asked Christian.


"No, but I'm tired of worrying about it. Let's get it over with." He pressed the control to raise the head of his bed so he was in a more upright position.


"All right, Nurse, send him in," Sean said, and the young woman nodded, withdrawing from the room. "I'll wait outside if you want."


"Stick around, okay?"


"Sure. If it gets too intense, just give me a look. I'll put an end to it for medical reasons."


"They need their statement. I don't want to hold them up any longer. I want them to catch this bitch and give her what she deserves."


"I'd rather catch her myself, and show her how much damage a scalpel can do in the right hands."


"Stay out of it, Sean, while we're both still alive."


"I'd have to find her first, and I'm no detective."


"That's right, Doctor, so leave that to us," Fishman said as he entered the room, notepad in hand. "I understand you have an interesting theory about The Carver," he added. Christian shot him a look.


"It's not a goddamn theory."


"Why don't you tell us what happened, starting at the beginning," Fishman said, apparently realizing he was on his way to alienating his witness before he even got the statement he needed.


"I woke up, and she was just...there. I never heard her come in. I was lying on my back, and before I could sit up, she put her hand over my mouth and stuck a needle in my neck."


"A syringe?" Fishman clarified.


"A big one."


"She did the same to me. Scary feeling," Sean said sympathetically from where he sat next to the bed.


"What happened next, Dr. Troy?"


"She made the first cut on my face, over here," he said, gesturing at the bandaged area on his right side. "Then she made her little speech about beauty being a curse on the world. She said, 'it hides who the real monster are.' She told me I was the worst kind of monster, deciding who should be beautiful and who should be denied."


"Were those her exact words?" Sean asked, frowning.


"More or less."


"That ring some kind of bell with you, Doctor?" Fishman asked Sean.


"Well, just that we do consultations with all our patients before agreeing to do their surgeries. We do turn people away."


"What would make you turn someone away?"


"If we felt they were emotionally or psychologically...not in a good place about the surgery."


"It could be anything from mental incompetence to unrealistic expectations for the outcome," Christian added. "And there is the money issue."


"We do pro bono work, but only in serious cases like The Carver victims, or for people whose conditions are somehow crippling or life-threatening, and it is a limited percentage of our practice."


"No free boob jobs or Botox injections," Christian summarized.


"Maybe The Carver was a rejected patient of ours," Sean suggested.


"Or of any plastic surgeon's who follows the similar procedures for screening," Fishman said, taking it all down in his notes. "This does add the possible dimension that this is someone who either has had, or has sought, plastic surgery for herself or someone close and been rejected. Dr. Troy, please go on. I'll try not to interrupt again."


"After she said that, she made the cut on the left side," he gestured at the cut that affected his left cheek. "I was swallowing blood from the cuts, so it was almost a relief when...she turned me over. The drug made me helpless. I was dead weight. It was like my limbs were made of cement. At least I wasn't choking on the blood anymore."


"What happened next?"


"Do you need all the details, or does the medical report fill in the blanks?"


"Unfortunately, we need to hear it from you. The details you remember might tell us something new about The Carver's M.O., or confirm something observed by one of our other victims. That's why we ask for the details."


"Do you need a minute?" Sean asked. Christian shook his head slightly.


"Let's get this over with." He sighed. "She cut off my underwear."


"What did you have on?"


"Just briefs, so a couple of snips did the trick." He looked down to where his hands were fidgeting with the hem of the blanket. "She pushed my legs apart. She was wearing leather gloves...I remember thinking the leather felt cold and...kind of impersonal pushing at my thighs. Then she put on the strap-on dick–"


"You saw her put it on?"


"Yes."


"How, if you were face down?"


"I never said I was face down. I was on my stomach, but my head was turned, and I'd regained a little movement, I guess, to move my head and neck enough to look at what she was doing. Not enough to stop her, but I did see her put the thing on. Then she rammed it up my ass and I didn't really watch her too closely after that." Christian's voice shook badly, and he swallowed hard.


"Your pulse is racing," Sean said, tears welling in his eyes as he checked Christian's pulse. He knew how terrified he'd felt one-on-one with The Carver, when he'd feared the sexual assault described by the male victim whose scarring they'd repaired. Just the fear of it had been traumatic enough that he'd never slept peacefully since it happened. He couldn't fathom what the reality was like.


"I don't want to talk about this again. I want it finished," Christian insisted, forcing a steadiness in his voice that didn't come easily. "I don't remember exactly how long it went on. I just know the pace was fast and brutal but it seemed to drag on and on. I don't think she was getting anything out of it sexually. I could be wrong, but it seemed like it was all about the brutality of what she was doing. Like tearing me up was the goal, not getting off."


"How can you be so sure it was a woman? A man could use a false device."


"When she was finished, she lay down on my back so she could whisper in my ear. There was a curve at her chest that felt like bound breasts, and I didn't feel any sign of a dick or balls at her groin area."


"What did she say?"


"'How does it feel not to be perfect anymore?' And then she left. As soon as I could move my arm, I dialed 9-1-1 on the phone by the bed. I wanted to call Sean, but I didn't want to bring him over there if she was still hanging around somewhere."


"The dispatcher said you asked for someone to go to Dr. McNamara's house. Did she threaten him at all?"


"No, but she's already attacked him once. I was worried she might go there from my place."


"You were worried about me?" Sean asked, visibly stunned. After the horror he'd been through, Christian was worried about me? About my safety? How could he even think straight?


"I thought she might go for you next."


"That's all I need for now, Dr. Troy. If you think of anything else, please give me a call." Fishman handed Christian one of his cards. After the detective left, Christian tossed the card on the bed table and looked at Sean.


"Hey, come on. I'm supposed to be the one having trouble holding up here." He patted Sean's arm.


"I'd really like to be the one to find her," Sean said, his tone ominous. All he could think of were ways to pay The Carver back for what she'd done to Christian, and all the fantasies were brutal and dark.


"That's what Fishman gets paid the big bucks to do," Christian said, exhaling and leaning back in the bed. "Thanks for being here."


"Thanks for asking the cops about going to my place when you called. I can't believe you thought of that after...what happened."


"I wanted you safe. The only thing worse than what happened to me would be knowing it happened to you."


"Funny," Sean said, smiling a little sadly, "I know just how you feel."


"Enough suspense. I want to see my face."

"That makes two of us," Sean said, a forced lightness in his tone. He stood and went to his bag. After pulling on a pair of latex gloves, he sat on the side of the bed and began carefully removing the bandaging on the left side of Christian's face. Though he hadn't seen anything for himself yet, Christian was reassured by Sean's reaction to what he saw. A smile spread across his face. "Looks like you had a talented surgeon working on you," he said, gloating just a bit. "Turn your head this way just a little so I can remove this other bandage." He gently eased off the second bandage, looking at his handiwork with obvious pride.


"Give me a mirror, damn it," Christian complained, and Sean obliged, handing him a mirror that was lying on the bed table. Christian looked at his reflection, then put the mirror down on the blanket.


"I know it's hard to be objective and clinical when it's on your own face, but there's no reason to think these won't heal really well."


"Okay, let me take another look." Christian took a deep breath and raised the mirror again, forcing himself to take a close look at the work Sean had done on the cuts. "This really is beautiful work, Sean."


"Thanks. I gave it all I had," he said sincerely.


"Quentin Costa should genuflect before you," Christian said, managing a tiny smile before grimacing at the discomfort the motion caused.


"Hurting means it's healing, remember?"


"Just don't rent any comedies for us while I'm staying at your place."


"You should be able to chew soft foods–"


"I know the drill. Naomi Gaines, remember?"


"Yes, I remember. And she's modeling now."


"She can wear make-up."


"The fine lines she has will fade with time, and will fade more with dermabrasion. I don't need to tell you about this," he said, holding up a tube of Neosporin.


"No, I remember some of this stuff. I used to be a plastic surgeon," he quipped, but there was a note of seriousness in his voice.


"Christian, you're going to look good when you heal. You won't have anything to be self-conscious about with our patients. You'll be a better walking ad for us than one of Bobolit's billboards."


"You're overdoing the encouragement now, Sean."


"No, I'm not. If I didn't believe it was true, I wouldn't say it. This is some of my best work."


"I know you're right. I guess I'm just not seeing this the same way. Thanks for being there and doing this yourself. And the other repair work."


"Speaking of that, we should probably talk about who you want to do your follow up care for those injuries. I'll be glad to do it, but I'll understand if you'd feel more comfortable having another doctor."


"You did the repairs, Sean. What would be the point of getting modest about it now? Besides, I'd rather have the best working on both ends," he said, a little trace of humor in his voice that put Sean much more at ease. "You need to take a look now?"


"I should. You feel up to it?"


"No, but it's not going to get any easier. You want me on my side?"


"Yeah, that's fine." Sean tried to tell himself this was a patient, not Christian. Not his closest and dearest friend and partner. He prayed for steady hands and an equally steady voice. This was hard enough for Christian without him emoting over it and making it an awkward moment. "I know you're in pain, but everything looks fine from the surgery," he said, proud of the calm steadiness in his voice.


"I'm not worried about that. I had a good surgeon, remember?"


"He's pricey, but I understand he's worth it," Sean quipped, relieved for the opportunity to distract Christian with a little humor as he finished his exam and moved the hospital gown back into place. He knew Christian had a powerful ability to endure pain–going through a nose job with no anesthetic had proven that–so his ability to be quiet and still through what had to be a painful exam was no surprise.


"It's his ego I can't stand," Christian replied, and Sean snorted, discarding his gloves.


"Yeah, well, when you're good and you know it..." Sean said, shrugging. "Are the pain meds doing their job?"


"As much as can be expected with me being conscious. I'm fine, Sean."


"You will be. Your face looks really good."


"That wasn't my face you were just looking at." Christian shook his head slightly, a tiny smirk in the place of what would have been a sly smile if he'd been able.


"As I said, you're going to be fine," Sean added, chuckling.


********


"Kimber, it's Sean," he said, leaning back on the bench in front of the hospital, where he could use his cell phone.


"Oh, Sean, I heard about Christian on the news, but the details are so sketchy. I've been calling his cell all morning, but I figured that was kind of pointless."


"He's in the hospital. I haven't seen a news report myself since it happened–what are they saying?"


"They said he was the latest victim of The Carver, but that they didn't have details on his exact condition."


"Probably because his attending physician isn't inclined to share that information with the press." Sean paused. "His face was cut, both sides, but I've already done the surgery on him, and we have every reason to believe he'll heal as well as I have." He paused. "He was raped, Kimber."


"Oh, God, no," she said, her voice breaking. "I was hoping it would be more like what happened to you–like a warning to not work on the victims."


"I know, so was I. I need to take you into confidence about something, because I need your help. I know the police haven't disclosed anything about this to the press, so it's imperative that you keep it to yourself."


"Of course, I want to help. I won't say a word."


"Christian said that the person who attacked him was a woman wearing a strap-on device. Needless to say, the cops aren't very fond of this idea–they don't buy it–I could tell when I talked to them."


"That's...pretty incredible, considering that this is a serial rapist. No one else has mentioned anything like that?"


"No, and that's why they're pretty skeptical."


"I don't understand how I can help with that."


"I hope you won't be offended by this question, but I was hoping that since you've worked in the adult film industry, you might know something more about strap-ons, and how someone would get one–not just a garden variety online adult toy store type, but the best there is–and how convincing it would be."


"There's no question that with any product, there are cheap knock-offs, and then there are good quality ones. I can come up with a short list of manufacturers who make top quality strap-ons, that's no big deal. If you're wondering how convincing they are, well...I've only done one scene in a film that involved one, and I knew what it was before we did the scene. It was a good one, and it was pretty convincing. It's possible I might not have known for sure if I couldn't see what it was and didn't know ahead of time. I like to stay with the real thing with my own productions, but some of the directors have used fakes for certain scenes, so it would be sort of a prop, rather than a sex toy. I'll check those out, too."


"So someone who is a virgin, or hasn't had anal sex before, or was extremely traumatized might be raped with one and not make the distinction?"


"Anything's possible. If it was a really, really good one, and they didn't see it...I would say it was possible to fool someone under the right circumstances. Besides, if someone breaks into your home and rapes you, you're going to assume it's a man and that it's him, unless you know something different."


"Thanks, Kimber. That helps a lot. Do you still have my fax number and e-mail address?"


"Yes. I'll e-mail you the information as soon as I put it together. I can also give you links to the websites. Please, tell Christian I'm thinking about him, and I want to see him as soon as he feels up to it."


"I will. Thanks again."


********


Christian stared blankly at the television, not really paying attention to the news channel droning in the background. The police were providing around the clock protection for both of them, and the cop outside the door seemed as bored as he was, occasionally poking his head in on the pretext of security, breaking the monotony by exchanging a few words with Christian. The Carver had done her research, and knew that the best way to torment Sean was to target Christian. Still, Christian found himself relieved that Sean had been spared the horror of his experience. The pain and the damage was worse, but in a sense, the whole thing was like revisiting an old nightmare. Something too big to fit persistently forced into an opening too small to cope with it. Someone with more strength, more power...someone who held your life in his hands using that power to take what was most fundamentally yours.


Sean had never suffered that kind of violation, and it was better he not face it now.


Liz walked in then, carrying a small plant, wearing a forced smile.


"Sean had a couple of consults this afternoon we didn't cancel–a couple of urgent pro bono cases--so thought I'd check up on you while he was busy. Do you need anything?" She set the plant on the bedside table, all the while careful not to have eye contact with him.


"Liz, look at me. I know it's not all that much fun to do right now, but I'm sick of seeing the side of your head." She finally complied, looking devastated when she did.


"It's different when it's someone...someone you know," she said, her voice shaky.


"Thanks, Liz."


"Are you all right besides...?" She gestured at her own face.


"No permanent damage done." He couldn't really smile without painfully irritating his sutures, but he managed a pained little smirk, and tried not to think about what it probably looked like.


"You'll have to talk about what happened. Pretending nothing's wrong is only going to make it worse," she said, her characteristic directness seeming to regain its foothold. "I have a good friend who runs a rape crisis center, and she's wonderful to talk to–"


"Thanks, but no thanks. Joining a women's support group isn't in my future," he added. He knew the remark was cutting, but he needed to get her off this subject. He should have known that would only spur her on.


"Denial is the worst thing you can do to yourself, Christian. And I wasn't suggesting you join a women's support group. Janice takes confidentiality very seriously, and she's worked with men before. I know our society doesn't provide much support or awareness for survivors of male rape, but–"


"Mind your own goddamn business and leave me alone!" Christian shouted, his patience at an end.


"Maybe this wasn't a good time to bring this up. I'll leave Janice's card on the table," she said, setting the card next to the pitcher of water.


"Don't bother," Christian retorted, turning his head away from her. "I can afford a real shrink if I need one."


"Everything okay in here?" Sean entered the room, having wrapped things up at the office sooner than expected.


"I was just leaving," Liz said, slipping out the door.


"I heard you all the way down the hall," Sean said to Christian, no trace of accusation in his voice. He picked up the card on the bedside table. "Liz doesn't hesitate to rush in where angels fear to tread, does she?"


"I'm not sure what's worse. What happened or having to listen to everyone's advice on how I should feel about it."


"How do you feel about it?" Sean sat on the side of the bed. "I'm over here," he prodded, as Christian was still looking the other way.


"Like I don't want to talk about it." He still didn't look at Sean, who nodded, then patted his arm lightly.


"When you do, I'm here."


"I know," he responded, finally looking at Sean, who smiled at the eye contact. "So what was the pro bono case about?"


"A ten-year-old boy. His mother threw a pan of boiling water in his face. She's a drug addict, and he's in a foster home now. The damage is...unconscionable. People can talk about devils and demons all they want, but that's what evil is."


"Can you help him?"


"Somewhat. He's never going to be what he was before. I kept thinking of Matt at that age, and Annie. Those perfect little features...how anybody could want to destroy them."


"You can't change what was done to him, but you'll make him the best he can be."


"Thanks. I'm going to do my best." Sean felt reassured by the observation, and moved that Christian could get involved in the discussion enough to worry about Sean's reactions and feelings about it when he had so much on his own mind.


"You have another consult?"


"Just one more."


"Thanks for coming all the way over here just to check up on me. I would have been okay for another couple of hours."


"I know. I guess I wanted to see that for myself, first hand." Sean smiled. "Hopefully this next case will be a little less intense. It's a nose job for a man with severe sinus problems. I'll be back to check on you in a little while."


"How long do I have to stay cooped up in here? I could lie around in bed at your house as well as I can do it here."


"I don't have any appointments scheduled for a couple of days... I suppose you could come home with me tonight. I could be around the house for a day or two so you wouldn't be on your own. You'd have to agree to stay mostly upstairs once you were settled, because I don't want you running up and down stairs regularly for a few days."


"Agreed. Then it's settled. Where are my clothes?"


"Whoa, take it easy, partner," Sean said, resting a hand on Christian's shoulder. "I have to get some clothes for you from your place–"


"I keep a couple changes of clothes in my office."


"Right," Sean said, remembering Christian's back up supply of fashionable suits, shirts, and other clothing items in his office closet. He had a couple spare suits and his gym clothes, but not the designer collection Christian kept on hand in case of a fashion emergency on the job. "I still have another appointment and some paperwork to wrap up, so just relax for a while."


"Any word from Fishman?"


"No." Sean frowned. "I'll have to give him a call later."


"He doesn't believe me."


"He has no reason not to." Sean paused. "I called Kimber."


"What for? You told her?"


"Before you get angry with me, let me explain."


"I'm not angry, exactly. Just a little puzzled why you'd call her and tell her about this."


"I wanted her advice. I know Fishman is skeptical, so I thought Kimber could help us with some information on strap-ons."


"You called Kimber and asked her about strap-ons? Oh, to have been a fly on the wall for that conversation," Christian said sarcastically. "Of course, you did give her blow-up doll a new pussy, so I guess this wasn't that startling."


"Are you finished?" Sean asked, annoyed. "She's going to e-mail me some information on strap-ons and prop dicks–fake penises used in some adult films. Really good quality ones that could fool someone. My hope is to put that information together for Fishman. If he'd get over being so skeptical of your story, he'd probably do a better job on this case."


"I know you're trying to help, Sean, but I'd really appreciate it if you wouldn't call people and tell them about what happened without even asking me first. Even the news hasn't gotten wind of the rape yet, though the speculation is pretty much slanted in that direction."


"You're right, I'm sorry. I should have talked to you first, but I thought it might upset you more than if I just took care of it. Kimber's a good friend. She'll keep it quiet."


"We can only hope."


"She wants to see you when you feel up to it. She was really worried about you. Said she'd been calling your cell all morning."


"She thought I'd be hanging around answering phone calls this morning? You can't even use the cell phone in this place. Kimber always was a bright one."


"Was there anything familiar about her–the woman who attacked you?"


"With the mask and altering the voice, how could I tell?"


"Why don't we go through some of our old files on cases we rejected or had complications with? Give us something to do tomorrow."


"Looking for The Carver in our old case files? Gee, Sean, you know how to make staying in the hospital sound good by comparison."


"Fishman may not take you seriously about this, but I do. It's the only thing we can do to at least eliminate some possibilities, even if we don't find anything."


"I want to see Matt and Annie. You said they asked about me."


"Sure. I'll call Julia's place. Matt can bring Annie by after school tomorrow."


"Annie doesn't know what happened, does she?"


"She knows you got hurt by the same person who hurt me. We had to explain it to her somehow when I got cut, because the scar will take a long time to completely fade, and The Carver's all over the news. She's a bright little girl. There's only so much we can hide from her." Sean paused. "She only knows about the cuts."


"Good."


"Matt knows the whole story. Between what the news will ultimately get a hold of and what he figured out on his own..." Sean shrugged.


"He's an adult. There's no more shielding him from much of anything."


"Isn't that the truth," Sean agreed, heading for the door. "I'll be back as soon as I'm finished."


"When you get me the clothes, bring me my blue shirt. It sets off my eyes."


"Which woman bought it for you?" Sean retorted, smiling.


"Natasha," Christian said, looking a bit sad. "She didn't know what it looked like, but she liked the way it felt–pure silk." He sighed. "She deserved better."


"You broke it off pretty suddenly with her, didn't you? You never really said how she took it."


"I wasn't really talking about the breakup. I mean she deserved better than me. I would have never stayed faithful to her."


"You shouldn't sell yourself short, Christian. When the right person comes along, you'll be faithful. I know you will."


"You do, huh?"


"Yes, I do. I know you, Christian. I saw how you stood by Wilbur, even when he wasn't yours biologically and you couldn't stand being with Gina. I know what kind of friend you are, the way you're always there for the kids if they need you. You're loyal to the people you love. So when you love a woman that way someday, you'll be loyal to her, too."


"I've done a lot of field testing. I'm not so sure there's a woman out there I'm going to feel that way about."


"You've worked your way pretty well through the female population of Miami. Maybe we should take an out-of-town vacation when you're feeling better. Test a new group. I'll even help," Sean joked, pulling the door closed behind him.


********

"You wanna tell me why I'm boxing up all these old files?" Liz asked, looking annoyed at the project of boxing up a substantial load of patient records.


"Christian and I are going to review them while he's recuperating," Sean said, preoccupied with making the final few notes on the chart of the patient who had just left.


"Some of these cases are five years old, Sean. I seriously doubt any of these people are going to care now if you change your minds. They've probably had their surgeries a long time ago somewhere else."


"That's a good point, Liz. Would you mind putting those in chronological order for us?"


"You're joking, right?" Liz retorted, and Sean finally focused on the large number of folders contained in the two cardboard boxes.


"I guess there are quite a few," he conceded. "Don't worry about it."


"I wasn't. But why are you reviewing these now?"


"Research. I'm going to grab Christian some clothes and pick him up at the hospital. I'll be home for the next couple days, or page me."


"Is he still upset with me because I recommended someone for him to talk to?"


"No, I don't really think so. He knows you were trying to help. It's just a sensitive situation right now."


"Are these for the police? I won't say anything. I'd just like to know."


"No, they're for us to go through." Sean sighed. "The police aren't making any headway on this, so I thought while Christian and I have some downtime, we could go through these old patient files and try to figure out if anyone in here would be warped enough to do what The Carver's doing."


"So you think it might have been someone after the two of you all along?"


"It might not have started out that way, but there are a couple things about what happened to Christian than seem to make it personal. Not that being attacked isn't always personal, but it feels like she's targeting us over more than just the press conference."


"She?"


"Oh, man. Liz, you can't say anything. I mean it."


"It's a woman?"


"It's possible. I'm serious. I slipped. You can't say anything about this to anyone."


"I won't, of course. But I thought Christian was raped?"


"I don't think I need to explain that women can do most anything men can do with the right supplies."


"Oh my God," Liz said, covering her mouth briefly. "A woman? And no, I won't say anything to anyone, but my God, Sean, that's crazy. No one else has thought it was a woman. Are you sure it's not just Christian trying to rationalize to himself that he didn't have forced sex with a man?"


Sean just stared at her a moment, nonplused, and started to walk away.


"It was just a question," she protested. Sean stopped, took a deep breath, and turned to face her.


"Listen to yourself, Liz. How many times are women's stories about their rapes questioned? And how enraged do you feel when that happens? Did she ask for it, was it really rape, what kind of woman was she? It's degrading and it's not fair! Yet you stand there and do the same thing to Christian because he's a man. Maybe because he's a promiscuous, slightly misogynist man, at that."


"That's not fair, and you know it."


"Isn't it? If Christian were a woman, would you be second-guessing his story, or standing by him and defending him to anyone who questioned his account of what happened?"


"I only meant–"


"I know what you meant."


Sean stormed down the hall to Christian's office and shut the door, leaning against it. Liz's comment had set him off, and some of the anger he felt seemed righteous. Some of it seemed over the top and misdirected. Maybe it just felt good to let some of the anger out, justified or not. Pushing away from the door, he went to the closet and found the shirt Christian wanted, a pair of dark navy pants and coordinating $500 shoes.


He smiled at the collection of clothing that cost as much as many people's mortgage payment. Christian should wear things like pure silk and Italian leather. A man like Christian should always be decorated in the best of everything. On the rare occasions Sean found himself in a men's department to pick out his own clothes instead of relying on Julia to do his shopping for him, he sometimes picked up a shirt made of an exquisite fabric, or lingered by a suit in an unusual color, and found himself thinking more about how it would look on Christian than thinking about it for himself.


They were best friends, partners, and saw each other every single day. There was nothing odd about him noticing something in a store and thinking it would look good on Christian. He piled up the clothing without the proper regard for its obscene retail value and closed the closet. The thought of getting home and sharing a quiet dinner with his friend was drawing him like a magnet now. They'd have to pick something up on the way home...he'd call in an order for Chinese. He found himself smiling a little, which was something he didn't do too often in recent months.


"Sean?" Kimber's voice startled him as he was heading down the hall. Dressed in a dark business suit with a short skirt and heels, Kimber looked very much in place in a nice office complex.


"Kimber, I wasn't expecting to see you today," he said, smiling.


"This is for Christian," she said, holding up a small gift bag. "Just something to cheer him up a little."


"He'll appreciate that, thank you."


"This is a little present for Detective Fishman. You might want to step into your office," she said.


"Sure, come in," he said, opening the door and waiting for her to enter before closing it behind them.


"I asked my good friend who's helping me with my directing debut, and he happened to have one of these on the set, in the prop room. It's very expensive, top-of-the-line stuff," she said, opening the small square carton she'd been carrying. "As a plastic surgeon, I thought you would appreciate the workmanship on this." She held up a strap-on device, the centerpiece of which was an artificial ten-inch penis that was unnerving in its realism.


"My God, that is amazing workmanship."


"There's a scene in the movie where this guy has sex with his girlfriend and all he does is unzip his pants. They're going to use this, because they want to show the actual penetration, and the actors weren't willing to do it for real on camera. Touch it." She smiled at Sean's hesitation. "There isn't a man attached to it, Sean. I just want you to feel the exterior of it."


"It feels like flesh," Sean said, retracting his hand quickly. Then he overcame his initial inhibitions and touched it again. "Amazing."


"Now, this one was custom made, but the manufacturer has a website," she said, handing Sean a small slip of paper with the web address written on it. "I checked it out, and there are a couple different models for sale on the site that look a lot like this, and run between five hundred and a thousand dollars."


"If the attacker was using this, why would she use a condom on it? One of the victims was very specific that the attacker used a condom."


"Well, this is an expensive piece of equipment, so it's possible that's why, or because she only wants to leave evidence of latex, and also enhance the illusion that she's protecting a real penis." Kimber narrowed her eyes a bit. "Was this person's genitals ever fully exposed during the rapes? If not, she could do the same kind of scene my friend's doing in his movie. If she's fully dressed and only exposes the strap-on, and puts a condom on it, and it's dark or at least shadowy in a bedroom, why would anyone question that it was real?"


"They probably wouldn't. Kimber, this is such a great help. It's so real it's almost scary. Can I borrow it?"


"Yes, but I need it back. Well, I don't," she said, laughing and blushing a little, "but Antonio does. He'll kill me if somebody damages it."


"I'll take good care of it, and I'll be sure Fishman knows it's on loan from a movie set." He was relieved that Kimber took responsibility for re-packing it in its carton. He had no real desire to handle it any more than necessary.


"I really would like to see Christian, whenever he's up to it. Let me know if I can do anything else."


"I will. Thanks for all you've done, Kimber. I'm sure Christian will give you a call when he's feeling better."


"I'm not, so if he doesn't, you give me a call and let me know how he's doing, okay?" she said, her voice holding no trace of reproach.


"Sometimes I think we were both a little crazy to let you get away," Sean said, and Kimber shrugged.


"I haven't gone anywhere. You both have my number. Let me know when you're finished with Mr. Stiffy, and I'll come back for him."


"I could drop it off–"


"Sean, it's a porn studio. Do you really want to stop by and drop off a strap-on there?"


"No, I suppose I don't," he admitted, chuckling. "I'll call you."


********

Christian had dozed off and the pain medication had given him some undisturbed sleep while Sean finished up his appointment and paperwork. He almost regretted the noise of the door opening as it jarred him from his rest.


"I brought your clothes," Sean stated unnecessarily as he laid the items on the chair near the bed. "How about if I give you a hand?"


"I can manage, but thanks."


"Why don't you try standing up first before you kick me out? Humor me."


"Easy for you to say," Christian said, trying to keep his tone light and hide his discomfort as he sat on the bed, his legs over the side. Sean moved closer, offering his hand for support. The nurses had already had him up and around earlier, but he saw little point in putting on as much of a show of bravado with Sean as he had with them. He took the outstretched hand without comment, allowing Sean to give him an upward pull with one hand while steadying him under his elbow with the other. "How long am I going to be crawling around like an old man? We had Roarke up and around the same day."


"His injuries didn't include a tear that caused internal bleeding. That's why you're taking it extra easy for a couple of days. As a matter of fact, you should stay–"


"Don't even think about it. I'm not staying here, and you're not going to spend another night in that chair. We both need some decent sleep. I'm not going to have any problems two doctors can't handle at home."


"I guess you're right. It's just that you're an important patient. I don't want to take chances with you."


"You're taking me home with you. I'd say that qualifies and giving me the ultimate in patient service," Christian quipped. Noticing Sean's sad return smile, he added. "This wasn't your fault, Sean. Quit looking for a way to blame yourself."



"I should have told you what I was doing–"


"Yes, you should have, but you had no way of knowing that luring her to your place would backfire and she'd go to my place instead." Christian rested his hands on Sean's shoulders. "The work on my face looks great. I'm sure the rest of the work will do its job, too."


"You want to let me help you with the clothes now? Just today, until you get a little more of your strength back."


"Okay, you're the doctor."


It was easier to let Sean do anything that required bending and stretching, and within a few moments, Christian was dressed and checking his hair in the mirror. He snorted a laugh that didn't really move the corners of his mouth.


"Guess with this face, it's a little meaningless to fix the hair."


"The bandages cover the cuts, and they're on the mend." Sean referred to the small, neat gauze bandages that now covered the cuts. They were much less dramatic and ominous than the hasty work of the paramedics at the scene.


"It's dark outside, so that's to my advantage."


"We have to stop so I can pick up dinner. There's nothing in the house. You can wait for me in the car, if you want. I called Fishman. He's going to give us an escort home."


"You've got all the bases covered," Christian said.


"Better late than never, I guess." Before Christian could object again to Sean's self-blame, a pretty young nurse walked in with a wheelchair. "Your ride's here," Sean said cheerfully. The attractive blonde smiled, but it was her kindly smile for patients. She showed no special interest in the tall, dark-haired man with the bandaged cuts on his face. Not even the blue silk shirt that set off his eyes caught her attention.


"Well, I guess this is it then," he said, sitting in the wheelchair. Sean caught the flicker of disappointment at the nurse's utter lack of attraction. It was a new situation for Sean, as well. Since college, it had been rare to watch Christian turn his devilish good looks and smooth charm on a woman and not at least score a second look, if not a reaction of obvious interest. The young woman had probably seen pictures of Chris Roarke, who had refused to have the scar on one side of his face repaired for reasons of his own. He'd granted a number of interviews after recovering from surgery, and most of them featured full color photos of his scars.


"I hope Chinese is okay for dinner," Sean said, signing off on a form and handing it to the nurse. "I can take it from here, thanks," he said, handing her the clipboard.


"Of course, Doctor. Hope you're feeling better soon, Dr. Troy," she said, smiling at Christian.


"Thanks, Nancy," he said, reading her name tag. After she left, he looked up at Sean, who was standing behind him, hands on the wheelchair. "Chinese is fine."


"Good. I ordered some hot and sour soup with it. Your face might be a little sensitive to a lot of chewing."


"I'm in no hurry for large portions of solid food just yet," Christian said, sighing. "Soup's fine."


"I've got you on a stool softener. That should help a lot. You'll need to keep up your strength."


"Stool softeners, ointments, and wheelchairs. Nothing like a life of nonstop glamour."


"It's only temporary, partner," Sean said, resting his hand on Christian's shoulder before beginning their journey down the hall to the elevator. "I wish there was something I could do to make this easier." After the elevator's occupants exited, Sean wheeled Christian into the empty elevator.


"You're doing everything you can." They rode the rest of the way to the lobby in silence. Sean was the one to start up their conversation again.


"I had Liz box up a bunch of our old files," Sean said as he wheeled Christian toward the exit where the car was parked. "They're in the car."


"You really think there's a point to all that?"


"I don't know about you, but I need to feel like I'm doing something about this. We can't just sit back and let this maniac destroy our lives without a fight. It's probably a dead end, but what if it isn't?"


"I suppose you're right."


"Someday you'll learn that I usually am."


"Yeah, I'll work on that." Christian stood carefully while Sean opened the passenger door of the car.


"Take it easy," Sean advised, hovering as Christian slid into the seat with some obvious discomfort. He motioned to an orderly who was walking back into the hospital to pick up the wheelchair. In a moment, he was in the driver's seat, starting up the car.


"I see our not-so-subtle protection back there," Christian said, looking behind them. There was a conspicuously plain four-door gray sedan behind them.


"We're done playing live bait. If it's obvious we have protection, that's fine with me," Sean said, pulling out of the parking lot onto the road. "I phoned in the dinner order ahead of time. We'll be home soon," he said, noticing Christian shifting uncomfortably in the seat.


"I don't have anything at your place. Should we stop by my place and pick something up?"


"I brought enough clothes from your office to get you through tonight and tomorrow morning. I'll go over and pack some things for you then. Whatever you don't have, you can use mine."


"They still have cops watching Julia and the kids, right?"


"Absolutely. And of course, Kevin is there for Julia." Sean's voice held a distinct note of distaste.


"You could probably bump old Kevin out of first place with a little effort."


"Julia seems happy. I love her, but we just can't recapture what we had. Maybe it's time I let it go."


"You're serious?"


"We spent a lot of time hurting each other, Christian. There are people you love and people you can make a life with, and they're not always the same people."


"You're still angry with her about Matt?"


"No, not really. Hurt, betrayed, confused...yes, all of those. It felt like a death. I know that sounds crazy because Matt's still here, and still in my life, and still calls me 'Dad'–and I treasure that, believe me–but for a while, when Julia was pregnant, I had one son, and was thinking of myself as maybe the father of two sons. I admit I would have liked another boy. Then the baby was gone and shortly after that, I ended up with no biological sons at all."


"Are you still angry with me?"


"No. I was, but it's in the past. You didn't know about Matt all this time. It was a little hard to separate all that when it happened. With Julia, I never felt like I could make her happy. I never felt like I was what she wanted, and I guess in the end result, I was right. Better we admit that and move on than to spend another twenty years making each other miserable." Sean parked the car in front of the Chinese restaurant. "Will you be okay here for a few minutes?"


"Fine. Joe Friday just pulled into the handicapped space, so he can spring to my defense if I'm attacked, unless he gets a parking ticket."


"I won't be long," Sean said, chuckling.


Christian tried to relax in the seat, watching his partner disappear into the restaurant. He knew Julia, and he'd loved her for a long time. He'd convinced himself she was the only woman he truly wanted, that all the other women were only two-dimensional imitations of the real thing. Now, he wondered if that was really true, or if he had just spent his life pining for the first woman who had turned him down.


That was egotistical–some other women had turned him down when he was younger. Usually not after they'd slept with him. He generally was in the driver's seat when it came to dumping, and he did plenty of it. Maybe he found himself so in love with Julia, or the idea of her, because she walked away from him, and yet was always visible, just beyond his reach and off-limits behind the shield of his friendship and loyalty to Sean.


As Sean came out of the restaurant carrying a brown paper shopping bag containing their dinner, stopping with a smile to hold the door for an elderly couple on their way inside, Christian felt a rush of sympathy for his partner. Sean had taken a lot of emotional hits in the last year, and he'd spent far too much time unhappy and feeling like second best. He was a good man that people took for granted way too often, and Christian realized that he was as guilty of that as anyone.


Sean took a detour over to the gray sedan, exchanged a few words with the plain clothes officer behind the wheel, and then reached into the bag and pulled out a smaller bag, handing it in to the cops. After talking with them another moment or two, he headed back for his own car, where Christian was waiting.


"I didn't realize how hungry I was until I smelled food," Sean said, setting the bag on the floor behind the driver's seat, then getting into the car. He started the engine and put the car in reverse before he noticed Christian was staring at him. "What?" he asked, smiling.


"Bet the cops were glad to see the food."


"It's pretty hard to sit out here and smell the food without having some. They've got a long, dull night ahead of them, and they're watching our backs, so I believe in keeping them happy."


Once they'd arrived at Sean's house, he escorted Christian to the guest room and helped him change into the t-shirt and exercise pants he'd brought home from Christian's office. The clothes were more comfortable and conducive to relaxing than the dress clothes he'd been wearing. When Christian was comfortably seated on the couch, Sean tossed his sport coat aside, took off his tie and sent it to join the coat on the back of a chair.


"I'll bring the food in. Just stay put. I want you off your feet for a few days, taking it easy."


"You're welcome to wait on me as much as you like," Christian responded, leaning back on the couch, just grateful to be out of the hospital.


"Gee, thanks. You're too good to me." Sean worked at carefully spreading out their meal on the coffee table, dishing up some of everything on a plate and handing it to Christian. He piled his own plate and dug in with gusto.


"Thanks for getting me out of the hospital. I really didn't think I could stand another night on that rack of torture that passes for a bed."


"Since you were going to be staying with your attending physician anyway, there wasn't much the hospital could do for you than I can't do here." Sean frowned. "I thought this was your favorite."


"I'm just not all that hungry."


Sean paused, his face falling. Suddenly, his own appetite seemed to wane.


"I know this is a difficult time for you. For what it's worth, I can't stop thinking about it, either."


"I'll get over it, Sean." Christian set the plate aside. "It's not like it hasn't happened before."


Sean looked almost sick at the statement and set his own plate on the table. "You want to talk?" he asked, his tone quiet and careful, as if too bold a question might silence Christian completely. Truth be told, it probably would have.


"It's strange, but I'd almost managed to forget how horrible it felt to be that powerless. Maybe I screwed enough women to convince myself that I was in charge. That's always what I need. To call the shots. I didn't really understand that until this happened. If you stay with someone long enough, they start taking what they want. If you keep it superficial, everything's kind of artificial and inhibited. It can be raw and wild and kinky, but in its way, it's inhibited because it's not as real as when two people who really belong together and really know each other, have sex and it's honest and open with no games..."


"Oh, Christian, I wish married sex was like that. I wonder if it really is for some people?" Sean shook his head. "I thought about what happened to you when you were a child when I found out you'd been...assaulted."


"Raped, Sean. The word is raped."


"I'm sorry. You're right."


"No, I'm sorry. I'm being a prick."


"You're entitled, and I'm using euphemisms. Maybe it's just too hard for me to say it. I can't stand knowing you had to go through that. I thought about that sick bastard who raised you, what he did to you...and it just kills me that after everything you went through with him..."


"Do you remember when you were a kid, and you watched a scary movie, and the first night afterwards, when you went to bed in your dark bedroom, you imagined every horrible thing in the shadows, and the images were so sharp in your mind that you could almost play them back in your head?"


"I snuck down to the family room in the basement to watch The Exorcist and I couldn't sleep for a week." Sean laughed. "As a matter of fact, I was too scared to go upstairs until the next morning."


"After a while, you sort of forgot about it though, right?"


"Sure."


"Well, that's kind of how I felt about what happened when I was a kid. It was like that horror movie that scared the living shit out of me back then, and when the memories were fresh, I'd wake up screaming, when I slept at all." Christian swallowed. "Over the years, it faded. It was always there–kind of like the way you'll always remember Linda Blair's head doing a 360. It's there, and if you think hard enough, you can conjure a ghost of the image in your head, but it's not the sharp, blazing, technicolor memory that it once was."


"And what happened brought it all back in blazing technicolor?"


"I had to see what she was doing, because if I didn't look at her, I would have seen him in my mind. He used to come into my room at night, the same way, silent, and then I'd open my eyes and he'd just...be there." Christian brushed at his eyes. "And I knew he could do whatever sick thing he wanted and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it."


"Christian, when you first told me, you said that you'd sold yourself. You know that's not true, don't you? He would have taken what he wanted from you one way or the other. Maybe as you got older, it made him feel more secure to think he'd bought your compliance, but he was a predator."


"Sometimes I wonder if my whole damn life has been one big lie. Just a charade to prove he didn't turn me gay or keep me from becoming a man. To prove to myself I can be in control in bed. And in one night, it's gone. I'm back in that room crying and praying he'd just finish taking what he came for and get out."


Sean stayed silent and still for a moment, then carefully moved closer to Christian, sliding his arm along the back of the couch. Christian took him up on the overture, moving into Sean's arms, seeming grateful for the security and comfort of the embrace.


"He's dead and gone, Christian. He'll never touch you again. The cops are on the lookout for The Carver, and she won't come back here now anyway. It's too risky. You're safe now." Sean closed his eyes as he felt Christian's body shaking with tears that were the pent up reaction to his ordeal. "It'll get better, I promise," he said softly, stroking Christian's hair. "We're going to get through this together."


"I'm glad she didn't hurt you that way," Christian managed, hugging Sean tighter.


"I wish she'd done it to me instead of you. I'd take it for you if I could," Sean said, tears in his voice. He meant every painful word, and Christian knew it.


They sat there that way a long time, Christian purging his emotions and Sean just holding him, doing his best to restore a little of the feeling of security the rape had taken from his partner.


"Do I get another Vicodin pretty soon?" Christian asked as he pulled away.


"Absolutely. I was planning to make sure you took one with dinner." Sean went to the kitchen for a glass of water, and got the bottle of pain meds out of his bag. He delivered the water and one of the pills to Christian, who took it, chasing it with the water.


"Sorry about dinner."


"It doesn't matter. This is more important," Sean said, sitting down next to Christian again, resting his hand on Christian's knee. "Do you want to talk some more?"


"I think I'll just go to bed. I'm pretty tired."


"Okay. I'll turn back the bed," Sean said, smiling.


"I can manage, Sean, but thanks."


"Don't argue with your doctor. You're taking it easy, remember?"


"How could I forget?" Christian asked with mock annoyance. After Sean left the room, Christian wiped his face with a napkin and blew his nose. Between the puffy eyes, runny nose, and the cuts on his face, he figured he must be a beautiful sight and made a mental note to avoid any mirrors on the way to bed.


Sean wasn't gone long, returning promptly to escort his partner on a slowly paced ascent to the second floor guest room and get him settled in bed. Christian looked much more at ease in the queen size bed than he had in the hospital bed. He'd opted to leave his pants and t-shirt on, and Sean hadn't commented on that. He'd never seen Christian sleep in anything more than a tank shirt and briefs, but if the extra layer of fabric offered him some measure of comfort, Sean had no plans to make an issue of it.


"Would you like me to stay for a while, until you go to sleep?" Sean offered.


"I'm fine, Sean. But thanks. Go reheat some dinner for yourself and relax. I'm really sleepy."


"Okay," Sean replied, smiling. "I'll leave the light on in the bathroom, in case you're a little disoriented if you get up through the night. I'm going to grab a bite to eat, and then I'll be in the master bedroom, right across the hall. If you need me, just yell. I'll check in on you periodically, so don't be startled if you hear me come in."


"Don't keep yourself up all night, Sean. I'm doped up now, so I should sleep."


"You're not just my best friend. You're my patient. I'll decide when I need to check on you. Now get some rest and just let me know if you need anything."


"I will. Good night."


"'Night," Sean replied, pulling the door around to the frame.


A little crack of light seeped in from the hallway, and the light from the bathroom cast a friendly glow in the room. The thought of food titillated him slightly, but not enough to really want any. The pill was doing its magic, and he gave in to it, comfortable in the knowledge that Sean was keeping watch. And he also knew that whatever monsters lurked in the shadows would do well not to cross his partner.


********


Sean checked the doors and windows and the alarm settings for the third time before turning out the last lights downstairs. It was a common ritual now, especially since he lived alone. There were no friendly sounds of music seeping out of Matt's room, or Annie playing with her dolls or talking to her gerbils. Julia wasn't on the phone with one of her friends or tidying up a few things in the kitchen. The kids visited regularly, and he treasured the good relationship he had with both of them. His relationship with Julia was still quite amicable, and he valued that as well. But it was a solitary road to walk when one day, you have a wife and two children, and the next, you're living alone in the house where you were terrorized and slashed by a maniac. As he climbed the stairs, he wondered if Christian would ever find peace again. He was still searching for it himself, and he'd endured nothing on the scale of what Christian had.


As he reached the second floor hall, a dark figure appeared in front of him. He let out an audible gasp, lurching back and catching himself on the railing to avoid falling back down the stairs he'd just climbed. The figure jerked in fright, too, backing up against the wall near the door of the guest room.


"Shit," Sean said breathlessly.


"You scared the hell out of me," Christian accused, breathing heavily.


"No I know why Annie always complains that the light switch should be right at the head of the stairs, instead of six feet down the hall," Sean said, starting to smile at himself for being so jumpy. "Are you okay?"


"I will be when I can breathe again."


Sean turned on the hall light. "Maybe I should have that light switch moved," he quipped.


"I heard someone on the stairs."


"I was trying to come up quietly so I didn't wake you. So much for that plan."


"I guess it's the Vicodin. For a minute, I thought..."


"You were thinking about The Carver?"


"No, actually I wasn't." Christian shook his head. "Talk about resurrecting sick old ghosts."


"I'm sorry, Christian. I never thought about–"


"Why would you? You were just coming upstairs in your own house. It's my hang up, not yours."


"You should probably get back to bed."


"I suppose." Christian went back into the guest room, and Sean followed. He kicked off his shoes and when Christian was settled in the bed, stretched out on the empty side of it. "What're you doing?"


"I thought I'd keep you company for a while. My adrenalin's pumping, so I'm not going to sleep right away. You mind?"


"You don't have to babysit me, Sean. I'll be all right."


"Maybe you could babysit me for a while, then? I don't always sleep all that great anymore."


"Sure, okay."


"Do you think it'll make a difference when they catch her?" Sean asked.


"In what way?"


"I wonder if you ever get over that feeling of...vulnerability, like something or someone can just appear in your house and there's nothing you can do about it? I don't like feeling like I did after watching horror movies as a kid. Looking around every corner, worried that the upstairs hall light is six feet from the stairs, jumping at every sound..."


"I knew you were pretty shaken up after what happened. Understandably. I guess I was too self-absorbed to notice how much it affected you," Christian said.


"Seems like such child's play compared to what you went through. I feel guilty even bringing it up."


"You were attacked in your own home, Sean. Just like I was. The only difference is the degree of physical damage done. You should have said something if you were nervous being alone. I would have stayed with you, or you could have come to my place. We were roommates before and it worked out all right," Christian said with a smile in his voice.


"If I hadn't faced staying here on my own, I would have never gotten past it. Besides, this is home to Matt and Annie, and I wanted to be here for them when they visit."


"Now you know how I feel about going back to my place. The longer that goes between what happened and when I go back there, the more...insurmountable it feels."


"We could go over there in a couple days–give you a chance to be there when you don't have to stay there–dip your toe back in the water, so to speak."


"Have you been there since..."


"No, I haven't."


"The cops should have had plenty of time to get what they need, so it's probably just a matter of clean up. Have they left anything too grisly there for the maid to cope with?"


"I'll go in first and have a look around."


"I'm sorry I dropped the ball when you were attacked. I should have insisted on staying here for a few nights."


"You offered. I insisted I was fine, remember?"


"We both know you're full of shit, so I shouldn't have listened."


"Gee, thanks, partner," Sean responded, shaking his head.


"Your scar is barely noticeable now," Christian said. He fingered the bandage on his own right cheek. "I guess I'm just impatient to get where you are, with it being almost a non-issue. My face has always been an asset, not a liability."


"It still is, Christian. It would be even if you had more noticeable scarring that you'll have. You can't destroy someone's appearance completely with a couple of simple cuts. There's beauty in the bone structure, the features, the eyes and what they can express–"


"Sean, we're in bed together. Maybe this isn't the time for you to tell me how handsome I am."


"I promise I won't take advantage of you," Sean quipped, chuckling, then stopped, looking stricken.


"What?" Christian was smiling when he asked.


"Sort of a tasteless remark under the circumstances. I'm sorry. I didn't mean–"


"It was a joke. That's how I took it. Relax. You don't have walk on eggshells with me."


"If that's true, then there's something you should know. Kimber came by the office today."


"And...?"


"She did some research on...strap-ons. She brought me one to show Fishman."


"I'm sure he's seen one before, if he's worked Vice at all."


"This one is amazing, Christian. The workmanship on it, the texture–"


"Is this going somewhere?"


"It's very convincing. It's not this fake, cheap, plastic thing. If the attacker wore something like that, and didn't expose any more of herself than just the device itself, it's entirely possible she could have fooled the other victims. Fishman isn't taking you seriously because he thinks that the other victims should have been onto something strange about the experience if it wasn't a man. If he sees this, he may take it more seriously. Plus, she sent me information via e-mail about where to order this type of stuff."


"Thanks."


"Kimber's the one who brought the device. She borrowed it from a friend of hers who's helping her with directing her movie."


"You never doubted me, Sean. As flaky as what I told you sounded, you never questioned that maybe I was delusional. Thank you for not making me feel crazy."


"You're not crazy or delusional, Christian. Of course, I'd believe you."


"I'll call Kimber tomorrow. Maybe in a few days, we can get together. I want to see my kids tomorrow," Christian said.


The two men visited for a while longer, talking about Matt's plans for college, Annie's upcoming school play, and reminiscing about their college days until they dozed off in the wee hours of the morning.


********


The shrill ring of the telephone jerked Sean out of his first deep sleep in weeks. Christian was stirring, but still asleep, as he grabbed the phone on the night stand.


"Dr. McNamara? This is Detective Fishman. We've found something you may be able to help us with."


"Absolutely. Name it." Sean sat up on the bed, leaning against the headboard. Christian opened his eyes slowly, rubbing at them as they adjusted to the morning light.


"We don't have conclusive DNA results yet, but some preliminary testing indicates that a small spot of blood we found on Dr. Troy's sheets doesn't match the sample of his blood we've been using for comparison. I need to know from Dr. Troy if anyone else has been in that bed since those sheets were put on it. If not, we could have the attacker's blood."


"Just a minute." Sean covered the receiver. "How long were those sheets on your bed?"


"What? The ones that were on it when it happened?"


"Yes."


"Just since that morning. My maid comes in on Tuesdays now, and she changed the bed like she always does."


"They were changed by his maid that morning," Sean said to Fishman.


"Then we'll need a blood sample from her for comparison. If the blood on the sheets doesn't match either of them, we may have something to go on."


"Unless it's an old stain."


"We'll be analyzing that, too. The lab thinks it's fresh, from the other night."


"I don't understand how we can help," Sean said.


"You mentioned something when we were taking Dr. Troy's statement, about patients you've rejected, or who might have reason to be angry. I assume you do blood work on these people?"


"Not on many of them, if we decline to perform surgery based on an initial consult and not on something we discover in the blood work after starting the pre-op process."


"If you have any samples from patients you feel might fall into the disgruntled category, we'd appreciate access to them."


"We only keep those samples a limited time, Detective, but I'll be happy to provide your technicians with anything we do have. I have some of our old patient files at home, so we can develop a list of names, and also determine which ones we did blood work on, and which samples are still in our lab."


"That would be great, Doctor. Sooner than later, if possible. I also need the contact information for Dr. Troy's maid. We need to test her first."


"Right. I'll call you back with that in a few minutes." After hanging up, he turned to Christian. "They found a small spot of blood on the sheets that isn't yours. It's enough to do DNA testing on. Fishman wants to know how to get in touch with your maid, in case it could be hers."


"Or somebody's who was in the bed when those sheets were on it before. They're not new sheets, just clean."


"They think it's a fresh stain. This could be a major piece of evidence."


"Would be good to know something worthwhile came of all this. I'll call him back and let him know how to get a hold of Leticia."


"Leticia, huh?" Sean asked, giving Christian a sly smile.


"She's almost sixty, Sean. I hired her because I actually wanted the apartment clean. That's it."


"Whatever you say. Why don't you give Fishman a call and I'll make us some breakfast? Oh, and ask him if he can stop by later, because I want to show him something. Don't mention what it is. I want a spontaneous reaction."


"Okay. Then I'm going to hit the shower."


"Be sure to hold onto the handle when you're getting in and out. I don't want you to slip and put too much pull on your stitches. I'll bring the food upstairs on a tray."


"I'll be careful."


"If you need anything, just yell. I'll leave the bedroom door open."


"Will do."


********


Christian showered and washed his hair, then dried off and removed the bandages from the cuts on his face. It wasn't gruesome, but it was definitely visible. He backed away from the mirror a bit, opening the towel he'd had wrapped around his waist. There was some deep bruising on his thighs, but other than that, the effects of the rape were invisible without a medical exam. In the bag Sean had packed from Christian's office closet was clean underwear and two more changes of clothing. One of them was a tank shirt and shorts, which he'd occasionally used for jogging, the other was another of his designer shirts and coordinating pants. Not in the mood for either, he chose the same t-shirt and exercise pants he'd been wearing. Since Sean was keeping him cooped up in the guest room, there wasn't much point in dressing for anything but comfort.


He was about to shave, but decided he'd ask for Sean's help with that. His partner would have a steadier hand and more nerve about shaving close to the repaired cuts, and Sean would be pleased to be asked for help. He was doing his best to make everything pleasant and easy and comfortable for Christian, and always seemed delighted for the chance to do something really useful to that end.


"Breakfast is served," Sean said and Christian came out of the bathroom.


"Smells good. I was thinking maybe you could give me a hand with shaving later. I'm not sure I want to tackle that job myself."


"Be glad to," Sean said, holding the tray while Christian sat on the bed, then against pillows Sean had piled in front of the headboard. He set the tray down and sat across it from his partner, as there was food for both of them on it. "You must be hungry."


"I could eat," he said, not nearly as enthused as he should be after so many hours without food. The scrambled eggs and toast did look and smell good, and he found they tasted pretty good once he started eating.


"I thought we could go through the files after breakfast."


"Might as well."


"Matt called. He said he'd bring Annie over about three," Sean explained, smiling.


"You're in a good mood this morning," Christian observed, taking a drink of his coffee.


"Am I? I guess I was just enjoying breakfast. I haven't for a while. I usually eat a granola bar in the car these days. Mealtime here is a little...depressing, to be honest. I've never been crazy about eating alone."


"I thought Matt and Annie were here more than they apparently are."


"Annie's pretty young to spend a lot of time away from her mom. I started out trying to maintain her routine, keep her here with me, but she was lonely for her mother, and that's natural with little girls. I know I could raise Annie alone if I had to, that I could be a good single parent to her, but it's not fair to make her unhappy when Julia's very much in her life and wants to be with her. Matt has his own life, plus he helps Julia out a lot by being there for Annie when Julia has a class or other plans, and I'm just as glad he's staying with Julia and Annie while this lunatic is still out there. He's grown up into a good man, Christian. At least we did something right in our lives."


"Julia had a part in that, too."


"Of course, she did. But you've been a big part of his life since he was born, and so have I. We've both had major roles in raising him."


"I'm sorry, Sean."


"About what?"


"I haven't paid much attention to what you were going through with the separation from Julia, or when you were attacked... I feel like I haven't been there very much for you lately."


"You're always there for me, Christian. I might not always let you in, or ask for your help, but I know you're there. When I was attacked, you were sweating out the results of an HIV test. You were entitled to be self-absorbed over that."


"I wish I could make something really good happen for you. You deserve it."


The remark took Sean off guard, but it touched him deeply.


"Something really good did happen. You survived the other night, and you're going to be all right. And here we are having breakfast together like we used to do in med school."


"Back then you made me sit up all night and study," Christian added.


"And after breakfast, we're going to do some more studying."


"The case files. How could I forget."


"Have you ever thought about seeing Julia now that we're separated?" Sean asked, not looking up from his plate.


"Where the hell did that come from?"


"I don't know. It's just that it still crosses my mind from time to time."


"No, I haven't thought about it." Christian reached over and took a hold of Sean's hand, which surprised him. "You're my best friend and my partner, Sean. I'm not interested in benefitting from your misery."


"I wondered if you still loved her."


"I'll always love Julia. She's the mother of our son." He squeezed Sean's hand. "But I'll always love you more."


"Me, too," Sean said, smiling and returning the pressure, feeling tears sting the inside of his eyelids. Since finding out about Matt's paternity, he'd lived with the nagging fear that his reconciliation with Christian would one day be shattered by the announcement that he was seeing Julia, or worse, that they were finally going to be together, the way it should have been all those years ago.


"You were really worried about this, weren't you?" Christian asked gently, still holding onto Sean's hand. "I give you my word, Sean, you have nothing to fear from me where Julia's concerned."


"It wasn't Julia I was worried about," Sean admitted, angry that his voice shook and his eyes were filling. "I was most afraid of losing you," he said, Christian's brush with death at the hands of The Carver loosening his tongue. "If I have to go through a divorce, I can do that, but..."


"Hey, come on, I'm not going anywhere." Christian set the tray aside and moved closer to Sean, sliding his arm around him.


"I'm sorry." Sean swallowed hard, painfully hard, and struggled to pull back his emotions. "Ever since I found out about Matt, I've been waiting for the other shoe to drop. God, isn't that pathetic? I've spent all this time...afraid you were going to choose Julia over me. There, I said it. Sick, isn't it?" He wiped at his eyes. "It's like I have this loose grip on all of it, but then I think about you and Julia getting together, and I realize what it must have felt like all these years with Julia marrying me and you having to be on the outside looking in."


"You never made me feel I was on the outside. I always felt like this was my family, too. But that's not because of Julia. It's because of you. The tie is to you. Relax, Sean. There's no other shoe waiting to drop." He ran his hand back and forth across Sean's shoulders. "There's nobody out there I'm going to choose over you."


"You can't make promises like that, Christian."


"I'm still here. I know where I want to be."


"I should take the tray downstairs and get the files." Sean stood up, patting Christian's knee as he did.


"Slow down a second," Christian stood also, and when Sean turned toward him, pulled his friend into a hug. "You've been alone too much in the last couple years, partner." Sean returned the pressure, in no apparent hurry to pull away.


He wondered when the last time was someone had held Sean to make him feel better, worried about the pain he was going through, or made him feel as special and needed as he was. Sean really had no clue how much he meant, and the difference he made in the lives of the people who loved him. Maybe it was time someone showed him.


********


Another pot of coffee and a couple hours later, the bed was strewn with files, and both men had made numerous notes on legal pads regarding the cases they'd reviewed.


"I hadn't thought about Grubman in a while," Christian said.


"Lucky you," Sean said absently, still poring over a file.


"Sad how things ended for her."


"Are you thinking of her as a candidate?"


"What? No, no, not at all. She didn't blame us for her stroke. I left things on good terms with her. Besides, she's not an evil person. And even assuming she completely rehabilitated, I think she's a bit too old to be keeping up The Carver's pace. Her daughter was very ill at the time–she may have died by now. She was none too happy with us, but again, not someone I'd consider much of a suspect."


"I didn't think Grubman was a likely one, either, but when you brought her up..." Sean shrugged.


"Whose file is that?"


"Nanette Babcock. Sometimes I wonder if we handled her case the right way. Maybe I should have listened to you and let you do a few procedures for her. She might be alive right now."


"She was a schizophrenic off her meds, and she did have unrealistic expectations. Short of hacking off two-thirds of her excess weight and completely restructuring her face and body, we couldn't have done what she wanted us to do. It probably would have set her up for a bigger letdown when she went to her reunion and found that a couple of minor cosmetic procedures didn't eliminate the Sasquatch nickname."


"Maybe I'm feeling a little guilty because she was the kind of girl I used to ignore in high school."


"She was the kind of girl most guys ignore in high school. It might not be nice, but that's the way it is." Christian smiled, holding up a folder. "Bobbi Broderick. There was a sweet lady."


"Not likely."


"No, I was just thinking about her and all her 'carving' references–up to and including that box of rotting meat she sent us." Christian paused. "What about Grace?"


"Grace Santiago? I know she wasn't happy when she left the practice, but do you think she was that bitter?"


"She was always bitter, Sean. She was angry you came on to her, angry she slept with me, yet she did it twice–and the second time was her idea. She was angry at one or the other or both of us throughout most of the time she worked for us."


"You think she's a likely suspect? I know she wasn't happy working with us, but she didn't strike me as psychotic, and even if I could picture her hurting us, I can't picture her inflicting that damage on the other victims just to set the stage."


"You're right, I guess. I never thought Grace was a bad person, even if I had a love/hate relationship with her. Well, actually, more lust/hate. Maybe Fishman was onto something when he said it was a copycat. Maybe someone who wanted to get back at me used the whole Carver thing to do it. Which then opens up my entire Blackberry as a suspect list."


"Maybe this is a dead end." Sean tossed the file he was reading aside on the ever-growing pile. "How would we know if one of these people had a relative or friend who might be sick enough to do this? Thank God, we don't have a huge stack of angry ex-patients, and a lot of the ones we do have are middle-aged to older women who don't seem likely to have the physical strength or level of insanity we're looking for." He rubbed his eyes. "If we start digging up all your ex-girlfriends, we'll just stir up a hornet's nest of women who probably have it in for you but aren't who we're looking for."


"What about Gallardo? Now he's got reasons to make us suffer," Christian said, leaning back against his pillows.


"That's a real possibility. Which makes things worse, because we can't say a word to Fishman about it."


"You think they might have a little mercy on us since we got him arrested?"


"We were accessories to his little drug smuggling business, we tied hams to a corpse and fed it to crocodiles, and then we operated on him to give him a different identity, which means they're no longer looking for the number two guy on the ten most wanted list, because they think they have him already. I don't think we'd be exonerated–hell, we look guiltier than we actually are. If it's Gallardo or one of his henchmen, we're just plain screwed."


"Gallardo had it in for you more than he did for me. Seems like all of this would have been reverse if it had been him–or that he'd have gone after Julia or the kids, God forbid."


"That's what he threatened me with." Sean shook his head. "I don't think this would be his style. He'd come after me or my wife or my children."


"There's a happy thought." Christian sighed. "Can we take a break from this depressing shit for a while?"


"We're not getting anywhere. I've made a list of the ones we did blood work on. I can call Linda and have her check to see if we still have them. Fishman should be stopping by in a while."


"Don't you think I should take a look at that fake dick Kimber gave you?"


"Do you want to?"


"No, but I suspect one of the first questions out of Fishman's mouth will be whether or not I think that's what I might have seen."


"You said you saw a strap-on, and that's what this is."


"Go get it and let me look at the damn thing. I'd rather look it over now than with a couple of cops standing there gauging my reactions."


"Okay." Sean left the room and returned a minute later, carrying the small carton containing the device. "You don't have to do this."


"It's not alive, Sean. If it tries to attack me, I think I can overpower it," Christian quipped, and Sean smiled, though it was a hesitant one. He set the box on the bed in front of Christian, who opened the flaps and reached in, then yanked his hand right back out again. "Holy shit, did Kimber finally cut some poor guy's dick off and box it up?"


"Amazing, isn't it? Feels like the real thing," Sean said, lifting it out of the box.


"Looks like it, too. That thing could have fooled the other victims."


"Especially if the penis was the only thing she really exposed. They wouldn't see this harness under clothing."


"The only reason I knew it was a fake was because she made a show of putting it on. She wanted me to know. If she'd had it on already, under her clothes, and just stuck it out–and rolled a condom on it–it could have fooled me. Where'd you say Kimber got this thing, anyway?"


"A friend of hers in the adult film business."


"Is it used?" Christian asked, his lip curling a little as he pushed the box away from him.


"Hopefully it's been cleaned since then."


"I was wondering if we needed to spray it for crabs."


"I know this wasn't easy," Sean said, folding the flaps of the box.


"Looking at one in a box is a lot easier than...seeing it under different circumstances. We can tell Fishman now that I'm sure it could have been a device like this, and that I'm sticking to my story."


"I think this'll go a long way in reinforcing it."


"That was a pretty good idea–calling Kimber about this."


"She was the only person I knew who would know anything about these, and wouldn't be too embarrassed to admit it." Sean paused. "I don't like the way Fishman has dealt with this. He shouldn't make you feel like you need to prove what you're saying, or that he doesn't buy it."


"It's a far-fetched story, and the first victim to tell it would have a hard road to travel. That's probably why the bitch did it, to make it as difficult as possible for me to have any credibility."


"Maybe we should hire a private detective. Get a professional to do what we're trying to do on our own with a pile of file folders."


"I don't think we want a private eye digging around in our closet. Too many ham-decorated skeletons and heroin-filled tits rattling around in there."


"We were victims, damn it. We shouldn't have to hide for the rest of our lives."


"And maybe after a prolonged police and FBI investigation, a trial, and the destruction of our lives and business, the authorities would conclude that, too. But by then, even if we avoided prison, we'd have nothing to go back to."


"We'd still have each other, and our integrity."


"Integrity doesn't pay the bills or put Matt and Annie through college. And those gray prison uniforms wouldn't do a thing for your coloring." Christian tugged at the sleeve of the casual blue shirt Sean was wearing with his khaki pants.


********


Fishman looked at the large strap-on, a look of distaste crossing his features as he held the actual phallus in his hand.


"Where did you say you got this?"


"I have a friend in the adult film business, and I asked her to do some research for me. She borrowed this from the set of a colleague's movie. It was custom made, but the manufacturer sells some that are very similar. She gave me the web address."


"Maybe we should talk to her."


"She's a good friend of both Christian and myself. There's no reason to suspect she'd have anything to do with this. I trust her."


"You've been urging me to take Dr. Troy's story seriously. If I'm supposed to do that, a porn film maker with a working knowledge of strap-ons is a likely suspect. I would appreciate knowing her name."


"Kimber Henry," Sean said, defeated. "That wasn't my point in involving her–to turn her into a suspect. She was the only person I knew who could gather information on something like this quickly, and the only person I didn't feel ridiculous asking for help. I went to her because I frankly don't think you take my partner's story seriously, and I thought this might help."


"Well, it certainly illustrates that these things can be convincing, and as real as this feels in the cold light of reality, standing around in someone's living room looking at it in a box, it's feasible that already in place, under clothing, under traumatic circumstances, it could have fooled the other victims." Fishman smiled. "I know just the guy back at the precinct I'm going to give this web surfing job to."


"This isn't a joke. My partner was raped with one of those things, damn it!" Sean snapped.


"You're right, Dr. McNamara. That last remark was uncalled for. I'm sure, as a doctor, you engage in some humor with your colleagues that would horrify your patients, so hopefully you can understand that a warped sense of humor makes a lot of sick things more tolerable."


"The difference is that I don't tell my patients the same jokes I tell my colleagues. I just wonder if you'd act this way if my partner was a woman."


"Look, Dr. Troy is telling a completely different story from what the other victims told. He's the first to raise the possibility the attacker was a woman, or that there was a sexual device involved. That's why I have to scrutinize his story. You know your partner, and you trust him. That's fine. I don't know him personally, and I have no reason to trust him blindly. I'd be irresponsible if I did."


"Maybe you could at least treat him like a credible witness and not make jokes about the device someone used to puncture a hole in his large intestine."


"I don't take Dr. Troy's injuries lightly. I want this sick bastard off the streets as much–probably more–than you do. My boss is on my ass every day for progress reports. Which is why I want to talk to your friend, Ms. Henry. We have to follow up every lead we can. This maniac is torturing and terrorizing a whole community. So I can't leave anything unexplored, and I can't take anything at face value, no matter who it comes from."


"I'll give you her phone number, but I just want to go on record that I think investigating her for this would be ridiculous and pointless."


"I respect your opinion, Dr. McNamara, and I've made a note of it. Can I borrow this thing?" he asked, gesturing at the box containing the strap-on.


"Depends on what you're going to do with it. Kimber borrowed it from someone else, and is obligated to return it."


"I thought I'd show it to one or two of the other victims who actually saw the attacker's penis. Very few did, but I'd like to know if there's any possibility a fake of this quality could have fooled them."


"I guess that would be all right."


"Did Dr. Troy see this?"


"Yes. He's comfortable that this is or something very similar could have been what he saw."


"I'll take care of this today and have it back to you tonight, tomorrow morning at the latest. Or I could return it to Ms. Henry."


"You can drop it off here. I don't want to embarrass her."


"Fine. What about that list of disgruntled patients?"

"Well, I'm happy to say it's a short list," Sean said, handing him the sheet of paper. "I've starred the ones we did blood work on, and I've instructed my nurse, Linda, to be waiting for your call. She's checking now to see which samples we still have in our lab."


"Any of these women likely suspects, in your opinion?"


"Not really. One of them did commit an act of vandalism against Dr. Troy in the past, and had serious psychological issues, but she committed suicide."


"That's the Babcock woman? You've got her marked with a 'D'."


"For deceased, yes."


"Okay. I'll get in touch with your nurse later and get any of the samples you have over to our lab for comparison to the stain on the sheets. Your partner's maid has already provided us a sample, so we're checking that now."


"Great. Let us know what you find out."


"Definitely. Tell Dr. Troy I hope he's feeling better."


"Thank you," Sean said, smiling. "I'll do that."


"This isn't a credibility issue, and it's not personal. It's my job not to believe anything until I have proof, which is what I'm working to get."


"I understand. Thanks again for your time," Sean said, closing the door behind him.


"I can't believe you gave him Kimber's name," Christian said, making his way slowly down the stairs.


"You're supposed to stay upstairs."


"I'm moving slowly. I feel all right. Don't change the subject."


"What did you want me to do? He insisted on it. If I didn't give it to him, it makes it look more suspicious than if I hand it over. I don't want him getting a search warrant to go through the house and the office looking for it. Besides, I told him I didn't think she was a likely suspect."


"Yeah, well, hopefully he'll take that into consideration." Christian eased himself into a chair in the living room. He was dressed in the other outfit Sean had brought home from the office, a yellow shirt and dark dress pants.


"You're not following doctor's orders and taking it easy. I don't want to compromise your internal repair work."


"I've taken everything slowly, and I won't do any more unnecessary running around. I just wanted to look like myself when the kids came over. Especially Annie. I thought it would be easier on her if the only thing that was out of the ordinary were the bandages on my cuts."


"Good thinking, but your recovery comes first." Sean was about to sit on the couch when the doorbell rang. "It's a little early for the kids to be here," he said, frowning.


Liz stood on the other side of the door, holding a casserole dish.


"Hi. I brought a peace offering," she said, holding out the dish.


"You don't need a peace offering, Liz. You caught us on one of our bad days, that's all. Come in," he said, stepping back while she entered. "I'll put this in the kitchen. What is it?"


"My homemade goulash. It's my grandmother's recipe. Just heat it up in the microwave."


"That was very thoughtful of you. Thank you. I'm sorry I snapped at you yesterday."


"Where's the patient?" she asked, her tone cheerful.


"I'm granting audiences in the living room," Christian called from the other room.


"You're up and around already? Must have a good doctor," she said, smiling as she sat on the end of the couch closest to the chair Christian occupied.


"Mostly he's just defying his doctor's orders, which were for bed rest and no extra trips up and down the stairs." Sean paused. "Liz, would you like something to drink?"


"No, I'm fine. I can't stay long anyway." She turned to Christian. "I wanted to apologize for upsetting you yesterday. I didn't mean to make you uneasy."


"Don't mention it. Already forgotten," Christian said.


"I hope you won't let my bad timing discourage you from contacting Janice. She's worked with men before, so it's not just a women's–"


"Liz, I really don't want to discuss this now," Christian interrupted.


"We appreciate your concern, but this just isn't the right time," Sean added.


"This is the time when you need to face what happened and deal with it. Burying it only makes it harder to cope with later."


"Liz, please, not now," Sean said emphatically. "I know you care and you think you're helping, but you're just making this more difficult."


"Sean, therapy is always a hard thing to start, and no one likes the suggestion. It's a 'kill the messenger' situation. But to think someone can deal with an attack like this alone isn't realistic."


"I'm not dealing with it alone, Liz, and if I need more help than I already have, I'll ask for it," Christian stated flatly.


"I thought I'd try one more time. I won't mention it again. Do the police have anymore leads?"


"Nothing concrete yet, but they're working on it. It takes a while to analyze all the evidence they collected."


"Are they looking for a woman now?" Liz asked, and Christian looked at Sean, raising his eyebrows.


"When I was talking to Liz, I slipped and referred to The Carver as 'she,'" Sean explained. Christian just shook his head.


"Why don't you take an ad out in the paper?"


"I'm sorry, Christian. It just slipped out," Sean responded.


"Looks like I stuck my foot in my mouth."


"It's not your fault, Liz. The gender issue hasn't hit the press yet, and the cops are trying to keep it as quiet as possible for right now. They're investigating that possibility. I think we're winning the battle to get them to take it seriously as a real possibility."


"Any luck with the files?"


"Not really," Christian said. "Most of them are older women, or they're not crazy enough or bitter enough to do something like this. Besides, whoever did this has to be violent and sociopathic enough to hurt other people who have nothing to do with us. So if it's someone out to get one or both of us, it has to be a seriously sick, violent individual."


"Scary thought," she said, shuddering. "Mrs. Raymond called this morning. She wants to know when you can do Timmy's surgery."


"Tell Linda to schedule it a couple weeks out. We'll be swamped when we get back to work, and Christian will be taking it easy for a while, so I can't do it any sooner than that."


"I'm sure she'll understand."


"Is he the little boy with the burns?" Christian asked.


"Horrible case," Liz said. "Of all the people I've seen come in and out of that office over the years, that's the one I'll remember until I retire. That poor little kid."


"I'd like to assist when you do that one, Sean. I should be back to work in a couple weeks."


"I'd rather do it when you can assist," Sean said, brightening. "I wasn't sure you'd want to get tied up with this one. It'll be multiple surgeries over the better part of a year."


"I want to help," Christian said, shrugging.


"Great. Liz, tell Linda to block off the time on both our calendars, then."


"Will do. She did wonder when Christian was coming back to work."


"I think two weeks is time enough," Christian said. "I can do consults right away, but don't schedule me for surgery for about three weeks."


"Okay. Well, I have to get going. I have a dentist's appointment this afternoon." She stood, and so did Sean.


"Stay," he ordered Christian before he could stand.


"We'll have 'sit' and 'roll over' mastered by your next visit, Liz," Christian quipped.


"There's something to look forward to. Call me if you need anything. You obey doctor's orders and get yourself well," she said to Christian, patting his shoulder as she walked by.


"I will. Thanks, Liz."


After Liz left, Sean returned to the living room and sat down. Christian was staring straight ahead, a blank expression on his face.


"You're putting on a great show," Sean said, waiting until Christian looked at him. "You don't have to pretend nothing happened. Give yourself time to heal–physically and otherwise."


"I'm not putting on a show, Sean. Just because I'm dressed and I came downstairs doesn't mean I'm faking a recovery. I'm in pain, if that makes you feel better."


"Damn it, Christian." Sean stood up and paced. "I'm just worried that you're bouncing back so fast you're not taking time to deal with what happened."


"What's the problem here? Why is everyone so disconcerted because I'm not curled up in a fetal position under the bed? Is there some law that if you're attacked by this lunatic that you have to stop functioning?" Christian demanded angrily.


"I'm glad you're feeling better, and I'm glad you're coping. I just want to be sure you are, and that you're not just putting up a front. Because you can do that for the rest of the world, but don't do it on my account. I want to know how you really feel."


"I really feel like I don't want to talk about this."


"Okay. I'm not trying to badger you." Sean sat on the couch.


"I'm not trying to bite your head off, either," Christian said.


"I know. It's okay."


"Anybody home?" Matt's voice carried to the living room as he let himself in, Annie in tow.


"We're in the living room, Matt," Sean responded. In a moment, Annie had darted into the room and straight onto Christian's lap for a mammoth hug.


"Hey, sweetheart," he responded, hugging back.


"Take it easy on your Uncle Christian, honey," Sean admonished gently, but Christian seemed unfazed by the somewhat rambunctious display of affection.


"She's fine, Sean."


"Are you okay?" she asked, very concerned as she pulled back enough to sit on his knee.


"I have to take it easy for a few days, but I'll be fine."


"You have bandages like the one Daddy had. Are you going to have lines like Daddy has?"


"For a little while, probably. But your dad did an amazing job making these cuts better, so you'll hardly know they're there in a few months."


"Hi," Matt said, looking distinctly uneasy. "How're you feeling?"


"Well, I've been better, but I'm making progress. How about you?"


"I'm okay." He sat on the couch next to Sean. "Uh, Dad, can I talk to you for a minute?"


"Sure," Sean replied, looking a little confused. "Annie, why don't you tell Uncle Christian about your play?" he suggested, referring to the school play in which Annie had won a leading role. As his daughter began chattering about the costumes and how many lines she had, he walked out to the kitchen with Matt. "What's going on?"


"Adrian's dead," he said.


"What?"


"A delivery guy found him. He'd been dead a few days."


"How did you find out?"


"I wasn't satisfied with the way things ended with Ava. I wanted to talk to her again. So I called her, and instead, I got the cops on the phone," he added, seeming both sad and disgusted at the same time.


"What did you tell them?"


"Not much–just that I was a friend of Ava's. They had all sorts of questions about that, so I told them the truth."


"You should have had an attorney present for something like that, Matt. Why didn't you call me?"


"I called Mom. She talked to a lawyer. They don't really seem to suspect me of anything. But since I had a relationship with Ava, they wanted to know what I knew. I have an alibi–I was at dinner here when they think Adrian was killed. I think they're looking more at Ava as a suspect than they are at me."


"Why didn't your mother call me? For God's sake, Matt, this is kind of a big deal!"


"She said you were probably tied up with Christian, and she'd tell you about it later. I just figured since I was here, I'd tell you myself."


"I'll talk to Detective Fishman, see what's going on. He must know who's on that case."


"Any leads on this Carver maniac?"


"Matt, someone you knew was murdered, Ava's missing and suspected of killing him–how do you feel about that?"


"I'm coping, Dad. It's not like Adrian and I were friends. It was a shock, but nothing I can't handle. Ava and I broke up before it happened, so I already knew she was planning on leaving at some point. I just hoped she was still around so we could talk one more time. There was something sort of strange and sudden the way she dumped me. It didn't make sense the more I thought about it."


"Okay. If you need to talk...you know, anything you think might be too upsetting for your mother..."


"I'll call. Do they know any more about The Carver?"


"Nothing conclusive. They're still analyzing the crime scene evidence. They think they might have a blood sample. There was some blood on the sheets that didn't match Christian's type."


"That'd be a break for the good guys. Well, assuming they had anything to compare it to."


"They can compare all that stuff to a database, but unless The Carver has a record, that won't help."


"So...how's he doing?" Matt asked.


"You mean about the rape?" Sean asked, and Matt nodded, not quite meeting his eyes.


"Physically, he'll recover just fine if he takes it easy. Psychologically and emotionally, that takes time. I think he's handling it pretty well."


"Good. I should probably get going."


"You just got here."


"I have a date, so I have to get some homework done and run a couple errands for Mom."


"When're you coming back for a visit–to stay a couple nights?"


"Mom's worried about this Carver thing. I'd rather stick with her until it's settled, you know?"


"What about Kevin? Isn't he there for her?"


"He doesn't always sleep over. Look, I don't want to be in the middle of this, answering questions about who Mom's dating or sleeping with."


"I'm not asking you to do that. I just miss seeing you is all, and I'm concerned about your mom."


"I'll stop by again in a couple days. Let me know if you need anything."


"Maybe you can come over and keep Christian company if I have to go into the office for a while."


"Sure. Let me know."


When they returned to the living room, Annie and Christian were deep in conversation, and one of Christian's bandages had been removed.


"She was curious about what was under the bandages, so I was explaining to her how you fixed these up for me."


"Uncle Christian said you made it look better and then used this special kind of glue instead of the stitches so he wouldn't look like Frankenstein," she added, giggling. Somehow, Christian had made the subject of plastic surgery amusing for his goddaughter.


"I was telling Annie that her dad is one of the most talented men in the country at making people with something ugly on their faces, look better."


"That's quite a compliment. I'll have to work hard to live up to that," Sean said, happy to receive his own big hug from Annie before she left with her brother. "I love you, sweetheart," he said, before letting go. "If you need me, you know my cell phone number, right?"


"Yes, I do," she responded, grinning. "You're coming to the play next Friday night?"


"Absolutely. I've blocked everything else off my calendar."


"Okay," she said, cheerfully.


"See you guys," Matt said, escorting his sister to the door.


"How did you happen to show her the cut?" Sean asked after the kids were gone.


"She was curious, and she's a bright little girl. I thought it would be a good chance to explain what we do for a living, and let her see how it impacts someone she knows and cares about. Plus, I didn't want her to be afraid of me or surprised by the scars while they're healing. It took all the mystery out of it, and she was really interested. Obviously, I didn't tell her anything that was too gory for her to handle."


"Good thinking. Thanks for giving me such star billing, while you were at it."


"It's true, Sean. You are one of the best when it comes to this kind of surgery." Christian sighed. "What's up with Matt?"


"Adrian's dead."


"What?"


"They found the body over at Ava's. Matt called to talk to her and got the cops on the phone instead."


"What was he doing calling her?"


"He said he wasn't satisfied with how they left things, and he wanted to talk to her one more time. A delivery person found Adrian's body this morning."


"You think she killed Adrian?"


"Who knows? Those people are about as screwed up as any family I ever saw. If you can even call it a family. I just hope she's really gone for good, and that Matt doesn't find some way to contact her."


"How's Matt handling it?"


"The cops questioned him, but Julia got him a lawyer. He seems to be handling it pretty well. I just wish he'd called me. This major stuff is going on in my kids' lives and I find out about it after the fact."


"Divorce sucks that way."


"Julia and I aren't even divorced yet."


"You're going to have to face that it's coming, Sean. She's not showing signs of moving back in."


"I know. I just hate what this'll do to my relationship with the kids."


"They love you. They're not going anywhere. You've always been there when they needed you. They won't forget that. When this whole Carver thing is resolved, you might be surprised how much more time they spend here. Annie was living with you before you were attacked. Julia's worried about that, and truthfully, I'm glad the kids are with her. I think it's probably safer."


"Probably."


"I'm more worried the cops will try to pin something on Matt. His relationship with Ava is more than a little unconventional, and her having a son his age who mysteriously turns up dead doesn't look good."


"He was having dinner with all of us when Adrian was killed. He's got an alibi."


"Thank God." Christian was quiet a moment. "I just wish he could look me in the eyes or come closer than ten feet away."


"What are you talking about?" Sean frowned, though he knew exactly what Christian was talking about. He'd noticed Matt's not-so-skillful avoidance of spending any prolonged time with Christian, and the obvious physical distance.


"Lepers have gotten warmer greetings. He's my son, for God's sake." At Sean's silence and grim expression, Christian looked contrite. "I didn't mean to say it that way." Sean just nodded.


"I noticed he wasn't getting very close. Maybe he doesn't know how you feel about it. Sometimes rape survivors don't want to be touched at all. Matt hasn't has much experience with people who have been assaulted that way. Maybe he was trying to respect your space. Annie's young and spontaneous, and she doesn't know the whole story."


"It made him uneasy, Sean. Matt's felt a lot of things where I'm concerned over the years, but uneasy was never one of them. You weren't afraid to get near me."


"I know you. I'd know if you didn't want me to touch you or interact with you like we always do. Matt's relationship with you is close, but it's not as instinctive as ours after twenty years of learning each other's quirks."


"I'm being oversensitive, huh?"


"No, I think your reactions are pretty much on-target. Matt's might be a little off, so give him some time. This is new to him. I wasn't raped, so when I was attacked, he didn't have to deal with something that can be a really uncomfortable subject among men." Sean paused. "Speaking of uncomfortable, I'm going to run over to your place and back you a bag so you have some casual clothes to relax in."


"I thought we were going to go over there together in a day or so."


"We are, but you're almost out of clothes, and we don't have any of your usual things here. Anything particular you want?"


"My cell phone, my Blackberry, my laptop, and the rest is up to you."


"Okay," Sean responded, smiling. "Will you be okay here for a while?"


"I'll be fine. Miami Vice is guarding the house, aren't they?" he quipped. "Just make sure someone's watching you, partner."


"There were two guys in the car earlier. Maybe one can come with me."


"If he can't, don't go. I mean it, Sean. Don't give this nut an opening."


"I won't. Here," he tossed Christian the television remote. "Watch TV. Relax. No stairs until I get home. Got it?"


"Yes, Doctor."


********


Sean walked into Christian's apartment, using his key. The young police officer with him followed him inside, lingering near the door. "I won't be long."


"Take your time, Doc. The crime lab's done here, so take whatever you need."


"We could go ahead and have it cleaned, then?"


"You should double check with Detective Fishman, but I would think so."


Sean went into the bedroom, pausing in the doorway. The bed had been stripped, a few of the items usually on the night stand, including a lamp, were broken on the floor. Other than that, the room looked eerily undisturbed considering the violence that had occurred there. Shaking off the almost hypnotic horror of thinking what Christian had been through there, he went to the closet, pulled out a suitcase, and packed at least a week's worth of clothing, underwear, socks, and other necessities. He went into the bathroom and packed up Christian's shaving gear and usual toiletries, including a couple different bottles of the pricey cologne he usually wore.


He literally jumped when a dark figure appeared in the mirror, behind him.


"Sorry to startle you, Doc. You about done in here?" the police officer asked.


"Just about." He closed up the shaving kit and added it to the suitcase. "I need to grab some electronics," Sean explained, locating the cell phone, Blackberry, and laptop, carefully packing them in Christian's laptop case. "Did the police take any other items out of the apartment besides the sheets?" Sean asked, frowning as he lingered by a table in the living room.


"I don't know."


"There was a photograph here...it's gone now."


"Detective Fishman would know. They always inventory that stuff."


"I'll ask him," Sean said, remembering the photo of Christian and himself that should have been there. The thought the attacker might want it unnerved him immensely, and he hoped it would show up on the police inventory.


********


Christian stared at the television, not really watching the action on the screen. He wasn't enjoying his time alone. Even with a cop watching the house, and the last rays of daylight still keeping the worst shadows at bay, he would be glad to see Sean come home. His body was healing at a good pace, but he wondered how long it would be before his spirit healed, and he didn't jump at every noise, or prefer having his partner sleep with him than to sleep alone. Part of him regretted the sleepless nights Sean had most likely survived on his own after The Carver made her visit to the McNamara household. Truthfully, Christian had been too wrapped up in his own fear over his HIV test to really notice what Sean was going through emotionally. Quentin Costa did a fine job repairing his face, but it was Christian's job to repair the inside, and he'd let that ball drop inexcusably.


This was the only time he could honestly say he was happy that Wilbur wasn't with him. The thought of that monster getting close to his child was just too frightening. Still, he couldn't help but think how much he'd have given to hold the little boy on his lap and look into the depths of those dark, sparkling little eyes. Being with the child he still considered his son, despite the lack of biological or legal ties, would have been wonderful therapy. The son to whom he did have biological ties couldn't stand to have eye contact with him or come within ten feet of him now. Christian didn't blame him for being disgusted, or at the least, sickened by what had happened. Christian felt the same way himself. All these years spent proving to himself he wasn't a pussy, wasn't some old pervert's little pansy...he was a man. He was the man.


And now he was nothing again. A victim who was the subject of the pity of his friends and the speculation of the media and the public. Maybe there was some irony in it being a woman who'd violated him. All these years, he'd used them to overcome what happened to him as a child, and now, one of them had brought him right back to the same powerless, ashamed, dirty feeling he'd had when old Troy was getting his jollies from abusing him at will.


There was a noise at the door, and in a moment, Sean was coming in, carrying Christian's suitcase and laptop case.


"Everything okay while I was gone?"


"Fine. Just getting caught up on Judge Judy," he said, aiming the remote at the TV and turning it off. "Looks like you've got my whole damn place in there," he commented as Sean hauled the obviously heavy suitcase through the room toward the stairs. "I'll give you a hand–"


"Over my dead body. I'm limiting your stairs. You think I want you carrying heavy suitcases up stairs?"


"Just trying to save you a hernia or two, partner." Christian shrugged, leaning back in the chair.


"You want a change of clothes? I can take the rest of the stuff upstairs."


"I wouldn't mind some of my comfortable clothes." Christian watched as Sean set the suitcase on the couch and opened it. He unerringly chose precisely the comfortable dark crew neck shirt and tan pants Christian had his eye on. Sean even dug deep into the suitcase and came up with a comfortable pair of shoes. "You thought of everything."


"I tried," Sean said, smiling. "Say, that picture of you and me at the AMA convention that's usually on the end table in your living room?"


"What about it?"


"Did you break it or move it somewhere else?"


"No," Christian said, frowning and shaking his head. "Why, wasn't it there?"


"No, it wasn't. I'll call Fishman later and see if the cops took it for some reason."


"You think The Carver took it, is that it?"


"It crossed my mind," Sean admitted, closing the suitcase and heading for the stairs with it. "I'll be right back.


Christian changed his clothes while Sean took his things upstairs. The thought of the maniac who attacked him stealing a photo of the two of them sent a shiver up his spine. What more could the bitch want, anyway?


********


The sound of someone walking around on the second floor disturbed the very light sleep Christian had managed to achieve. Sean had offered to sit with him, or even stretch out and visit a while, but Christian had been determined to assert at least that much independence and manhood not to need his partner to assuage his fears. Now that he heard footsteps, he regretted that decision. Hating himself for being too afraid to go look out the door, he called to Sean.


"Sean?" He waited, his heart pounding. If it wasn't Sean, he'd know it soon enough. He held his breath as the partially open bedroom door opened the rest of the way, and his partner stood in the doorway.


"Sorry I woke you. The goulash just met yesterday's Szechuan," he said, laying a hand over his stomach.


"Are you okay? You look like shit," Christian said, taking in Sean's pasty coloring.


"I will be. You need anything?"


"I wouldn't mind some company for a while," Christian admitted.


"Sure." Sean seemed pleased, despite the fact he was probably winded from being sick and on his way back to his own bed when Christian called to him.


"Get in and make yourself comfortable, in case you doze off."


"I think I'll take you up on that. I'm not feeling too great right now."


"If you're going to throw up, turn that way," Christian teased.


"Unless the stomach lining comes out, I don't think I'll be doing that again for a while."


"Why did you eat all that spicy crap, anyway?"


"I was hungry and it was there," Sean said, shrugging. "Sometimes 'bland' gets boring. Ask Julia."


"You still feel sick? No danger you've got an ulcer in there, is there?" Christian ignored Sean's last comment, but the pain in the words made him reach out and rub his partner's shoulder a little.


"I don't think so. Were you sleeping okay before I woke you up walking the floors?"


"Not very well." Christian was quiet a moment. "Nights are harder than I thought they'd be. Every sound...every time I close my eyes, I open them again because I expect I'm going to look up and see her there, by the side of the bed."


"For what it's worth, I lock the bathroom door now every time I take a shower. And I'm still scared shitless, just between you and me. I wish she'd come here that night instead. I was ready for her, and the cops were here."


"Nothing against Fishman and his boys, but they're not the most subtle lot in the world. She probably saw them. Or she just planned on going after me anyway. Maybe she thought it was better punishment to attack your partner."


"Probably. I'm so sorry, Christian."


"None of this is your fault. I was just speculating." He shifted in the bed, tired of the raw soreness he felt, and the dull ache from the repair surgery.


"Are you having a lot of pain tonight?" Sean turned on his side, leaning up on one elbow.


"No more than usual. I just wish it would go away. The more I feel it, the more I remember, and I'm tired of thinking about it. I just want it gone."


"I know," Sean said, resting his hand on Christian's shoulder. "It'll get better, and when it does, it'll be easier to get through a few hours without dwelling on it so much."


"You should get some sleep. You look–"


"I know, like shit, you told me," Sean replied, grinning. "You don't have to stay awake and entertain me. We can just lie here and relax, and if we doze off, no problem."


"I guess the men who think men who have been raped are less than real men are right. I not only need a nightlight," he said, gesturing at the partially open bathroom door, spilling its light into the room, "but I need my partner sleeping with me so I'm not afraid to close my eyes."


"Don't be so hard on yourself, Christian. If that's true, then we're both not real men, and I'm not crazy about that status, even if I've earned it on more than one occasion."


"You never earned that. Even if I occasionally implied it," he added, snorting.


"If The Carver hadn't raped you, and it had only been the cuts, wouldn't you still be afraid? You were attacked when you were most vulnerable–asleep and unaware. She nailed me when I was naked in my bathroom–an unguarded moment when I was relaxed. That's the kind of thing that keeps you from relaxing. At least, it makes it harder to do for a long time."


"Maybe you're right. Even if you're not, thanks for coming up with that idea."


"You were traumatized. It takes time for anyone to get over that. You didn't laugh at me when I was afraid to drive my car after my accident. The only problem here is that you can't choose not to sleep the way you can choose not to drive. Eventually, your body demands it. So you can't wait until you feel psychologically prepared to do it." Sean shrugged. "If we feel safer together right now, so what? It's better for both of us to get a decent night's sleep. Wake me if you need anything, okay? Even if you just want to talk."


"Thanks, pal. I will. Wake me if you feel sick again, okay?"


"Okay," Sean responded, smiling.


Christian watched him for a few minutes, thinking he'd never seen Sean look more at peace for a long time. He was still pale from his digestive upheaval, but the rest was smoothing away the usual worry lines that were Sean's trademark. He eased over a little closer, the warm familiarity of Sean drawing him, banishing the horrible thoughts that plagued him. He turned on his side so they were facing each other, and found himself closer than he'd planned to be. He could feel Sean's breath now, smell the familiar scents of the soap and shampoo he used, and the minty scent of the toothpaste he'd probably used after being sick to his stomach.


He felt a rush of affection for his best friend that filled every part of his being, and kept him there, closer than he should want to be to his male partner. It felt so warm, comfortable, and secure, that he didn't care. He let his hand rest on the mattress right next to Sean's, their skin just barely touching. Sleep came easily, though he almost wished it wouldn't. He knew there was something meaningful about this moment that he wanted to prolong, but his tired brain wouldn't cooperate, and he drifted off to sleep.


********

The pain was unbearable and relentless. Every thrust seemed to plunge deeper than the one before it, and he was forced to lie there, powerless, leaden limbs sprawled useless on the bed. Then the thrust went so deep that it felt like it would choke him; that it would reach up from his tattered, violated center to his throat. He tried to force out a scream, but it wouldn't come.


All of a sudden, the lethargy was out of his limbs, and he could move. He turned mercilessly on the attacker who had brutalized him, swinging his large fists without restraint now, feeling the satisfying sensation of hard, bruising contact with vulnerable facial tissue, relishing the grunts of pain and pleas for release from the attacker-turned-victim he'd pinned to the bed.


"How does it feel to be powerless, you sick bitch?!" he shouted, raising his fist for a mighty downward swing. His victim caught his wrist, managing to stop the brutal blow before it landed.


"Christian, wake up, it's me," Sean gasped, one eye already swelling from one of the fiercer blows.


"Oh, God," Christian muttered, pulling his wrist out of Sean's grip, moving off him to the other side of the bed. He wanted to make sure Sean was all right, apologize for what he'd done, but none of it would come together. The pain was flaring now, no doubt from the strain of what he'd done, and from the psychological impact of reliving the horror of the rape in the nightmare that was terrifying in its vividness. All he could do was sit on the bed and cry, sobbing helplessly into his hands.


"Shhh. It was a nightmare," Sean said softly, moving closer, putting his arms around Christian's shaking body. "You're safe now. It's all over."


"I'm sorry," he mumbled, leaning against Sean, his tears soaking Sean's t-shirt.


"It's okay. It's not your fault." Sean held him close, and the familiarity of his partner's voice and scent began to bring him back to reality and out of the horrible fog of the nightmare. When he felt able, he moved away a little to look at the damage he'd inflicted, hoping that it wasn't as bad as he thought.


"I'll be okay, Christian. It's not your fault."


"Shit," Christian muttered, looking at Sean's face, which was becoming more vivid right before his eyes. The swelling around his left eye was considerable, and a bruise that would only become more ghastly by morning had begun to form. His lip was split, and a trickle of blood was visible beneath one nostril. "I just wanted to make it stop," he said, shuddering at the memory of the nightmare. "I thought–"


"I know. It's okay. It's nothing that won't heal, and you didn't mean it."


"We need to put ice on your eye."


"I'll get it in a minute. Lie back and try to relax. How's your pain?" Sean asked, stroking Christian's forehead gently as he lay back on the pillow.


"Hurts like hell right now."


"You might have pulled a couple stitches tackling me that way. You'll have to take it easy tomorrow. And I mean, easy. You're still recovering from surgery."


"We need to ice that eye, Sean, unless you want to look like the Elephant Man by morning."


"Okay, I'll go," Sean said, smiling, then wincing as it irritated the split in his lip.


"I really am sorry."


"I know you are, and I don't want you to be. It was part of the nightmare. I know you didn't mean it for me. I'll be right back." Sean turned on the hall light, which cast a friendly glow into the bedroom. He disappeared for a while, and when he returned, the blood was off his face, some kind of ointment was on the split on his lip, and he was holding an ice bag against his eye with one hand, and carrying a glass of water and a pain pill in the other.


"Sure that's not a cyanide capsule?" Christian asked as he leaned up on his elbow enough to take the pill, followed by a drink of water. When he finished, Sean set the glass on the night stand.


"That should settle the pain down a little and help you sleep. If it gets severe, you tell me right away."


"I will. How's the eye?"


"Colorful," Sean said, smiling a little as he moved the ice bag away momentarily. "Don't worry about it. Took my mind off the indigestion."


Christian had to snicker at that, though he didn't feel much like smiling at all. The images from the nightmare were way too fresh.


"I feel like it happened all over again," he admitted, his voice shaky.


"I know it feels that way, but it didn't. You're healing, and she's not going to touch you again."


"I feel like such a pussy. Lying here shaking because of what some bitch did to me with a rubber dick."


"Hey, don't be so hard on yourself." Sean got back in the bed and slid over until he was lying close to Christian. "You were bleeding internally from your injuries. This went beyond the sexual assault. It was a vicious attack, and that would traumatize anyone. I was scared to death when she came after me, and all I keep thinking is that I'd have to multiply whatever I felt by about a hundred to even have a clue how you feel. If you'd like to see someone, talk to someone about this–"


"If you can stick with me...I know it's asking a lot...but if you can stick this out with me...I don't want to talk to a stranger about this. It's bad enough talking to the cops and knowing everyone knows all the sick details. You're the only one...I trust with this."


"You know I'm always here for you, Christian. No matter what. I just wanted you to know that if you want counseling, I'll arrange something discreet with someone we don't know personally."


"Thanks, but no thanks. This sucks enough without adding a shrink into the mix."


"Okay," Sean conceded, smiling. "Do you want to talk, or do you think you could sleep a while?"


"This is going to sound really weird, so if it bothers you, just tell me."


"Sure. What?"


"Would you...could I..." Christian held out his hand, and Sean took it without hesitation, keeping it in a firm grip.


"Sometimes you need a real flesh and blood anchor to keep the imaginary things at bay. Try to relax. I'll be right here if you need me."


********


Sean stirred, and felt himself surrounded by the warm solidness of another body. His sleep-fogged brain at first told him it had to be Julia, but she could never envelop him this way. She didn't sleep with her face against his hair, warm breath and quiet snores close to his ear. She also didn't wear men's cologne, and he couldn't remember her arm being that noticeably hairy. He opened his eyes and before he could even fully register the situation himself, Matt's voice brought him to full awareness.


"Oh my God," he said. "What the hell are you doing?"


"Matt?" Christian sat up with a start, and Sean wasn't far behind him.


"I don't believe this," he said, shaking his head and backing away from the door of the room, turning to go down the hall and downstairs.


"Matt, wait," Sean called after him, getting out of bed and hurrying down the hall after their son.


"I don't want to hear about this," Matt said, still moving swiftly toward the door. Sean finally caught up and grabbed his arm.


"There's nothing for you to hear about. Christian was having trouble sleeping, so I–"


"What? Let him screw you? This family is so sick and dysfunctional. I'm just totally sick of dealing with all your weird, screwed up shit. What the hell did he do to your face?"


"Nobody screwed anybody! I didn't do a very skillful job of waking him up from a nightmare, and he didn't realize what he was doing when he hit me. I'm fine."


"Jesus, Dad, listen to yourself! You sound like a battered wife."


"That's enough, Matt. We were talking and we must have fallen asleep. I've been sharing a bed with someone for seventeen years and I'm used to another body close to me, and God knows, Christian's shared his bed with plenty of women over the years. It's not that unusual to end up sleeping close to someone you're sharing a bed with, even if you don't plan it that way, especially when you're not used to sleeping alone."


"Spare me the bullshit job, Dad. I saw the way you were sleeping. Whenever I used to come into you room, you and mom weren't all over each other like that."


"Do you want to make something out of this that isn't there? Because then maybe it'll validate whatever irrational unease you have around Christian since the rape?"


"Matt, I'm sorry if you were upset, but there's nothing to be upset about," Christian said, having made a somewhat slower descent on the stairs. "I just ended up where I was in my sleep. I wasn't making a move on your dad. And I wouldn't hurt him on purpose for the world. I didn't mean to hit him. It was an accident."


"Whatever. I just came by to get some stuff out of my room before school, but it can definitely wait for another time."


"Do you think getting raped turned me gay?" Christian demanded, and Matt froze, his hand on the doorknob. "Because if that's what you think, you're entitled to your opinion, but for God's sake, look me in the eyes just once and be man enough to admit it!"


"What do you want me think? I come in here and you and my dad are sleeping together."


"That's right, Matt. We were sleeping together. Not naked and screwing each other," Christian shot back, unprepared for the thought of getting close to Sean's naked body being an appealing one.


"You've got to admit it looked a little strange," Matt said, a little of the ire leaving his features. "I don't think you're gay because of what happened," he added, finally having eye contact with Christian. "It's just kind of..."


"It's hard to talk about," Christian said, letting him off the hook. Matt nodded gratefully.


"Recovery from something like this is complicated, Matt," Sean said. "But what happened doesn't change who Christian is, or what he means to us. Having something forced on you doesn't mean you wanted it, or that your whole orientation changes."


"I'm sorry I overreacted to..." Matt gestured toward the second floor. "It wasn't so much about what The Carver did as it is all the other weird shit that's been going on lately. I have to get to school." He hesitated a minute, then approached Christian for a hug, which was gratefully accepted. "I'll come by later," Matt said, stepping back. "You want me to bring dinner? Mom's having Kevin over, so somebody'll be with her and Annie besides just the cop outside."


"Sure, that sounds great, Matt," Sean said, smiling, not commenting on Kevin. He was glad Matt was telling him something openly about that situation, and making an issue of it now might stifle that inclination in the future.


"Nothing spicy," Christian spoke up. "Your dad had Szechuan one night and goulash the next, and then I beat the shit out of him. I'd like him to live through my convalescence."


"Got it," Matt responded, chuckling as he left, pulling the door closed behind him.


"I'm sorry, Sean. I must have just moved over there in my sleep."


"Don't mention it. No harm done," Sean said, filling the coffee maker with water. He let the silence hang for a moment. "It was kind of nice," he admitted, keeping his back to Christian while he took two coffee mugs out of the cupboard. "Not waking up alone," he added, apparently realizing how his last comment sounded without a qualifying follow up.


"I like sleeping with you," Christian said, unable to lie to Sean about something like this. He couldn't go on letting his partner sleep with him without admitting that he liked it. Anything else would be taking advantage of Sean's innocent attempts to make him feel better. He expected a shocked look, or a stunned question. He didn't expect the quiet response he finally got.


"I liked waking up with you." Sean kept his back to Christian, paying inordinate attention to the two empty coffee cups on the counter. "Part of me felt a little hypocritical talking to Matt just then."


Christian moved up behind Sean and rested his hands on Sean's shoulders.


"We can just admit that we liked it and leave it at that," Christian said, feeling the tautness of Sean's muscles under his hands. His partner was scared, and his body was assuming its usual anxiety stance. "We were both lonely and miserable and it felt good to be close to someone we loved."


"You're right. No reason it has to be a big deal. It's not like we're exactly uptight and conservative," Sean reasoned, then seemed to give up on his own justifications. "Who are we kidding? And why are we bothering to try?"


"Maybe because making ourselves believe what we just said would be a lot easier than looking at the truth." Christian patted Sean's shoulder and waited for Sean to turn and face him.


"Which is?"


"I don't really know how I feel about anything sexually right now. Something there is broken, disconnected. But I know how I feel when I get this close to you. Like I want to stay this close."


"Is it because you feel safe with me?"


"I do feel safe with you, but that's not what this is about. This feeling is anything but safe, Sean." Christian paused. "But I need to know–is it because you feel sorry for me?"


"No. I care about you and I want to do whatever I can to help you through this, but that's not why I feel the way I do. It's not the first time I've felt...something."


"Me, either." Christian admitted. "Would it be so bad if we felt something that way for each other?"


"It would be a disaster. You saw how Matt reacted when he thought there was something going on between us. I have to think of Annie, how this would affect her."


"Annie's a bright, loving, tolerant little girl who's crazy about both of us. Matt's an adult, Sean. We can't live our lives to avoid disillusioning him."


"We shouldn't have talked about this."


"I wanted to be honest. You're trying to do everything you can to help me recover, and I didn't want you getting into bed with me, thinking it was just a way to help me sleep, when I was lying there, enjoying it. I feel like I'd be taking advantage of you."


"I thought I was taking advantage of you, feeling the way I do when you're turning to me for help."


"From where I stand, we don't have a problem here." Christian paused a moment, then leaned forward toward Sean, who willingly met him halfway.


The kiss was light and hesitant, then grew deeper and more insistent as their arms wrapped around each other and tongues began probing.


"Ouch," they mumbled simultaneously, pulling back. Sean was touching the split on his lip, and Christian's hand went to one of his damaged cheeks.


"Sorry. I'd hate to have to take you back in for more surgery and explain that you opened one of your cuts kissing your surgeon." Sean grinned, and Christian had to laugh. It was the first time in years he'd seen that expression–a devilish grin full of mischief and some unnameable quality he remembered seeing in the eyes of a twentysomething Sean. "Next time you want to kiss me, don't punch me in the mouth first, okay?" he joked.


"A kiss like that should have me half hard by now. I hate feeling like someone cut my nuts off."


"You need time to heal, Christian. Your face, your body, and your soul. We've been together almost twenty years. I'm not going anywhere."


"The thought of somebody sticking his dick inside me...I don't know if I can do that, Sean. Even for you." Christian braced himself on the counter, his back to Sean. "The timing on this could be better."


"Nobody has to stick his dick anywhere," Sean said gently, his hand in the middle of Christian's back. "I'm not too sure how I feel about that, either. Up until a few minutes ago, it was a nonissue. I need some time, too. I don't feel gay all of a sudden. I don't know what to do about this. It feels like this huge...weight was lifted off my shoulders to just express it. I thought it was just me and I felt so goddamn guilty. Dirty. Like what I was feeling was a betrayal of your trust."


"What do we do, then? Just forget about it?" Christian turned to face him. "I may never be able to have the kind of relationship that we'd be headed for if we let nature take its course. Where does that leave us?"


"Where we were when we started, which isn't a bad place," Sean said, shrugging. "Do you think I'm going to stop loving you, or wanting you in my life, or as my partner, because we don't have sex? We've loved each other for years without that figuring into it. Hell, we've fought over Julia, fallen in love with other women. We even made it with that hooker while we were on the Rosenberg case. Our relationship doesn't depend on either one of us sticking our dicks anywhere we don't want them to go."


"This isn't freaking you out?"


"You thought it would?" Sean asked, smiling.


"Frankly, yes. You've always been more conservative when it came to sex."


"My attempts to branch out haven't exactly met with success, unless you count Kimber's blow-up doll."


"Wait. Are you saying you had sex with the Fuck-Me Barbie?" Christian asked, smiling as much as his healing cuts allowed. He had a juicy tidbit of information on his partner's usually vanilla sex life, and he wasn't about to let the moment pass.


"If you ever breathe a word of that to anyone, I'll never forgive you," Sean threatened, and then he chortled, blushing a nice shade of pink. "I was having a bad night, and she was there," he said, then became more serious. "Julia was gone, I wasn't seeing anyone...it was an all-time low point."


"Don't let Kimber hear you say that," Christian quipped.


"You want some coffee?" Sean asked, then they both stared at the coffee pot as it filled with clear water, disappointed.


"It works better when you put coffee in it along with the water," Christian commented. "You have it bad, partner," he teased, sliding his arms around Sean from behind.


"I guess I do," Sean responded, turning in the embrace. "Slow and easy," he cautioned as Christian moved in again to try kissing. Their lips touched lightly, the pressure infinitely gentle. Then Christian moved his lips to Sean's bruised eye, kissing the area around it.


"Whatever happens...whatever can happen...I love you, Sean. I just want you to remember that."


"I know. And don't you lose sight of it, either. We're in this together, whichever way it goes."


********


To Part Two