Part Two

Christian was asleep on the couch, catching up on some of the previous night's lost sleep, when Fishman arrived at the door, carrying the box containing the strap-on. Sean answered the door, glad the knock hadn't disturbed Christian enough to wake him. He escorted Fishman into his study and closed the door around to the frame.

"I showed it to a couple of the other victims–the ones who had the clearest recollections of seeing the attacker's penis. Neither one could be sure they didn't see something like this instead of a real dick. I made my partner wear it and take it out of his pants."

"That must have been a little traumatic for those people."

"I told them first what we were going to do, and they consented. I didn't want them to see it as a thing in a box. I needed to have them react to seeing it in context, or a defense lawyer could pick up on that later on." Fishman sighed. "Congratulations, Dr. McNamara. You supported your partner's version of things quite nicely with this little experiment." Fishman frowned. "What the hell happened to your face, by the way?"

"Personal matter. Nothing related to The Carver. I'm fine."

"If you have another matter you need help with, I can take a report."

"No, really, everything's fine. You're saying you take Christian's statement seriously now?"

"The last strap-on I saw wasn't exactly true-to-life. But then it was lying around on the floor of a leather club we raided about fifteen years ago."

"Apparently the industry is making strides," Sean said, shaking his head. "I wanted to ask you about another case. Adrian Moore."

"I understand one of my colleagues in Homicide spoke to your son. Kid was stabbed, but we're not sure if it was self-inflicted or murder. His prints were on the knife, and the forensic evidence is a bit ambiguous, but we're still working the case."

"Adrian was a very disturbed young man."

"That's the picture we're getting from his school–both his peers and his teachers. You knew him?"

"Only briefly. He was obnoxious, arrogant, and his relationship with his mother was nothing short of twisted."

"Yeah, I heard that, too. I guess the pool guy saw them getting down to business through an open window. Just when you think you've heard it all."

"Will you be questioning Matt again? If so, I'd like to be there."

"I really don't know. I don't think so. He's got an airtight alibi for the time of the murder, and he was very straightforward with the detective he spoke to. But I'll be happy to call you. Mrs. McNamara insisted we call her, as well."

"Our kids have always been our top priority. I just want to make sure his interests are protected."

"Understandable. If you think of anything relevant to that case that could be helpful, don't hesitate to give me a call. We could use a good lead."

"I will," Sean said, having no intention of discussing Ava's gender issues or final surgery with Fishman unless he was forced under oath. Matt didn't need to know he'd been sleeping with a woman who used to be a man. It wasn't something that would be healthy for a teenage boy's developing sexual identity–at least, not in Sean's opinion. "There was one thing I noticed when I stopped by Christian's place to pick up some of his things. He has a photograph of the two of us on an end table in his living room. It was taken at a convention we both attended a few years ago. It wasn't there, and the officer who accompanied me said I should check with you to see if it was on the inventory of evidence you collected."

"I don't recall collecting any photos. Matter of fact, I remember thinking the place was pretty Spartan in terms of photographs. There was one of you and your family, and one of a baby–a little black child. I meant to ask about that. I'm trying to get a feeling for anyone who might have a reason for a copycat attack, separate from the main investigation."

"A woman Christian had a brief relationship with became pregnant with a child she claimed was his. He stood by her through the pregnancy, and delivered the baby himself. You can imagine what a shock it was when it was so obviously not his child. He didn't abandon her or the baby, even under those circumstances, and he was helping raise Wilbur as if he were his own son. The natural father sued for custody and won. He lives in Arizona, and Christian and the child's mother aren't allowed contact with Wilbur–his name is Gabriel now–until the child is eighteen."

"Pretty harsh custody arrangement. Who was the mother, Lizzie Borden?"

"She had a sexual addiction, and even though Christian's pretty liberal sexually, some of her activities were really offensive to him, and frankly pretty over the top. She wasn't a fit mother, and Christian had no legal parental rights, so the natural father won the case."

"Sad situation all around," Fishman said, shaking his head. "I'll double check the inventory for that photograph, but I'm nearly positive we didn't take anything like it from the scene. Interesting twist if our attacker is taking souvenirs now."

"She hasn't before?"

"Not that we know of. None of the other victims reported anything missing."

"Did you question Kimber Henry?" Sean asked.

"I spoke to her late yesterday. She was very cooperative. I have to say that incident involving tying Dr. Troy to his bed and cutting him with a knife was intriguing."

"She told you about that?"

"She thought I knew, and that's why I was questioning her. I'm sure she wouldn't have volunteered it otherwise. I'd like to ask Dr. Troy a few questions about her, and that incident."

"Does it have to be now? Look, I can tell you that Kimber isn't involved in this. She might be a little quirky, but she really loves Christian. She wouldn't seriously hurt him."

"It would be helpful if I could have a few words with him."

"All right," Sean conceded, leading the way into the living room. He hated to disturb Christian's rest, but he crouched by the couch and rested a hand on his shoulder, not wanting to startle him. "Christian? I need you to wake up," he said, shaking the shoulder gently.

Christian opened his eyes and looked at Sean with such obvious affection that Sean almost forgot Fishman was in the room. He recovered quickly, though, and backed away slightly.

"Detective Fishman's here, and he'd like to ask you a few questions about Kimber."

"Detective," Christian said, sitting up slowly on the couch. "Kimber's a little obsessive, but she's not this kind of psycho."

"She tied you to your bed and slashed you with a knife. That makes her an interesting suspect, in my book."

"We were going through a particularly acrimonious break up at the time, and I did a lot to push her buttons. Besides, Kimber likes drama, so she staged this very dramatic, very scary scenario to get back at me for hurting her. But she didn't do more than give me a minor cut and scare the shit out of me. We reconciled our differences some time ago."

"Did she ever show any other signs of violence?"

"No, that was it. It's not Kimber."

"The Carver seemed bigger than Kimber," Sean said. "Broader in the shoulders, and taller. And Kimber's breasts would be a little hard to suppress that effectively." At Fishman's upraised eyebrow, he added, "She had her breast augmentation done at our practice."

"Well, we don't know anything for sure yet, but she's just one suspect." Fishman took a couple notes. "I also found another interesting item in the files. You were attacked–with a knife–by a Dr. Merrill Bobolit?"

"Bobolit is a former colleague with some serious psychological and substance abuse problems," Sean said.

"He's in a psychiatric hospital right now, though he'll be transferred to prison once he's deemed stable to stand trial. Security there is good, but it's not airtight. Is there any room for doubt in your mind that this was a woman, Dr. Troy? Because I have to tell you, based on his profile, this Bobolit character seems like a good suspect. He hates both of you, his practice went down the drain, he's already killed and helped dismember one girl we know of..."

"I'm sure it was a woman with a strap-on. I don't know how many more times I have to say it."

"None," Sean spoke up. "I think that's enough for now."

"All right, gentlemen. I'll be in touch when we get those lab results back on the blood samples."

"Why are you so determined to make this a man?" Christian asked.

"I just like Bobolit as a suspect. He fits perfectly the kind of nutcase profile we're looking for. People have gotten out of the state hospital more than once, so it's an option I had to explore."

"Well, it was a woman, so if you're expecting me to pass an opinion on Bobolit, then it's not him. He's crazy enough, God knows, but it wasn't him."

"Okay. Just have to check all the possibilities." With that, Fishman took his leave, and Sean sat on the couch next to Christian.

"Are you okay?"

"I've been better. Yeah, I'm okay," he added.

"I should give Kimber a call and tell her she can pick up the...thing," Sean said, gesturing at the box.

"The Thing. Maybe she can direct it in it's own adult film," Christian quipped, nudging Sean, who had to smile. "Sometimes I wonder if I was kidding myself in college."

"About what?"

"That the only reason I was somewhat obsessed with you was for your great academic skills."

"If you were thinking about me that way in college, don't you think you'd have done something about it before now?"

"When? When we first met? When Julia entered the picture? After you married her and started a family? When would have been the right time for me to make a move on you?" Christian leaned back and sighed. "I didn't see you that way consciously, anyway. I spent so long trying to convince myself that Troy didn't turn me gay with what he did to me that maybe I made a big mistake. It's not that I have a problem with homosexuals, but I never thought of myself as one."

"I don't think you're gay, Christian. If you were, I don't believe it would be because you were molested, anymore than you've turned gay now because you were raped."

"What about you? What do you think you are?"

"Straight or delusional, I'm not sure which," Sean responded, smiling. "I want to pursue a relationship with you that goes way beyond friendship." He looked away, a little embarrassed to look Christian in the eyes for what he was about to admit. "I like the way you look, I notice the way you smell, the way you own a room when you walk into it...I notice those things more than I should as your friend and partner. I've loved you for years, and I've never questioned that. But some of these other feelings..." Sean rubbed his hand over his face. "Maybe I'm kidding myself and I've been gay all along. Maybe that's why Julia wasn't getting what she needed from me."

"Do you look at guys?"

"No," Sean responded quickly, though not defensively. "It never occurred to me to look at guys that way."

"But you look at me that way?"

"Yes, more than I want to admit," he said, his face warming. "I've always told myself it was because you were such a...sexual person. I've watched you put the moves on so many women over the years, and we've even shared women, so I suppose I just thought it was natural for me to see you in that light, or to think about whether or not you were attractive or sexy because I was watching you operate in more than one way."

"I've spent years looking for a real connection with someone. I've been waiting to feel that bond, that thing in your soul that screams out, 'this is the one.' I felt something close to it with Julia, but I think I felt more for her because she was with you. It's taken me a long time to figure out that the biggest draw to Julia was that she was sleeping with you. Let's face it, Sean, I dated Julia before she met you, but we never even had sex when I was going out with her. It just didn't mesh. Then she met you, the two of you clicked, and all of a sudden, I wanted her more than anyone else."

"Might just be because she turned you down for me, and she was the forbidden fruit."

"Or she was sleeping with you, which was something I subconsciously wanted to be doing."

"You really believe that?" Sean asked, not exactly disbelieving, but at the same time feeling that it explained so many things, so perfectly, that it was too easy. "Maybe you were right when you accused me of listening to you with women so I could get off vicariously," Sean admitted. "Didn't it ever occur to you that I wasn't such a loser that I couldn't have gotten laid with a woman of my own?" Sean still couldn't look at Christian. This was such a buried, deep, dark, humiliating soul-hidden secret that voicing it was physically painful. "I wasn't listening to the women or fantasizing about them."

"Why didn't you say something?"

"Oh, sure, what was I supposed to say?" Sean demanded, finally looking at Christian. "Don't forget to read chapter six in microbiology, and by the way, I got hard listening to you come last night!" He got up and started pacing. "I had some dignity, Christian. You had a different coed in your bed every night of the week. Why would I think you'd want to know if I had...feelings like those for you?"

"We're pathetic." Christian raised his eyebrows, shaking his head. "I was obsessed with you–hell, I practically stalked you until I finally talked you into helping me study–and you were getting off on listening to me come. We could have been shut in a dorm room for all those years, screwing each other blind, having the times of our lives, and instead, we're such repressed pussies that we've managed to waste years in screwed up relationships instead of just having a fucking conversation."

"That's a hell of a conversation." Sean sat down again, this time in a chair.

"The sky hasn't fallen yet. It probably wouldn't have back then."

"What if I'd told you back then? You were barely out of a traumatic home situation involving long-term abuse by a male. It could have destroyed our whole friendship."

"You didn't know about that back then."

"No, I didn't, but I'm just saying that sometimes things happen when they happen for a reason. Maybe life had to beat the hell out of both of us, and we had to do a lot of growing up, before either one of us would have wanted to hear this from the other."

"Having Wilbur in my life taught me a lot. It made me focus on a different kind of intimacy. I could have sex with a hundred women and never achieve the kind of intimacy I felt with that little boy. It was an emotional intimacy, a deeper understanding... After he was gone, I kept struggling to find that somewhere else. To see where I had it anywhere else in my life. I thought maybe it was with Julia. I thought maybe sex and intimacy would both be there with her, but it wasn't–it was an old fantasy, not a reality. I looked at you and realized that it was there, with you, that I'd had it all along. It actually made me almost hate you at times because I saw it as something unattainable–like it was just on the other side of this impenetrable pane of glass. I might have that connection with you, but it couldn't be sexual. I wouldn't let myself think about it. And then last night, when you were lying there next to me, it seemed like the most natural, logical thing in the world."

"Part of me feels this...exhilaration that we both feel this way, and another part of me feels frozen, afraid to move, like we're poised on the edge of destroying our lives, our practice, the people we love." Sean rested his elbows on his knees. "I don't know what to do."

"The people we love will adapt, if they really love us. As for our practice and our lives, I'm not sure anyone needs to know. Let's face it, Sean, it's not likely at this point we're going to give up women, get married, and buy a little cottage by the sea."

Sean stared at him for a long moment, the impact of what he was saying washing over him in a wave of anguish. This was going to be just another superficial fuckfest for Christian. Maybe a way to get back on the horse after the rape. Sex with good old safe, reliable Sean to get things going again. A nice, comfortable buddy fuck when the chips were down. Maybe a little humping in the supply closet at the office. What was he thinking? That sex with him would be enough to make Christian Troy give up women? That Christian would actually make a commitment to him because of all that emotional intimacy when there were all those artificially enhanced tits out there to be had?

"Sean?"

"Let's just let this rest for a while," Sean said, glad his voice came out steady and decisive, and not shaking and weak like one more of Christian's rejected women. "You've got some recovering to do, and I have a lot of thinking to do."

"Something's wrong."

You're so fucking clueless that you don't even know what it is. You throw my feelings back in my face, make fun of everything that was running through my mind for our future as some sort of absurd fantasy, and you can't understand why I don't bounce back with a smile on my face.

"It's just a lot to digest, and I don't think we should rush into anything. I'm going to go get the mail. Why don't you rest some more before dinner?"

"I'm wide awake, Sean," Christian said, pinning him with an intent gaze.

"Just stretch out and watch some TV then. I want to grab the mail and call the office, and I have a few bills that need paying."

"We were just talking about starting a homosexual relationship with each other, and you want to pay bills?"

"I need time to think, okay? I need a little space right now."

"Okay. Sorry."

"No need to apologize. I've always been the cautious one, right?" Sean asked, forcing a smile. "I just need to process all this."

"Right. I'll just rest here a while," Christian said, still eyeing him suspiciously.

"Good. If you need anything, just call to me. I'm going to grab the mail, then I'll be in my study."

"I will, thanks."

Sean went to the mailbox, picked up the mail, and walked back to the house. He went straight to his study and shut the door, tossing the mail on the desk. Sitting in his desk chair, he felt ridiculous. All the intense but long-denied feelings he'd had when he was in college had surged to the surface after years of keeping them successfully repressed. For a moment, it seemed they were on the same wavelength, that Christian was feeling the same things he was. All the talk of emotional intimacy, sex, love, being together...and in the next breath, Christian had already dismissed the depth of all that and was thinking about women again. About hiding their relationship, about cheapening it to doing a favor for a friend on occasion. It wasn't unlike Christian to simply think that sex would make a good thing better. They were good friends, partners, inseparable through so many rough patches...so why wouldn't sex just make it better, stronger? But not exclusive.

When he'd thought for a moment that possessing Christian was an option, being his one and only was within reach, Sean couldn't think of a woman he'd rather have. Apparently, once again, Sean found himself falling short of making the person he loved tingle with simmering passion. Once again, he wasn't enough. He'd had far too much of not being enough to go through it again. If he made love with Christian, gave into the feelings and finally consummated them after all this time, how would he feel when he had to listen to tales of Christian's latest sexual acrobatics with some empty-headed model he'd picked up in one of the upscale bars he frequented?

********

Sean had been working on writing checks for a half hour or so, tidying up a few of the bills that had gathered on the desk while he'd been at the hospital with Christian and preoccupied with his convalescence. The doorbell wasn't really a welcome intrusion, but in case Christian was resting, he got up and headed out to answer the door. He hung back in the shadows of the hall when he heard Christian talking with Kimber. He knew he should go make himself known rather than eavesdropping around a corner, but he gave in to his baser instincts and listened.

"I came by to pick up the...uh...item I left with Sean."

"It's in the living room." He walked with her back to where the box containing the strap-on was sitting on the coffee table.

"I'm really glad to see you, Christian. I've been so worried."

"No need to worry. I'm on the mend. Getting stronger every day."

"Your face looks like it's healing really well," she said, touching his chin. "Sean did a great job," she added, taking a closer look at the cuts that Christian had left un-bandaged.

"He's the best when it comes to fine detail work like this. You want something to drink?"

"No, thanks, I can't stay very long," she said, sitting on the edge of a chair as Christian sat on the couch. "How are you, really?"

"I'm okay," he said, glossing over the obvious recovery issue to which she was referring.

"I'm just going to say this once, because I know it's probably the last thing you want to talk about, but sometimes, the best way to recover from something like this is to rediscover what real sex is all about with someone you trust. It's too easy to just not want to ever touch anyone or be touched again, but sometimes remembering how good it can be is the best way to get past it. This is kind of embarrassing, but I wanted you to know I was here for you if..."

"You sound as if you have some experience with sexual assault."

"I don't personally, but a very dear friend of mine was raped several years ago, and as soon as she felt physically able, she wanted to have sex with her boyfriend, because she said it was the only way she knew to banish the demons, to replace all the fear and horror with something familiar and beautiful and healthy."

"I appreciate your concern, Kimber, but I don't think I'm quite ready for that yet."

"I understand."

"No, I mean I'm still recovering from surgery. The gymnastics would be against doctor's orders for the time being."

"Oh, I see."

"But I'll definitely keep the offer in mind for when I'm back on my feet again." He was quiet a minute. "I think your friend has a point. The more you dwell on what happened, the more you forget what it was that was good about sex in the first place."

"Exactly," she said, taking Christian's hand. "I should go, but I wanted to see you, and let you know I'm here for you. Whatever you need. Just to talk, or...anything."

"You're a good friend, Kimber. I'm sorry about the cops questioning you. That wasn't our idea."

"I know. It's okay. I have alibis for most of the nights, including the night you were attacked. Sickening to think they could suspect me of doing that to you. The knife thing was really crazy. I hope you know I wouldn't have really hurt you for the world."

"I do now," Christian said, smiling devilishly. "At the time, I wasn't so sure."

"Is Sean home?"

"He's in his study."

"Tell him I said 'hi,' and I hope this helped," she said, gesturing with the box.

"Actually, it did," he said, rising slowly to walk her to the door. "Fishman showed it to a couple of the other victims, and they couldn't eliminate the possibility that the were fooled by a fake that good."

"I'm glad. You deserve to be taken seriously about this." She leaned up and kissed him lightly on the mouth. "Call me."

"I will," he said, waving through the glass door at her as he closed it, and she headed out to her car.

Unnoticed, Sean slipped back into his study and finished paying the bills, the too-vivid image of Kimber and his partner plaguing him.

********

Matt's visit was a good diversion from the tension that hung in the air since their earlier conversation. The three men shared a meal of take-out chicken from a nearby restaurant and watched a game on TV, the complete normality of the evening having a therapeutic effect on all of them. By the time Matt left, Christian was asleep on the couch, pain medication keeping him drowsier than usual, and Sean was finishing up the final swallows of his beer, trying to forget just how much of his soul he'd laid bare right before Christian slammed the door in the face of any sort of meaningful future they might have together. Still, he'd enjoyed the time with his son and his best friend, and it was enough like old times that it had a soothing effect on his nerves.

Once Matt was gone, though, he returned to his own morose thoughts and feelings of loss and betrayal, increasingly bitter at Christian because he was so oblivious to what he'd done. Maybe that was the most frightening part of all. Christian could knock the legs right out from under him without even noticing it. Maybe that cruelty was a power play. Christian admitted he'd spent years trying to take back the power his foster father robbed him of, so maybe this was a manifestation of that. Make someone love you and then withhold your feelings in return.

That was too warped, and it wasn't Christian. He couldn't withhold his feelings when he really had them. Wilbur was proof of that. Sean himself had seen proof of that. So many times when he'd get angriest at Christian, he'd remember his partner saving his career–and probably his life–by enduring a rhinoplasty with no anesthetic. Sure, it could be argued there was something in it for Christian–saving the practice and his livelihood–but Christian was enough of a wheeler and dealer to make it on his own without an emotionally unstable partner with a shaky hand. There were easier ways for Christian to save himself professionally than to go through that to save Sean, too.

Enough women had complained that Christian was commitment-phobic. He'd proven that every time a woman was with him for more than a one-night stand. Kimber should have been Christian's ideal woman–beautiful, attentive, accommodating, and unabashedly sexual. He'd traded her in for a car. For a time, his relationship with Natasha Charles had seemed serious. Then he inexplicably cast her aside and moved on. Thinking of how a forty-year-old man could compete with young, beautiful women who were still discarded like last week's trash, he actually laughed at himself for entertaining the fantasies he had. And cursed himself for confessing so much to Christian.

Still, Christian had talked as if he'd had the same long standing, hidden passion for Sean that Sean had for him. And in the next breath, had reduced it all to rubble with one thoughtless remark.

"Sean?" Christian's voice was a little agitated, and Sean looked over at him blankly. "That's a relief. I thought you were dead," he quipped, sitting up on the couch. "Matt leave?"

"Yes, a little while ago. I was just finishing my beer."

"You looked catatonic."

"I feel catatonic. Let's head upstairs. It's after midnight."

"You think the cops are still awake out there?"

"I could set off the alarm and find out," Sean retorted, and Christian actually chuckled a little.

"Guess I'm paranoid."

"You're not alone," Sean said, checking the settings on the alarm. "Take it slow on the stairs," he added, following Christian on a slow climb to the second floor. "I'll turn back the bed," he offered, while Christian began undressing for bed. For a moment, he considered going back to his own room. After what Christian had said earlier, he didn't think getting used to this arrangement was a good idea, yet he knew Christian counted on him to keep the demons that came with night time at bay. There was plenty of time to break the habit when Christian felt better about things, and it was best not to lose sight of why he was sleeping there in the first place–for Christian's recovery.

He laid his clothes on a nearby chair, and clad in his t-shirt and boxers, climbed into bed about the same time Christian did.

"Let me know if you need anything," he said, shifting to lie on his side, facing away from Christian. There was a momentary silence.

"Are you angry about something?"

"No. Why would I be angry?" Sean asked, not looking back at his partner.

"I don't know. That's why I asked. The temperature has been dropping in here since we talked this afternoon."

"I think I've humiliated myself enough for one day. I'm tired, and I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"How did you humiliate yourself? I don't understand how we went from kissing this morning to barely speaking tonight."

"I was thinking of us a little differently than you are. I need time to sort some things out."

"Do you have to be so damned cryptic? Just talk to me," he said, moving up behind Sean, the warmth of his longer body molding itself to Sean, arms encircling him.

"This is just a way to recover for you. Maybe one more facet to add to our friendship."

"What do you mean? Sure, it's another facet to our friendship, and having you close is...good right now. How is that so different from what you've been thinking?"

"You said yourself, in so many words, that you don't have any plans to give up women, and you're already looking for ways to stuff us in the closet and we haven't even done anything yet."

"Shit," Christian muttered softly.

"It's okay, really," Sean countered. "Better we get a clear picture of things now than to let this develop and then be surprised."

"It never occurred to me we wouldn't still have women. We've always been with women."

"And it never occurred to me we would, if we followed this to its logical conclusion."

"You can seriously tell me that you'd want to give up ever having sex with a woman because we were having sex with each other?"

"No." Sean dislodged himself from the arms that felt too good around him and sat up. "If we were making love and developing our relationship into something more than a friendship, I would be as committed to you as I was to Julia."

"Before or after you met Megan?" Christian asked.

"If you need anything, call to me." Sean got out of bed and started for the door.

"That was a shitty thing to say," Christian said hastily. "I'm sorry. Just...wait a minute, okay?"

"For what? You know what I went through with Megan, and you know why I was unfaithful to Julia. Why would you throw that up in my face now?"

"I'm just saying that even when you're committed to a relationship and you love someone and you have a ring on your finger recognized by the law, you can still look for something more."

"I looked for something more because I didn't have all of Julia. She wanted med school more than she wanted me. She wanted it more than she wanted our child. She carried a photograph of some half-naked college student in her textbook! Even if she didn't sleep with Jude, that's who she wanted to sleep with. I had an affair with Megan because for the first time in I don't even know how long, I felt like someone's first choice. I knew what it was like to look in someone's eyes and see love there. No reproach or disappointment or boredom. I was the one she wanted to see half naked, not some other guy almost twenty years younger I can't compete with! She loved me, and wanted me, and saw the good things in me. She made me feel like I was still worth loving."

"I didn't mean to bring up Megan. I don't know why I even said it. I'm sorry."

"I'm done being someone's fall back plan. The next time I let myself fall in love with someone, I'm not going to share them. I'm not going to feel like second choice, or the comfortable old pair of slippers that's always there when you want them. I'm going to be the one my lover is swept away and enchanted by. I don't want a buddy fuck, Christian." Sean shook his head. "I'm going to sleep in the master bedroom. If you need me, just call me. I mean it. This has nothing to do with my being there for you while you recover. You need time to do that, and I need time to sort some things out, so let's just leave it at that."

"Sean, I–"

"Good night." Sean pulled the door to the frame and went into the master bedroom, closing the door around. He could still hear Christian if he needed help.

Emotionally and physically drained, he stretched out on top of the bedspread and dozed off to sleep.

********

The next few days passed in a strained but civil manner. Sean resisted any attempts to revive the topic of their brief foray into a romantic relationship, stating that he needed time to think and Christian needed to focus on his recovery. He'd slept in his own bed each night. If Christian had more than one nightmare in that time, he hadn't called for help. He'd only cried out in his sleep once, and Sean had gone to him and sat with him until he'd calmed down and was asleep again.

In what had become their morning ritual, Christian was at the kitchen table, checking his e-mail on his laptop, drinking orange juice, and Sean was reading the paper and finishing his coffee. The phone rang, and he got up to answer it.

"Dr. McNamara, this is Detective Fishman."

"Good morning, Detective." Sean looked at Christian, whose head rose from his concentration on the screen.

"I have some pretty surprising news on the blood samples we tested."

"What did you find?"

"We found a match among your former patients. Nanette Babcock."

"That's impossible. She's dead. I don't know why you'd even test her sample."

"It was tested by accident. We obtained the samples from your lab, and our lab personnel obviously didn't pick up on your notation that she was deceased. The thing is, there is no death certificate on file for her, and according to the police report from the night she shot herself, she was taken to the hospital. She wasn't DOA, or dead a the scene. We're in the process of getting her hospital records right now."

"Nanette Babcock weighed well over three hundred pounds, Detective. It couldn't have been her. This person, whoever it was, was an average build, not nearly that heavy."

"We're duplicating all the tests on the sample to be sure, but somehow, that woman's blood was on your partner's sheets. She must have cut herself at some point when she was handling the knife–that'd be my best guess. I'll be back in touch as soon as we've reviewed her hospital records. So far, we haven't been able to find a current address for her."

"Why would one of your men tell my partner she was dead?"

"At the time of the car vandalism? I spoke to that officer, and he said when he spoke to the landlord, that's what he told him. He had no reason to think the man was lying, so he didn't verify it. He said she shot herself, and the officer assumed that meant suicide, and didn't pursue it."

"You were right about the surprising part." Sean sat at the table, phone in hand. "What now?"

"What else can you tell me about her?"

"She was very unhappy with her appearance, and she came to us with a long list of major surgeries she wanted us to perform prior to her class reunion. Our psychiatrist, who has since returned to private practice, visited her apartment, and found an entire wall of pictures of models cut out of fashion magazines. Miss Babcock had serious psychological problems and was supposed to be taking Lithium, which she discontinued. All in all, we concluded that not only was she not mentally stable enough for us to be comfortable with her consent and decision-making ability, but she also had unrealistic expectations for the results. Christian was the one who called her, and she was irate. She told him something about hoping he died, or got cancer. That's why we assumed it was her when his car was vandalized."

"So you didn't think surgery could help her? She was deformed in some way?"

"No, not at all. Much of what she was requesting we correct surgically could have been at least in part corrected with weight loss and body toning. Truthfully, if she'd come to us following, or even during, a period of substantial weight loss, some of the surgeries she was requesting would have made more sense. As it was, we couldn't sculpt a new person. Ironically, Christian was initially willing to perform at least a few procedures for her, but Dr. Santiago and I were against it."

"I'll need to talk to Dr. Santiago--is she your practice's former psychiatrist?"

"Yes."

"And I'd like to speak to Dr. Troy directly if he's available."

"Sure, just a minute." Sean handed the phone to Christian. "He wants to talk to you about Nanette Babcock."

"This is Dr. Troy," Christian answered.

"Dr. McNamara said you had some disagreement about treating Ms. Babcock?"

"Initially, I felt that if a few of the procedures she'd requested would help her feel better about herself, there was merit in that, and that maybe it would even inspire her to continue dieting. I felt sorry for her. She seemed very unhappy."

"You changed your mind eventually?"

"When I found out she was schizophrenic and off her medication, I agreed that it would be wrong to operate on someone whose consent wasn't stable or trustworthy. And she really did want us to work a miracle for her, which concerned me from the start. I suppose I felt sorry for her and thought if we could do something to help her, it was worth doing."

"She was very hostile when you told her your practice wouldn't perform the surgeries?"

"I think her exact response was, 'I hope you die, I hope you get cancer.' I remembered it because I haven't very often had a patient quite that irate."

"Is there any other reason her blood would be on your sheets?"

"Good God, no."

"That's what I needed, Dr. Troy. I'll be back in touch when we have something. Oh, and tell Dr. McNamara we didn't take that photograph he was asking about. It's not on the inventory or among the evidence we gathered."

Thanks." Christian broke the connection and looked at Sean. "I guess the crazy bitch really did trash my car."

"I don't understand this. How could it be her? You saw her, and you saw The Carver. They don't match."

"Height-wise it's possible. What if she lost a lot of weight? She had to be pretty grotesquely injured from trying to blow her own head off. That could explain the voice device."

"If she put the gun in her mouth and got the angle wrong, she could have destroyed her ability to speak."

"Or eat solid foods, at least for a time. That would trim a lot of pounds off a very overweight person."

"She certainly hated us all enough. Grace was nervous that she'd attack her with the knife she had in her hand the day she visited her apartment."

"Maybe we should mention to Fishman that he should protect Grace."

"He's going to see her, so I'm sure he'll talk to her about protection."

"He said they didn't have that photo of us at the AMA convention, which means she probably has it. Crawly thought." Christian paused. "This is going to sound insane, but knowing who it is makes it worse, somehow."

"Maybe because it's a real person with a name and an identity, and not a faceless monster anymore. I have to live with the fact that you keep paying the price for a decision you weren't a hundred percent in favor of to begin with."

"I didn't agree with slamming the door in her face, but a schizophrenic who's off her meds isn't the most stable person in the world to make major decisions about having surgery. I was the one who called her–refused her, as she sees it–so it makes sense she'd target me."

"Well, even so. I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault she's insane, or violent, or obviously psychotic."

"I made some decisions back then without really talking them over with you. Hiring Grace, turning Nanette Babcock away...they weren't always the soundest decisions, in retrospect."

"I keep telling you we work better as a team," Christian responded, smiling slightly. "So how long are you going to refuse to talk to me about what's going on with us? I've been 'focusing on my recovery' long enough."

"Look, Christian, I don't blame you for not wanting to give up women. I'm not angry, and it won't hurt our friendship. We just want different things out of romantic and sexual relationship. I was disappointed, because I read you completely wrong for a while there, but I'll get over it."

"Truth is, I don't really want anybody sexually. I've tried fantasizing, I even watched part of a porn movie in the guest room the other night while you were asleep in the other room. I can't get so much as a blip on the radar, let alone get hard."

"We've got to face the possibility that you felt attracted to me physically because it felt safe. You know I won't hurt you, and since I'm not gay and haven't been with men regularly, I'm not experienced with all the sexual moves between men, so anything we'd have done would be mild and probably pretty low key until we got used to it."

"The only rush of desire I've felt since all this happened was the morning Matt came by, and I told him we weren't naked and screwing. That thought turned me on when nothing else has."

"I really enjoyed the fantasy while it lasted," Sean said, smiling, though there was a infinite sadness in his expression.

"It doesn't have to just be a fantasy. What we do between us is our business. It doesn't have to affect anyone else."

"That's just the point, Christian. Either you haven't been listening to me at all when I do talk to you about this, or you really don't get it. I love you, you know that. Now you know that love could take just about any form you want it to. But I can't handle another major loss, not even for you. After the miscarriage, and Megan, and things splitting with Julia, I don't want to jerk my emotions around again. If I have a sexual relationship with you, I can't just clinically separate the love and the sex."

"Why would you have to?"

"Because if we make love, it'll mean you're my lover. My being the operative word. I'm not sharing. And it's not because I'm sexually uptight. It's because there's too much emotion tied up in this for me to treat it like fun and games."

"You've never made love to someone you loved and not been 100% monogamous?"

"Sure. I just don't have any interest in doing that anymore. We're in two different places with this, and I don't want to pressure you into committing to something you can't stick to."

"This sounds eerily like the free milk and the cow story."

"Call it what you want, Christian. I'm going into the office for a while this morning. I had Linda schedule a few consults. We've got to get the money rolling in again."

"So that's it?"

"What do you want from me, Christian? I'm not Kimber. I don't just walk around offering sex to make people feel better, and I've done my time with someone who didn't really want me, and it sucked. I was miserable. I need to at least be smart enough not to go back for seconds."

"Wait a minute...how did you know what Kimber said? You were listening in on us?"

"I heard the door, and when I got partway down the hall, it was obvious you were having a conversation it would be uncomfortable for me to interrupt. I overheard her offering you recovery sex. Truthfully, Christian, if that would help you, I think you should take her up on it. I'm not judgmental of that."

"You don't feel this cool about everything, so why the casual act?"

"Maybe because I feel like a complete ass for fantasizing about something that can never be, and I just want to get past it. I'll probably be home about three. If you need anything, just call the office or the cell."

"I could start sitting in on some of these consults."

"Next week, maybe. For now, just take it easy." Sean stood up and picked up his briefcase.

"What I thought we were starting to have together wouldn't have been a buddy fuck. It would have been more. Just not what you need, I guess," Christian said.

"I wish I could want what you want," Sean replied, then left for the office.

"I wish you could, too, partner." Christian sighed. "We could have had it all."

********

Sean walked into his office, somewhat relieved by the familiarity of the routine. He tossed his briefcase on a chair and went to the break room for an extra cup of coffee. He stopped by the appointment desk.

"Who's on first, Linda?" he asked, and she smiled, checking the appointment schedule.

"Natalie Banner. She said on the phone her face had been severely burned and wanted to talk to you about reconstructive surgery. I'll have her file on your desk in a few minutes. That's strange," she said, leaning over the desk to look at the empty waiting room.

"What is?"

"She was waiting for you. She came in at least an hour early, but she said she didn't mind waiting."

"Maybe she went out to her car for something, or to stretch her legs a little. I'm sure she'll be back for her appointment. I've got some paperwork to catch up on in the meantime, but when she comes back in, buzz me. No sense in making her sit out here while I sort the mail on my desk."

"Will do. How is Christian?"

"He's doing well. Physically, he's recovering very well, and his face is healing nicely."

"Physical healing is only one part of the package," Liz said, joining them. "He needs help, Sean, and it'll be up to you to urge him to get it."

"It all takes time, Liz. I want him to recover fully as much as you do, and I can take charge of his physical recovery, but I have to respect his decisions on how to pursue his emotional recovery."

"Well, it's good to see at least half of the team back in action," she said, smiling.

"Christian will probably be back next week. He's already tired of sitting around the house, and there's no medical reason he can't start back on a limited surgical schedule soon."

"You're going to let him just gloss over what happened and bury himself in routine–"

"Liz, this isn't the time or place for this discussion. If you have concerns about Christian's handling of his recovery, you need to talk to him. He's a grown man. I don't tell him what to do."

"But you have a great deal of influence, Sean. And with that comes responsibility."

"If you'll excuse me, I have work to do."

"Maybe you should back off a little, Liz," Linda suggested quietly. "Getting Sean mad at you isn't going to help Christian."

"No, I suppose you're right. It just drives me crazy when someone goes through a trauma like he did and then expects it to just go away. It's like seeing the repression that's going to flatten him on a shrink's couch in a few years, happening right before my eyes and being unable to stop it."

"Well, people have to heal in their own ways, I guess."

"Heal, absolutely. But a false recovery is only temporary at best."

********

Christian had sat at the kitchen table, staring at the telephone. He felt stuck between a rock and a hard place, which was ironic, since hardness was the only thing he couldn't achieve. He felt some spark of desire with Sean, but Sean wasn't interested in sex without some sort of commitment. Christian couldn't remember being held at bay that firmly since he'd tried to get into the panties of a sixteen-year-old Catholic school virgin in his high school days.

Maybe that wasn't a fair analogy. Sean had been through a lot in the last couple of years. Setting his entire sexual orientation on its ear was a major upheaval, and falling for someone who was likely to leave him–at least in the romantic/sexual aspect of the relationship–was pretty emotionally risky after all the losses he'd been through. Sean needed to feel as emotionally safe in the relationship as Christian needed to feel physically safe. Didn't it just figure they'd be at cross purposes over the most important relationship issue of their lives?

Tired of all the introspection, Christian picked up the phone and dialed Kimber's number. Getting together with Kimber had always worked before when he didn't want to think.

********

Sean walked into his office and sat down behind his desk, sighing before tackling the pile of mail on the desk.

"Good morning, Dr. McNamara."

The mechanically altered woman's voice made him jump in his chair as the door to his office was closed and locked by someone dressed fully in black, complete with a black shawl used as a scarf over the head and partially obscuring the face. Dark glasses hid the eyes.

"Who are you?" he demanded, his hand on the telephone.

"Natalie Banner, your next appointment," she replied, moving closer to the desk.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Banner, but you startled me. I didn't realize you were waiting in my office. May I ask why the locked door is necessary?"

"It makes me feel more secure that we won't be interrupted, and I'm very embarrassed about my face. I rarely take off my scarf in public."

"I see," Sean said, relaxing a little. "Please, have a seat. I have to apologize, but my nurse still has your file out front. I wasn't expecting you for a while," he said, smiling as he reached for the phone to buzz Linda.

"Don't move."

He looked up to see his "patient" holding a gun on him.

"You're not Natalie Banner, are you? You're Nanette Babcock."

"You should have been a detective, Dr. McNamara."

"What do you want from me?"

"Actually, not much. But you're vitally important in getting what I want from Dr. Troy."

"I thought you already took that," Sean shot back bitterly.

"If you're talking about that fake dick, I thought it would do him some good to be in the position he's put so many women in over the years. When you're laid up in a hospital for months, it's remarkable the gossip you can pick up on. Believe me, Dr. Troy is something of a legend among the nurses. The young, curvy, pretty ones, that is. I think he's screwed and discarded most of them."

"Whatever revenge you're trying to get on us because we wouldn't do your surgeries, it's not doing you any good. All you're doing is destroying the lives of innocent people."

"I should have known I'd have to put up with this from you. You always were the bleeding heart ethics police of the practice. Dr. Troy would have done my work, and I could have gone to my reunion. I might have been married by now and enjoying some kind of life!"

"If that's how you feel, why target Dr. Troy for such a violent assault? You obviously hate me, so why not target me?"

"I'm not done with you yet. I just had to get you out of the habit of patching up my work. I have a reason for what I'm doing, and you were ruining it."

"You want to make beautiful people ugly, is that it?" he asked, trying to assess the proximity of his hand to the speaker button, and his chances of pressing it unnoticed.

"It's simple. With a couple strokes of a knife, someone who is a paragon of beauty suddenly becomes a monster. And then it matters more what's inside. Your face has healed nicely, Doctor. Did you fix it yourself?" she asked sarcastically.

"You still haven't told me what you want."

"I want my face fixed."

"This isn't the way to secure a commitment for plastic surgery, Ms. Babcock. What you've been through as a result of your suicide attempt puts you in the category I would consider for pro bono work. Ironically, you could have simply asked, and saved a lot of people a lot of misery."

"You bastard. I came to you in one piece and wanted to make myself look a little better, and you were too high and mighty to help me. All I had to do was practically blow my own goddamned head off before you'd consider me for surgery!"

"If I'm going to fix your face, I'll need to see it, so I can assess what has to be done."

"Oh, give me a break. As if you'd fix my face after what I did to your partner's. No, he's going to fix my face. And you're going to be the reason why."

"This isn't a good idea, Ms. Babcock. I have staff and other patients here–"

"And we're going to walk right out past them, and you're going to think of a good reason why, or I'll kill you right where you stand. I have nothing to lose, Dr. McNamara. So just keep that in mind, and come with me."

"Ms. Babcock–"

"I'm not going to ask you again," she said, releasing the safety on the gun as she stood and aimed it directly at Sean's head. "I spent a lot of time doing target practice. I missed when I shot myself, so I took that to mean I needed to brush up on my firearms skills. As far as I'm concerned, there's a bull's eye right between your eyes, so don't test me."

"I can't just walk out of here with you without anyone in the front office noticing."

"We're going out the doctor's entrance. They won't even know you're gone. Now move."

She waited as Sean came around the front of the desk. He thought about asking to change into his sport coat instead of his blue lab coat, but then decided against it. If there was something that made this departure look peculiar enough, someone might notice and take action, or at least look into it.

********

"I'm sorry I called you over here for nothing," Christian said, putting on his silk robe, leaving Kimber in the bed, disappointed.

"Give yourself some time, baby. You went through something traumatic. Besides, maybe I shouldn't have told you about my friend and what worked for her. Everyone's different."

"You were trying to help. It's just not working."

"We could just cuddle for a while, see if anything develops," she suggested, smiling.

"No, thanks, sweetheart. It's just not going to happen today."

"I'll just freshen up," she said, wrapping the sheet around herself, slipping into the guest bathroom.

"Shit," Christian cursed softly. Kimber had tried every trick in the book, and his body hadn't responded with so much as a flicker of desire. He went downstairs and fixed himself a drink, giving Kimber time to get dressed. He didn't have any real desire to see her parading around in sexy underwear that should have evoked his usual lusty response. As he downed the alcohol, he tried to forget that he'd felt more of a spark seeing Sean in his t-shirt and boxers, or picturing the two of them together.

Maybe Troy was right. Maybe he was a fag after all. Not a real man, just a man-pussy.

He hurled the glass the length of the room, shattering it on the wall just as Kimber made her way downstairs.

"Christian?" she asked hesitantly, looking at the shattered glass and the splatter of liquid on the wall.

"I'll call you later. Please...just go," he said, not turning to face her, staring out the window.

"Okay. Please don't feel bad about this, Christian. Give yourself time–"

"Please, Kimber, not now. I'm not in the mood for comforting platitudes."

"I know. I'll be home later, so call me." With that, she left.

Christian realized he'd treated her badly, considering she'd just come over and jumped in bed with him, practically on command, to rejuvenate his sex drive. He seemed incapable of treating Kimber well, and sometimes he wondered if he was doing the same thing to Sean. It seemed the people who loved him the most, he was the most compelled to hurt.

He'd had every type of woman in every conceivable way. If he screwed a different one every night for the rest of his life, it was doubtful he'd experience much different than he already had. All his life he'd licked his wounds because he never made that connection with someone special; that he was alone in his own skin, even with the woman du jour in his bed. That he was always on the outside looking in. Sean had been right about that. He had felt that way, even though Sean and his family had always welcomed him as one of them.

Did he really feel Sean wouldn't be enough for him, or did he fear more that he'd screw it up and be unable to keep his dick in his pants when temptation came knocking?

While he was pondering the mess he'd made of things, his cell phone rang. The caller ID showed "unknown caller."

"Hello."

"Dr. Troy, how nice to hear your voice again."

"Who is this?" The mechanically altered voice sent shivers up and down his spine, though this was not the same voice he'd heard from The Carver. This voice was distinctly feminine.

"Before you entertain any ideas about signaling the police, I have your partner, and I won't hesitate to kill him if you don't do exactly as I say."

"What do you want?"

"I want to meet with you. You will need to come alone, and I'll give you directions."

"The police are watching the house. They'll know if I leave."

"It takes a lot of intelligence to become a doctor. I'm sure you can figure out a way to give them the slip, if Dr. McNamara's life is at stake."

"I want to talk to Sean. You could be lying for all I know."

"Christian? Don't do this. Let the police figure it out–" Sean's momentary use of the phone was cut off abruptly.

"Convinced now?"

"Where are you?"

She proceeded to give him directions where to meet her, and a moment later, hung up the phone. He had an hour to get dressed, lose the cops, and make a forty-five minute drive.

After getting dressed, he proceeded downstairs to set the trap for the lone cop who was watching the house. Not trusting that he could escape unnoticed, he went to the alarm system control and set it off, waiting for the inevitable arrival of the officer doing the surveillance. Within moments, the young uniformed cop arrived, gun drawn, and was met by Christian at the door.

"I'm sorry about this. I don't know much about the alarm system. My partner usually sets it," he said above the shrill sound of the alarm.

"They can be pretty confusing," the officer said, smiling, his stance relaxing. He spoke into his radio, notifying the dispatcher that it was a false alarm and no response was necessary.

"Do you know anything about these things? I live in a condo, and the security's handled by the building, not the units. I don't have one of these, myself."

"Never can be too careful. You might want to think about getting one," the officer said, moving toward the alarm control panel.

"Sorry, pal," Christian muttered under his breath as he knocked the man unconscious with a single blow from a brass candlestick. He helped himself to the cop's gun, which he tucked into the back of his belt, easily obscured from sight by the chic dark sport coat he wore.

The taxi he'd called before getting dressed pulled up in front of the house, and he directed it to his own address, where he could pick up his car. The Ferrari could make the drive in the less than thirty minutes he'd have left.

Grateful that the route consisted of mostly back roads, Christian utilized his best driving skills to arrive at the meet site with a few minutes to spare. He pulled off the main road down a dirt side road, stopping in a clearing that was obscured from the road by dense foliage. As he leaned against the side of his car, waiting for Nanette Babcock to arrive, he couldn't stop thinking about Sean and cursing himself for letting his partner walk out the door that morning feeling that Christian was incapable of loving him enough to be faithful to him; worse yet, that Christian didn't love him or want him enough to even try.

Another car was approaching, and Christian resisted the temptation to pull the gun and shoot the bitch right between the eyes for what she'd done to him, and to Sean, and to so many other innocent people. It would be a public service. They wouldn't arrest him–shit, he'd probably get a medal for killing The Carver. Chances were good, though, she wouldn't bring Sean with her, and if that was the case, he couldn't chance being unable to find his partner.

The blue four door sedan approached, and only a driver was visible. If Sean was with her, he was lying on the backseat...or his body was in the trunk. Christian swallowed hard, trying to ignore the image of her killing Sean after making the phone call.

The figure that got out of the car was quite different from The Carver. The size was the same, obviously, but this person wore black pants and shoes, and was draped with a large black shawl that covered her head and part of her face, dark sunglasses over her eyes.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Troy," the mechanical voice greeted, her black gloved hand at her throat to control the device.

"Where's my partner?"

"Oh, he's fine. He wouldn't be much good to me as a bargaining tool if he weren't. Here, catch." She tossed a pair of handcuffs in his direction.

"What are these for?"

"Put them on," she said. "You don't expect me to just trust you, do you?"

"You have Sean. I'm not going to do anything to jeopardize his life. You know that. So why the hardware?"

"Because I'm not a betting woman. Oh, before you do that, toss me your cell phone. I know you have it with you."

Christian thought of lying, but he far preferred to hand over the cell phone than the gun. He complied, and she caught it easily. "Now put them on," she repeated, nodding at the cuffs. Annoyed, he put them on, knowing now his chances of drawing the gun from the back of his pants was slim to none. "Please, get in the car. I'll explain more on the way."

"On the way?"

"We're going somewhere private, where you can fulfill your end of this little bargain. When we're finished, I'll let your partner go unharmed."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Get in, please. Your car will be fine here. No one ever comes here."

"You're joking. You expect me to leave a Ferrari in the woods to be picked up as an abandoned car or stripped by a bunch of car thieves?"

"What do you love more, Dr. Troy? Your Ferrari or Dr. McNamara? Make your choice."

Christian thought of bluffing and standing his ground, but given this woman's history, she'd be more likely to kill Sean and dispose of him than to let him go when she realized her plan wasn't working.

"You don't leave me much choice."

"You didn't leave me any, either, once upon a time," she replied as he got into the passenger side of the car. As they left the clearing and approached the main road, she handed him a silk sleep mask. "Put that on. Just a precaution."

"Mm, silk," Christian commented. "Goes nicely with handcuffs," he said, as his bound wrists made it awkward for him to handle it.

"I didn't want to offend your sense of style with a basic blindfold. Now put it on." He complied, and she started out from the dirt road, turning right.

"What is it exactly you want me to do?" he asked while he put on the mask.

"You're going to fix my face," she replied.

"What's wrong with it?" Christian asked, deciding to pretend he didn't know who she was. If she wasn't sure the police were onto her yet, it could be an advantage for them in tracking her.

"I put a small caliber handgun in my mouth and pulled the trigger. Even at that kind of close range, I'm a lousy shot, apparently."

"Why do you want me to fix your face?"

"You know who I am, Dr. Troy. I know you do."

"Well, since your face is covered and your voice is altered, there's a good possibility I don't."

"I'll give you a hint. You were my last chance, and you shut the door in my face!"

"Are we talking professionally or personally?"

"You are the master of discarding people you no longer have a use for, aren't you? But this was professional. You'd have never looked at someone like me personally, even if you'd finally done my surgeries. I just asked for your help so I could look good for my class reunion, and you led me on as if you were going to do it, and then you cut me off."

"Nanette Babcock. I thought you were dead."

"I'm flattered you remember me at all. I've lost a hundred and fifty pounds since you last saw me, so there's some nipping and tucking that needs to be done, too. My primary concern, though, is my face."

"You should have done this the other way around, then. Sean's the best facial surgeon, especially if you require complicated microsurgery."

"You're right, but I don't trust him to do as he's told."

"What makes you think I will?"

"I think you're less willing to die for a worthy cause, and I don't think you'll put Dr. McNamara's life on the line at the same time."

"But you think he'd do that to me, in the reverse situation?"

"I think he could get swept up enough in his ethics to believe it was better you both died than to commit certain acts that were beyond the scope of his...ethical flexibility."

"Ethical flexibility. I like that. Mind if I borrow it?"

"Knock yourself out." She made another right turn, and the road felt considerably rougher.

"Where is Sean?"

"I can't tell you that. I will take you there before we begin, just to prove I'm not lying about him still being alive."

"Is he all right?"

"He's pretty annoyed with me right now, but it looks like you roughed him up worse than I did."

"It was an accident."

"That's what he said, too. Either you're coordinated liars, or you're telling the truth."

"What's to stop me from killing you while you're under anesthetic? And I'm not an anesthesiologist, so I hope you kidnapped one of those, too, while you were out."

"Oh, please, Dr. Troy, don't try to tell me you can't put a patient under. As for killing me, if you do, you'll never find your partner. I've hidden him pretty well, and he's only got food and water for a month. And if that's not enough insurance, I have an explosive device set to go off on the fifteenth day from today."

"Explosives? What if you die in surgery? I'm not God, I can't eliminate all the risks, especially when you're forcing me to handle anesthesia and all the surgical procedures without assistance."

"You'll just have to do some really outstanding work and be sure your scalpel doesn't slip. Besides, I should be recovered enough in two weeks to reset the timer."

"This is ridiculous. Even if I manage to do everything you're asking, two weeks are never going to be sufficient to do all the surgical work you'll most likely need."

"If you'd done it when I asked, it would have been an easier job."

"You have to factor in recovery time after each procedure. To restore your face from the trauma it undoubtedly suffered, would take several surgeries over a year's time, maybe more."

"You'll just have to do it in two-week intervals, so I can keep resetting the timer. Eventually, you'll be finished, and then I'll let Dr. McNamara go," she insisted. He sensed that arguing with her on this point was futile. Maybe he could think of something when he saw Sean.

The car finally rumbled to a stop. He reached for the mask, but a gloved hand grasped his wrist.

"Not yet. Stay in the car, and I'll come and get you."

Christian didn't respond, merely dropped his hands in his lap and waited for her to make the trip around the car. His door opened, and she pulled on his arm. He got out, allowing her to lead him like a blind man.

"The ground is a little uneven, so be careful."

"That's tough to do when I can't see where I'm walking."

"You'll manage," she retorted. They stopped walking, and he heard her unlock something–a door, or maybe a padlock–then she guided him inside some kind of building with a wooden floor and a slightly musty odor. "Okay, you can take off the mask," she said.

They were inside what looked like a small cottage, shabbily furnished. The living room and kitchen were all one room, and there was a door on the wall across from the front door.

"Go ahead, open the door."

Christian gulped, not certain what he'd see when he did. He hoped to see Sean alive and well, but he didn't trust her not to set him up for a horrific sight. He turned the grimy knob slowly and pushed the door open. Sean was sitting on an old metal bed that was covered with a well-worn, possibly handmade patchwork quilt. The room's only other furniture was a small desk and straight chair. He was dressed in his t-shirt and boxers, no socks on his feet. A metal cuff connected to a chain tethered his right wrist to a sturdy-looking metal hook in the floor. The chain appeared long enough to allow him to reach what Christian assumed was the bathroom, though a partially open door at the end of the room.

"I was hoping you'd refuse to do this," Sean said, his voice defeated. "She won't let us walk away alive when it's over."

"Where are his clothes?" Christian demanded of their captor.

"It's a lot harder to make a run for it in your underwear and bare feet, especially at night. I won't give you an exact location, but I will tell you that you have to find your way through some dense foliage to get to the main road. This way, even if he gets loose, it's unlikely he'll make it far before being chained up here looks preferable to the alternative."

"Are you okay?" Christian asked Sean, who shrugged.

"Yeah, I'm great."

"You're not hurt?" Christian tried to catch Sean's gaze, to communicate what he wanted to ask without giving her the satisfaction.

"No, I'm fine," Sean said, and his return look let Christian know that he understood the question.

"As you can see, he's fine, so we should be on our way," she said, handing Christian the mask.

"I've tried telling her that you're the best at intricate microsurgery and major facial reconstruction."

"Do what you have to do, Christian, and do the best you can. She's determined to do it her way, even if it ends up killing her or leaving her more disfigured than she already is."

"You watch your mouth," she said to Sean.

"What're you going to do, Ms. Babcock? Kill me? What difference does it make if you do it now or two weeks from now? The only difference is that you won't have anything to hold over Dr. Troy's head, so go for it. Kill me."

"I don't have to kill you. I could just crush your right hand with the old sledge hammer in the storage room of this place. Dr. Troy would still want to save your life, but I wonder if you'd want him to?"

"If you hurt him, I swear to God, you won't get work in a cheap freak show when I'm done with your face."

"Don't threaten me, Doctor. You're working for me now. Put your mask on. We're leaving."

"Where is the food and water you said he had?"

"The chain is long enough to reach the kitchen and the bathroom. He has cereal, bread, cold meat, bottled water–he won't starve or even have to go hungry, for that matter. Now let's go."

"Don't fight her, Christian. I'm okay here. Do what you have to do."

Christian shared a long look with his friend. There was no way he could reach for his gun. She was too close to him and would have too good an opportunity to shoot him first. Or worse, shoot Sean before he could stop her.

"I meant what I said, lady. He better stay healthy and in one piece, or I'm not going to have anything to lose when I have that scalpel in my hand."

"I'll be too busy recuperating from my surgeries to come back out here and bother with him. You said there would be a lot of recovery time needed for the procedures I'd need. I just wanted you to see that I was dealing in good faith. He's alive, and he'll stay that way as long as you do your part."

"Hang in there, Sean. What we talked about earlier–I want the same thing. I just thought you should know that." Christian had the opportunity to see Sean's entire expression and posture change at that comment. Christian winked before he put the sleep mask back on, extending his arm to his captor to lead him out to the car.

"You're not going to get away with this, and it's not going to work," Sean said to Nanette. "Not only is this whole plan shaky as hell, and reliant on Christian's utter compliance and obedience to all your demands, but two weeks isn't enough to repair your face. You need several major surgeries, and no one could heal in that time and be able to withstand that many procedures."

"Well, if I feel I've made good enough progress in two weeks, I'll reset your timer. I have all the time in the world, so how quickly I'm restored to normal–no, how quickly Dr. Troy makes me pretty–will determine how long you'll stay here chained up in this cabin."

"How is he supposed to pass the time here?" Christian protested.

"There are some books on the shelf in the living room. He'll have to make do. Let's go."

"I'll be back for you, Sean."

"No, you won't. You don't even know where he is. Now move." Nanette gave him a little shove, then let him feel the barrel of her gun in his back.

The next leg of their journey seemed interminably long, but Christian wasn't sure anymore if it was all that far, or if it was being blindfolded, or if it was thinking about Sean in that damn cabin, or thinking about all the things he needed to say–and do–to his partner to show him he was serious about what he said.

********

"He just clubbed you over the head and took off?" Fishman asked the young officer who was holding an ice bag on the back of his head as the police swarmed on the McNamara household.

"I was checking the alarm. I had no reason to watch him. When I came to, he was gone, and so was my gun."

"The EMT's just got here. Go get checked out," Fishman dismissed, not really blaming the officer but seething with frustration at the same time that both doctors were now missing, and he'd had protection on both of them. He had no idea how to explain that one to his boss, and feared that his next discovery would be a couple of slashed corpses.

"What's going on here?" Julia entered the house, looking panicked at the heavy police presence, and Sean's conspicuous absence.

"Dr. Troy overpowered one of my officers and left the house. Dr. McNamara left his office with a patient and hasn't been seen since."

"You mean you had them both under surveillance and now you can't find either one?"

"Yes, Ma'am, I'm afraid that's what I mean. Usually, people we're protecting don't try to escape from us, so we didn't have much reason to treat them like prisoners. Dr. Troy also stole my officer's weapon."

"Christian wouldn't do a thing like that unless..."

"Unless Dr. McNamara was in some kind of trouble? That's what we're assuming. We're in the process of pulling both their cell phone records right now, because the tap on the house phone hasn't turned up anything. We're investigating your husband's departure from his office as a potential abduction."

"This is crazy. What do you need to stay safe in this town? The National Guard? We have an alarm system and police protection, and now two people are missing? Maybe worse?"

"Mrs. McNamara, neither your husband or his partner were under any kind of suspicion or arrest for anything, so we had no reason to approach them with suspicion. Dr. Troy set off the alarm to lure the officer in here to knock him out and take his weapon. Your husband left his office via a back exit. The officer watching him noticed that, and chased the car he and the other individual left in, but they lost him. We're doing everything we can to locate them, and we will."

"Well, that's very reassuring. I'm sure it'll calm my nine-year-old daughter right down when I tell her, 'yes, Daddy's missing, but the same police who couldn't keep track of him the first time promise they'll find him'!" Julia stormed out of the house, and Fishman rubbed his forehead tiredly.

"This is gonna be a long day," one of the lab guys said as he finished resetting the alarm.

"They all are lately," Fishman responded, sighing.

********

"Are you driving around in circles, or are we actually this far out in the middle of nowhere?" Christian finally asked, shifting in the seat. His back was tired, and his surgery site throbbed with a dull ache.

"Missing the pain pills about now?" she asked, definite amusement in her mechanical voice.

"Shut up, you sick bitch. I've had it listening to you and that...Tin Man voice of yours."

"Temper, temper. Remember, I could just leave you by the side of the road and then where would you be?"

"No worse off than I am now. Sean's right. I know damn well you're not going to let us walk away from this."

"You don't know any such thing. What you do know, is that you don't know where your partner is, and I do, and if something happens to me, or I decide not to tell you, or not to reset his timer, he's a dead man in two weeks. Given the questionable skills of the local police in keeping track of you two, I'd hate to leave his life in their hands, wouldn't you?" She paused. "We're almost there."

"You have all the surgical equipment, medications, and supplies?"

"I've had quite a while to make this happen. I'm prepared."

The car finally came to a stop, and the engine was turned off. Christian didn't bother trying to take the mask off, since he knew his captor would be expecting that move.

"You can take off your mask if you want. There are no telephones here, so it's not like you'll be telling anyone what the place looks like."

"When do I get out of these?" he asked, holding up his bound wrists.

"Not just yet. I can't chance you having a moment of insanity where you try to overpower me. At least, not until we get inside."

"You've got Sean. You know you're in control. Isn't that what you want?"

"It's what has to be. What did you mean when you told him you wanted the same thing?"

"None of your business."

"It meant a lot to Dr. McNamara. That much I could tell. If I didn't know better–if I didn't know what kind of a reputation you have–I'd almost think you had a little something going with your partner."

"He's been my best friend and partner for years. His life means a lot to me. You already know that or you wouldn't have planned things this way."

The house they were parked in front of was a simple two story, white frame house with blue shutters. It was obvious they were reasonably far from any town, as all that was visible were trees and vacant land. Christian got out of the car, following Nanette wordlessly as she headed for the front door. He was tired, and the pain was getting worse. He hoped his body was sufficiently healed to hold up under this experience. He could care for the healing marks on his face without too much difficulty, but if he damaged something internal, the game would be over far too early, with or without Sean.

"I'll show you to your room, and you can rest. We'll start fresh in the morning. Wouldn't be wise for me to work with an exhausted doctor."

"I've never gotten a good look at your face, Ms. Babcock. You should let me have a look at you so I can be planning how to approach the repair work. I can't just grab a scalpel and have at it."

"No, I guess not," she said, seeming pleased that he was thinking of her welfare. "Why don't you lie down for a while, and then you can look at my face?" She led the way up a steep set of stairs that made Christian think of Sean's many admonitions to take it easy on the stairs. "This is your room. The bathroom is right across the hall." She pushed one of the wooden six panel doors open, revealing a rather plain, but tidy, room containing a bed, dresser, easy chair and floor lamp. "There's a closet. I took the liberty of picking up a few changes of clothes for you. I know they won't be up to your usual standards, but this isn't a fashion show," she added. Christian picked up the photo of himself and Sean that had been stolen from his apartment, and was now sitting on the dresser in his room. "I thought it might help keep you focused on why you're doing this."

"Looks like you've thought of everything," he said, still holding the photo as if it could somehow bring him closer to his partner. He'd charmed countless women in his life, and if he hoped to live through this, and rescue Sean, he was going to have to charm this one. "I wonder if I could ask you a favor?"

"Short of a roadmap back to town, anything," she quipped.

"A glass of water, and a couple of aspirin? I thought I'd try taking a nap, but I'm in some pain."

"Of course. You don't need to rely on aspirin, though. I'll share some of my Vicodin with you."

"Aspirin or ibuprofen is fine. I've cut back on the Vicodin, and I want to be clear-headed when I work on you."

"Oh, right. I'll be right back."

"Ah, Ms. Babcock? I'd like to use the facilities, and these are a little awkward," he said, lifting his bound wrists.

"I suppose I've got to start trusting you sometime." She produced the key from her pocket and unlocked the cuffs.

"You can trust me. You have Sean, and I'm not going to do anything to endanger his life. Besides, for anything you've heard about my reputation, I do care about my patients. I won't handle your surgery or post-op care irresponsibly."

"That's very reassuring. I'll be right back with your aspirin."

Christian watched her go downstairs as he massaged his wrists. It was hard to think of her as his attacker, as the person who terrified him so utterly in the dark of night, and inflicted such agony and humiliation on him. This woman was pathetic and insane, so delusional she thought she could keep Sean alive in two-week intervals long enough to get her entire face reconstructed from blowing it apart with a shotgun. Figures a nut job like her would actually live through something like that.

********

Genevieve Babcock lived in a sprawling, hacienda-style white stucco home in an affluent neighborhood. When Fishman arrived there, it was nothing like what he expected. Nanette Babcock had lived in a dingy little apartment in a working class building, and her landlord had assumed she was dead when no one returned for her personal effects or to pay her outstanding rent. Now he rang the doorbell on this attractive home, waiting for the woman's mother to answer the door, completely uncertain what to expect.

"Yes, may I help you?" An attractive woman of about sixty stood inside the open door, her hair dyed brown to preserve her youthful appearance. Slender, fit, and pretty, she was the antithesis of what he expected of Nanette Babcock's mother, but in a sense, maybe he should have expected someone exactly like this.

"Mrs. Babcock?" He flashed his ID. "Detective Fishman, Miami-Dade Police."

"Oh, yes, you're the gentleman who called earlier. Please, come in." She stepped back, closing the door behind him as he entered. "Would you like something to drink? I was having some tea on the terrace–"

"No, thank you. I need to speak to you about your daughter, Nanette."

"So you said. I'm afraid I can't be of much help. I haven't spoke to Nanette since shortly after she regained consciousness after...after her accident."

"Her suicide attempt, you mean?"

"Nanette has been a very troubled girl all her life. Please, let's at least have a seat in the living room," she suggested, gesturing in that direction. They left the entry hall and took the two steps down into the sunken living room, which carried out the Spanish motif of the house's exterior with colorful art and sculpture. "My late husband traveled extensively in Spain and Mexico, and he collected all these items," she said.

"Very nice," Fishman said, irritated that the woman was making small talk about sculpture while her daughter was slicing up prominent Florida surgeons for kicks. "What I'm about to say will probably be very shocking to you, and there's no good way to say it. We have DNA evidence tying your daughter, Nanette, to The Carver slashings."

"Excuse me? Tying her to them in what way?" she asked, sitting on the edge of the couch. Fishman chose a nearby ornate chair.

"We believe your daughter is The Carver, Mrs. Babcock."

"That's absurd!" she retorted, laughing humorlessly. "The Carver is a rapist. How do you suggest my daughter would accomplish that?"

"It's a good possibility she used an artificial...device."

"And none of the victims noticed?"

"At the risk of offending you, Mrs. Babcock, there are some very realistic artificial devices out there that look and feel like the real thing. We've had one victim positively identify it as a device, and at least three others indicate that it could have been."

"So let me get this straight. My disfigured daughter who spent months recovering from a self-inflicted gunshot wound is supposed to have slashed and raped all these people? That's insane."

"Her DNA was found at a crime scene, Mrs. Babcock. Now, two people are missing, and I need your help to figure out where Nanette might have taken them."

"Well, you came to the wrong place. Nanette was very hostile when I tried to visit her in the hospital. We had been estranged for years. Her weight problem made her very bitter. She inherited that tendency toward obesity from her father's side of the family, and she never had the willpower to overcome it. I told her all her life that she would miss all the best things in life trapped inside that prison of fat, but she didn't listen. She only grew to hate me for trying to make her face reality. This culture is very unkind to people who are not pretty and fit. I wanted the best for her, but she couldn't see that."

"She was on Lithium. Were you aware of that?"

"Not at first, but after she was hurt, her doctor explained that to me. I didn't realize she had become that troubled."

"Her apartment was wallpapered with magazine photos of fashion models, and she expressed open hostility toward a psychiatrist who happened to be a physically attractive woman. The Carver has serious issues with beauty. Do you know if your daughter lost a significant amount of weight after the shooting?"

"Yes, she did. She was unable to eat solid foods for months. She put a gun in her mouth, Detective. The fact she lived at all was a miracle. It left her horribly disfigured, and unable to eat much more than some liquid nutrition shakes and some broth. She lost over a hundred pounds, last I heard. Ghastly to think she finally lost the weight, and by that point, she had destroyed herself."

"If Nanette wanted to disappear, get away from everything, where would she go?"

"How should I know? Detective, maybe you haven't been listening, but she shut me out of her life. I have no idea where she'd go."

"Does she own any property?"

"No, none. Her father left a trust fund for her, but I administer that, and she hasn't touched a penny of it."

"Does the family own any property Nanette would have access to?"

"After my husband's death, I sold our other properties. We had a vacation home, and he had an old fishing cabin he and his brother used for a few fishing trips with their friends. I sold the beach house last year, and I just sold the cabin about six months ago."

"Are those properties occupied by the new owners full-time?"

"The beach house, yes. The cabin, no. A lawyer bought it, but he has a lovely home in town. He was going to use it much the way my husband did–for the occasional fishing trip."

"I'll need the addresses of those properties, and the names of the new owners."

"Whom do you think she abducted?"

"Her latest victim, and his partner."

"The plastic surgeons? That's ridiculous."

"I hope you're right, Mrs. Babcock. Meanwhile, I do need that information."

********

Sean sat bathed in the yellowish glow of a single grimy bulb in the lamp next to the bed. He'd made a sojourn to the kitchen for a bottle of water, and stopped off in the living room to peruse the limited collection of musty old books on the shelves there. The whole experience had made him feel more like a chained animal than he had before, as straying too close to the door always resulted in a painful tug of the heavy metal cuff around his wrist. Each gesture reminded him he was a prisoner. More so than that, it reminded him that Christian was in the hands of the woman who'd attacked him. No matter how humanely Nanette Babcock treated him now, being with her had to be a constant and vile reminder of the worst experience of his life.

Selfishly, Sean questioned how long he could stay sane, chained up in this place, just waiting. He thought back of Christian's final words to him, and he couldn't resist the warm feeling that spread through him at the memory. No matter how this turned out, at least he knew that they both felt the same way. He knew what could have been if things had been different. A part of him countered the little ray of happiness with the suggestion that Christian was giving him just that–something to hold onto until his ordeal was over. That maybe Christian didn't expect to get out of this alive anyway, so what would it hurt to let Sean believe in something to make his last days more bearable?

"Shit," Sean said aloud, to no one but himself. He'd managed to extinguish the only ray of hope he'd felt since this whole mess started.

There was an axe in the storage room. He'd checked that out earlier. It seemed that very little Nanette Babcock did was by chance, and this was no exception. She'd purposely mentioned the sledgehammer in the storage room, knowing Sean would check that room for other weapons or means of freeing himself. And there was, in fact, just such a weapon. It was unlikely it would break through the chain, but it would certainly cut through flesh and bone with a single swift blow. Maybe he could salvage most of the hand and just chop off the thumb–or perhaps carve off a portion of the hand and the pinky. He didn't need to decrease the width of his hand by much to get it out of the metal cuff.

She'd been careful not to leave him anything like butter, mayonnaise, hand lotion, or any other compound that might make his hand slippery enough to work its way out of the cuff.

No, if Sean planned to escape before the two weeks were up, he'd have to mutilate himself in some manner to accomplish it. He'd never operate again. He had no idea where Christian was, so even if he made the decision to give it all up to save his partner, he didn't know where to go to save him.

He held out his right hand and looked it over, trying to mentally prepare himself to do something unthinkable. He wouldn't be operating if the explosives detonated, either, so maybe a hand was a small price to pay for life. He might not know where he was, but at least he could put enough distance between himself and the cabin to avoid being killed in the explosion.

Swallowing hard, he stretched out on the bed. The horror of self-mutilation could wait a while. He could afford a few days to see just how desperate he became, and a few more to properly assemble the supplies he'd need not to die from the crude manner of amputation he'd have to employ.

As he dozed into a fitful sleep, his thoughts were troubled with images of Christian, The Carver, the disfigured reality of Nanette Babcock's face, and the ghost of a love affair that died before it was ever born.

********

Christian took the two aspirin his captor brought him, and when she'd returned downstairs, he closed the door of his room and stretched out on the bed. His body was demanding some rest, even if his mind wouldn't follow. He felt the gun he'd kept hidden pressing into the small of his back, and eased it out of his belt, tucking it under his pillow. The brilliance of Nanette Babcock's plan was in its simplicity. He could find her, shoot her dead, steal her car, and leave anytime he wanted. There was nothing physically stopping him. But he'd then have to rely on the police to find Sean, and that simply wasn't good enough.

So Nanette basked in a cocoon of safety, free to come and go as she pleased, unworried about her captive. She knew he wouldn't leave, nor would he attack her in any way that would preclude her from disarming that explosive device in two weeks. He'd begun to accept the reality that he would probably have to operate on her, at least once, to save Sean. Gaining her trust was crucial, because the next time he saw Sean, he had to be uncuffed, and he had to keep his gun hidden while he was at this house and be able to take it with him.

He knew he'd dozed off, because he was now faced with a still-hooded Nanette, gently shaking his shoulder to wake him.

"You said you wanted to see my face tonight so you could start planning," she said.

"Is there somewhere in the house where the light's better?" he asked, uneasy about leaving his gun under the pillow, but unwilling to chance reaching for it.

"The kitchen is best, but that's the operating room. The dining room is good, too. There's a table and chairs there, and a large overhead fixture."

"Let's go, then." He stood up and followed her downstairs, through the tidy, modestly furnished rooms to the dining room, which was home to a large oak table and chairs that appeared to be antique. "Is this your house?" he asked.

"I wish it were. It's tied up in an estate. I've been watching for a good vacant property, and this one was ideal." She sat at the table, and Christian sat across the corner of it from her, facing her.

"Would you like to take off your scarf?"

She hesitated, then took off the scarf and the dark glasses. Christian couldn't help but look shocked at what he saw. The disfigurement caused by the shooting was horrendous, and he found himself amazed she was even alive.

"It's awful, I know," she said in her usual mechanical voice.

"You do realize that I can't fix your vocal chords and voice box–that would require a different type of surgeon, and procedures I'm not skilled in. If it can be done at all."

"It can't. But I already know how much my intelligence or my personality meant to anyone. I only care about the surface package now. I want to be pretty."

"Nanette, it would be irresponsible of me to guarantee that I can make you pretty. I'm not sure yet how much I can do with the damage to your face. I assisted Sean with a similar surgery a year or so ago, but Sean did most of the actual work."

"Well, Sean's not here."

"This is massive muscle and tissue damage, not to mention the need to restructure your cheekbone and eye socket," he said, gesturing to her left side. "Can you see out of your left eye?"

"Not very well."

"Do you have something I can write and draw on?" Christian asked.

"Just a minute." She left the room momentarily, but returned soon with a black marker and a spiral notebook.

Christian tried sketching a rough outline of her face, and tried to remember exactly how Sean had approached the repair work on the woman who had been shot in the face during a botched suicide pact with a friend.

"We'll work on the bones in your face first. Do all we can with those. The first surgery won't make you look your best, but it will lay the groundwork. The problem is, I can't launch right into it in the morning. And I would need x-rays."

"I have all that. I've been x-rayed from just about every direction since the shooting." She tapped a thick manilla folder with her finger. "All my medical records are in here, and these," she slid a stack of large, flat, thin envelopes his way, "are all my x-rays, including the damaged area on my face."

"I'll need to study all of this before I operate. We generally schedule procedures this intricate a few days down the road to give us time to plan, not to mention learning the patient's history and evaluating the risks."

"I understand. I'm a little disappointed, but I'd rather it was done right."

"The problem is that you have Sean on a two-week timer. This is a massive surgical procedure that carries a high risk–"

"I already told you that you'd just have to pull me through. I'm not disengaging the explosives because I might die. Those are the only insurance policy I have that I won't be dead thirty seconds after I lose consciousness."

"I wasn't suggesting you disengage them. But you should reset the timer. We need more than two weeks. You'll be conscious again, and recuperating, but you won't be in any condition to drive or exert yourself, and if you don't want me to know where he is, how will you reset the timer to keep your end of the bargain?"

"How much longer would I need to recuperate?"

"At least a week, maybe more."

"I'll reset the timer for three weeks, but not a day more."

"You should be recovered enough in that time."

"Good. I'll reset the timer tomorrow. So what are you going to do first?"

"Restructure your cheekbone and your eye socket. I want you to know that I don't have Sean's dexterity with microsurgery, and your eye will be involved–"

"I'll take my chances. So that's it?"

"That's plenty to start. The problem is that I may need to put a plate in, depending on what I see in the x-rays. I'd know right where to lay my hands on the supplies back at the office, but–"

"You're not going back there."

"Think about it a moment. A fully equipped surgical suite and recovery facilities. An anesthesiologist–"

"The police, prison... No thanks. This'll have to do. What else will you do to my face? The next surgery, I mean?"

"What about the exit wound scar? Do you want to repair that scar or rely on wearing a scarf or hair plugs?"

"I want all my hair back eventually, but I'm most concerned about my face first."

"We'll have to work on the skin after the structural work is done. I'm not going to lie to you, Nanette. You've got about a year's worth of work ahead of you to do the maximum that can be done."

"I hope it doesn't take that long, for Dr. McNamara's sake. A year is a long time."

"You can't keep him there for a year."

"You'd be surprised at what I can do," she said, a spark of the insanity that lurked beneath the surface, flashing in her eyes.

"The first surgery will leave you quite scarred, but beginning with the second surgery, we'll start to do more of the cosmetic work to smooth out your complexion."

"Will I still be ugly when you're finished?"

"No, you won't be ugly. It's unlikely I can erase what happened, but I can make it look a lot better."

"That's a start," she said. "You should get some rest, so you're able to get up early and start your research. You can take all this up to your room if you like."

"I'll do that," Christian said, struggling to maintain the brittle facade of civility between them. She was most placid when she was getting what she wanted, and there was no reason to ire her now.

********

Fishman took a drink of the bitter, hot coffee. His partner, a slightly younger man with the beginnings of a beer belly and an ongoing concern for the status of his hairline, was checking the map they were using to find the former Babcock fishing cabin. The current owner, a local defense attorney, had willingly provided them a set of keys and his permission to search the premises and gather anything they might need.

Used to working second shift, Fishman was in no mood for this little sojourn into the country at first light. The coffee was keeping him awake, but the caffeine was also putting him more on edge as he thought about just how many hopes he was hanging on this one thin lead. His captain had been all over him like a sack of snakes when he learned that not one, but two, of the doctors under his protection were now missing. If he didn't retrieve both of them with minimal damage in the near future, he figured there was a uniform and a squad car in his future.

The Carver hadn't killed anyone yet, so he took comfort in the notion that this was just one more twisted game to prove some sick point. Still, that wasn't much comfort considering the condition of most of the victims.

"Are we there yet?" he quipped, and Stan, his partner, chuckled.

"Another ten miles or so, by my calculations."

"How trustworthy are those calculations?"

The other man made a shaky gesture with his free hand, the other still holding the map.

"You think she'd use this cabin? Seems pretty traceable."

"She might not be aware we're looking for her. Or she wasn't when she picked out the site," Fishman said, hoping there was some grain of truth in that.

********

Sean woke to a few rays of morning sunshine filtering in through the dirt on the window pane. His arm and wrist ached from the constant weight of the metal cuff, and he felt dazed from the few hours of sleep he'd managed to get in between nightmares and chaotic thoughts of death, dismemberment, and ticking explosive timers.

He sat up and rubbed his left hand over his face. He headed into the small bathroom and found all the standard toiletries in the old fashioned medicine cabinet. After brushing his teeth, he used the electric shaver to shave, and splashed on a little of the drugstore aftershave provided. He thought of taking a shower, but fighting the manacle on his wrist seemed like too much trouble. He relieved himself, washed his hands, and then dragged his chain out to the kitchen. He didn't have much of an appetite, but his stomach was empty and he felt a little lightheaded. Choosing an apple from the bowl on the kitchen table, he examined it and then bit into it carefully, relieved to find it fresh, crisp, and tasty. He took a bottle of water from the refrigerator and carried his meal to the living room, setting the items on a small table next to one of the well-worn chairs. He pulled a couple of books off the shelf and sat down, determined to try to pass a few of the hours that lay ahead doing something other than fearing his and Christian's probable fates.

********

"You just passed the road," Stan admonished, looking exasperated.

"Whose fault is that? I can't read a fucking map and drive at the same time," Fishman groused, acknowledging only to himself that he had been in a sort of mental trance for the last several miles, not really paying attention to the monotonous terrain.

Finally on the bumpy, unpaved road to the cabin, the two men straightened in their seats a bit, keeping their eyes open for the first sign of the structure among the trees. It was an unremarkable little wood place, not good for much more than a hangout for a bunch of guys fishing and drinking enough beer not to notice what rotten accommodations they had.

Parking far enough up the trail that they wouldn't alert whoever was inside to their presence, they drew their guns and moved quickly up to the front exterior wall of the cabin, flattening themselves there.

"No vehicles, but there are fresh tracks," Fishman said. "I'm gonna have a look," he said, edging carefully toward a window. Peering through the grimy glass, he saw someone sitting in a chair in the living room. He didn't see anyone else, but then he couldn't see the rest of the cabin's interior, nor could he tell who was in the chair.

"What'd you see?"

"Someone's in a chair in the front room. I think we should check out the other windows, see if he's alone."

"Who is it?"

"I can't see clearly from here. It could be McNamara. He's the right size and build."

They checked the other windows, and unable to find any evidence that the man in the living room wasn't alone, they returned to the front door. Fishman approached it, and his partner stayed to the side, weapon drawn. Fishman knocked sharply.

********

Sean nearly tossed the book he was reading across the room when the sharp knock on the door startled him. He got up and started toward the door, but the chain kept him several feet back from it.

"Who's there? I need help!" he called out to the visitor.

"Detective Fishman, Dr. McNamara," Fishman called back. "Stand back from the door." Fishman looked at his partner. "Kick it in."

"Why me?"

"Bad knee and seniority. Now kick it in," Fishman repeated, standing back, keeping his own weapon aimed at the door as his partner finally complied, and the door flew open.

Sean jumped back at the sound, angry at his own frazzled nerves and the way every sound was making him jump.

"Are you all right, Dr. McNamara?" Fishman asked.

"I'm fine," Sean countered. "Except for this," he said, gesturing with his manacled wrist. "She has the key. It's attached to the wall in the bedroom. She has explosives here. At least, she claims she does. I can't reach the pantry behind the kitchen, and that's where she went to set the timer."

"When is it due to go off, according to her?" Fishman asked, as his partner went to the pantry to investigate.

"In two weeks. She has Christian, and she's planning to force him to do surgery on her face by holding me here and threatening to kill me if he doesn't go along with her. I don't know where they are now. I don't know where I am for that matter."

"You're in a fishing cabin about two hours from the city. The Babcocks owned it until recently. The other property they formerly owned was a beach house, but that's occupied year-round, so it's doubtful she's there, but we're having it checked. Why don't you show me where the chain's connected, and we'll see what we can do to get you unhooked?"

"What about the explosives?" Sean asked, as Stan returned from the pantry, carrying an alarm clock and a bundle of dynamite.

"It's a kid's toy. An old one, from back when it wasn't politically incorrect for kids to play with toy guns and dynamite and things like that," he explained, showing Fishman the toy manufacturer's crest on the bottom of the molded plastic. "Good-looking fake from a distance," he added, looking it over.

"So there's nothing that would blow up there?" Sean asked.

"We'll have Hazmat go over the place anyway, just in case she used this as a decoy and hid the real explosives somewhere else," Fishman explained.

"I'll call 'em," Stan offered, heading outside. "I've got some sweats in the trunk, Doc," he said, and Sean nodded.

"I'd appreciate that. I'd just as soon not go back into town in my underwear." He led Fishman back to the room where the chain was connected to the wall.

"Hey, Stan! Tell 'em to send a locksmith while they're at it!" Fishman called back to his partner. "Sorry, but unless I shoot it off you, you're not getting out of that thing without it being unlocked first."

"I'll wait for the locksmith. But what are you going to do about finding Christian? He's holed up somewhere with this nut."

"I'll radio that in, and we'll do everything we can. We'll get his description out–and a current description of Nanette Babcock, which you can hopefully give us."

"If you've got a sketch artist, I can describe the facial disfigurement. She was wearing a black shawl like a scarf, and dark glasses. I'm assuming her voice was destroyed by the shooting, because she does still use a mechanical device to speak, only this time, it was more feminine sounding."

"As soon as we get back to town, we'll sit you down with the sketch artist."

"Be honest with me–what do you think your chances are of locating them?"

"Finding you was almost a freebie. She probably picked this place because she didn't know the police were onto her. We have to carefully consider what to do next. We'll stake this place out, in case she decides to come back and check on you. If it hits the media that you've been rescued, it could cause her to do something drastic."

"Or it could let Christian off the hook and let him do what he has to to get away from her."

"Depends on who heard the news first. Chances are, she'll be controlling the access to any media sources. I'd like her to have the illusion of power just a bit longer, because if she thinks her plan has failed, she's more likely to want to get out of it, and that could mean killing your partner."

********

Christian came to, realizing he'd finally managed to sleep for a few hours during the night. It was daylight, and the house was eerily silent. That, of course, didn't mean Nanette wasn't lurking somewhere doing whatever it was she did when she wasn't out disfiguring people. The bedroom door was still closed, and the contents of the folder of medical records he'd been reading were still scattered as he'd left them on the floor by the bed.

He got up and moved toward the door, trying the knob carefully, finding it opened easily. The door to the bathroom was also open, and the room appeared empty. He crossed the hall to take care of his needs. He wanted a shower, but somehow stripping down naked in the same house with the lunatic who'd nearly ripped him in half with a strap-on wasn't something he felt emotionally prepared to handle. For as much freedom as she was giving him, she had all the power. Clothing was really a pointless and illusory barrier of protection. She had Sean's life in her hands, and if she demanded he submit to some grotesque and perverted activities to preserve that life, he knew he'd have no choice.

Acknowledging the truth in that, he shut the bathroom door and locked it, though he was sure his hostess had a key. The warm water of the shower felt good, though he didn't linger there long behind the flowered shower curtain. He tried to banish images of Janet Leigh's fate in Psycho as he washed his hair with the bottle of shampoo he found in a shower caddy. It was a bit floral and feminine for his tastes, but at least he felt freshened up and wouldn't spend the day disdained by his own scent.

He pulled back the shower curtain and grabbed for the towel on the rod near the tub. Nanette stood in the doorway, no scarf or dark glasses, apparently not feeling the need to hide her face from him since he'd examined it the night before.

"I always wanted to come into the bathroom and see a beautiful man getting out of my shower in the morning. You'd be surprised at what seems so ordinary to beautiful women being so exceptional to someone like me."

"Most of the beautiful women I've known don't walk into locked bathrooms to check out men." He wrapped the towel around his waist, trying to act more annoyed than unnerved. His heart was pounding, and he prayed to whatever deity might be listening that she didn't have more in mind than looking. His body wasn't fully healed from the first attack, and it was unlikely she'd seek any medical care for him if she injured him or tore out his stitches in a second assault.

"I have shaving supplies there for you." She moved up behind him, running her hands up his back and onto his shoulders. "I'd like to smell the aftershave on you," she said. "I bought nicer stuff for you. I stocked up on some drugstore stuff for your partner out at the cabin, but for you...I wanted you to smell as expensive as you always do."

"Nanette, I said I'd do what I could to fix your face. That's all I'm doing."

"Really?" She slid her hands around the front of his body, resting them on the edge of the towel. "What about Sean? Is there something you won't do to save his life?"

"If you rip me apart the way you did the last time, I won't be able to stand to operate on you, so maybe you need to decide what it is you want out of this situation."

"I don't even have that device with me," she said, running a finger under the towel. "I want you to do me instead."

"I can't," Christian said, leaning on the small white sink with both hands. "Please just leave me alone. I'll do whatever you want for your surgeries, but not this."

"You're not in charge here. You've screwed hundreds of women. What difference does one more make?"

"I can't, damn you," Christian spat out between gritted teeth. "Not since...what happened."

"Not since I fucked your tight little ass?" She pulled the towel away, tossing it on the floor. "Don't you want to return the favor? I've lost the weight now. I'm thinner. I know someone like you would die before he did it with a fat girl."

"I'd die before I'd touch you with a ten foot pole, so you if you want to have sex with me, you better get your gun and your fake dick and knock yourself out screwing my corpse."

"Temper, temper, Christian," she said, running one hand down to his ass. He spun around, grabbing her wrist almost hard enough to snap it.

"Touch me again and I'll break every bone in your body, you fucking bitch," he growled. Something in his expression seemed to unnerve her, and she struggled to free her wrist. "You want to know something? There are a few things I won't do to save Sean's life, or anyone else's. If you want that twisted excuse for a face patched up, you get the hell away from me and keep your hands to yourself. Maybe when you don't look like an escapee from a low budget horror movie, you can get yourself a man without abducting one!"

She stared at him for a long moment, looking almost as if she were about to burst into tears, rubbing at her wrist. Then, a change swept like a shadow over her features.

"I'm not going to set off those explosives to kill your partner." She moved closer. "I'm going to enjoy killing him, and it's going to be long, slow, and very painful." She turned on her heel and headed for the stairs. Christian darted across the hall to the bedroom and retrieved the gun from under his pillow.

"Stop!" he shouted, and she turned on the stairs to look up the barrel of the nine millimeter hand gun pointed at her.

"If you kill me, you'll never find him."

"You're on your way to kill him anyway, so I've got nothing left to lose." He fired the gun, hitting her leg. She crumpled on the stairs in pain, grabbing at the wound that began gushing blood that ran through her fingers. "Damn. I must have hit an artery. Person could bleed to death that way. And it would be slow and painful."

"Help me!" she pleaded, holding onto the wound.

"Help you? You've got to be kidding. I could have blown what's left of your head off, but I'd much rather do this a little at a time."

"Didn't you take an oath to do no harm?" she pleaded, sobbing.

"Oh, fuck you, lady, and fuck the oath while you're at it. See if your big rubber dick works on that. As a matter of fact, fuck yourself, because no one else ever will. I'd go to my grave and take Sean with me before I'd touch a monster like you!" He stormed into the bedroom and pulled on his pants and his shirt, buttoning a couple buttons and leaving the shirttail hang out. Jamming his feet into his shoes, he returned to the hall to see his captor, who was now his victim, still crouched on the stairs, struggling to pull herself up. Her bloody hand slipped on the railing and dropped her right back down on the steps.

"Where is Sean?" he aimed the gun at her again.

"If I tell you, you'll kill me!"

"If you don't tell me, I'll kill you. I'm not sure what I'll do if you tell me, but you might as well take a chance on it."

"If you kill me, you'll never find him, and the explosives will go off."

"I'm only going to ask this one more time, and then I'm putting another bullet into you. It might be in your head, it might be a shoulder, or a kneecap. Or maybe I'll stick this thing in your mouth, and I promise you, I won't fuck it up. Or maybe I will and blow up the other side of your face for kicks."

"I can take you to the cabin. You can drive the car. Please...I'll do anything," she pleaded.

"You're going to tell me where it is, lady. I don't trust you. And if you happen to bleed to death on the way, I still won't have my partner. No, you tell me where he is, and how to get there, and then I'll let you patch up that leg before you bleed out."

"I need help!"

"That's the understatement of the year, but I can tell you how to apply a pressure dressing and you can do it yourself from your extensive supply of surgical supplies. Then we'll go get Sean. And if you play your cards right, I won't put any more holes in your miserable excuse for a body."

********

"I still think I should have stayed at the cabin," Sean said, pacing the conference room at police headquarters where he'd been stashed, safely out of sight of the press or anyone else who might leak his rescue to the public. "My kids don't know I'm all right...I need to talk to my family."

"We're trying to set a trap, Doc," Stan said, setting another cup of coffee at the place at the table where Sean had been sitting. "You might as well relax. Fishman's got the cabin and the surrounding area staked out, and we've got guys checking other vacant or abandoned properties in the area. We'll find your partner, but in the meantime, if the woman thinks she still has you for an ace in the hole, she's probably going to stay calm. There's a good chance she'll make a trip out there to check on her captive, and we can nail her then. But if your rescue is all over the news, she's bound to hear about it."

"My daughter's only nine years old. Does she know I'm missing?"

"I'm not sure how your wife explained that to her, or if she did. I never saw your daughter at the house, just your wife."

"Julia was at the house?"

"While we were checking it out after Dr. Troy knocked out one of our cops and took his gun. She wasn't too pleased with us for losing track of both of you."

"Christian's had a gun all this time? Why didn't he do something with it before this?"

"You said he was handcuffed when he saw you at the cabin. It's a little tough to handle a weapon with your wrists cuffed together. It's been done, but not very often. Besides, maybe she found the gun early on."

"And he's been protecting my life. He won't do anything to her as long as he thinks he needs her to save me. Maybe if he knew I was safe, he'd get himself out of this mess."

"Assuming he still has the gun, and assuming he'd be the one who'd find out about your rescue. Fishman's real clear on how he wants to handle this."

"Detective Stanley?" a uniformed officer asked, poking his head in the door of the room. "Detective Fishman's on the line. They've got activity at the cabin."

"Stay put," he said to Sean, who was tempted to argue but decided to cooperate with their plan, hoping they'd made the right call.

********

"I need to go to a hospital. I don't feel too good," Nanette complained, her head lolling back on the headrest of the passenger seat of the car.

"You'll get there. How much farther to the cabin?"

"The dirt road is about two miles ahead, on the left," she said.

"I'll be sure you get medical help as soon as I have Sean back alive and safe. I don't care enough about you to murder you. I just needed to get my partner back."

"Why couldn't you have just cooperated? I just wanted you to fix my face, and then I would have been gone, and–"

"Why couldn't you have stayed away from me this morning? I was all set to cooperate with your warped little plan until you started in on that."

"Would it have been so horrible to make love to me?" she asked, crying. Christian looked at her, then looked back at the road, stunned.

"You raped me! You slashed my partner, you cut up my face, you've tortured innocent people...think about what you're saying."

"I had to do that! I had to show them!"

"Show them what? That you can be uglier than all of them put together? That's all you showed anyone, Nanette. Just how black and evil and ugly you are on the inside."

"You don't know what it's like to live like this! Even before what happened to my face, I was shunned by everyone who mattered. Just because I didn't look like a model in a fashion magazine. I've hated them all my life. Scrawny little bitches with their perfect bodies and perfect hair and perfect clothes."

Christian turned down the dirt road she had described and soon found himself pulling up in front of the cabin. He turned off the car and took the keys out of the ignition, tucking them in his pocket.

"I'm going in after Sean. You stay put, unless you want to walk back to town."

He got out of the car and walked up to the door of it, when the woods seemed to come to life with motion.

"Don't move!" a male voice yelled, and Christian obeyed it, raising his arms.

"Dr. Troy?" one of the officers asked as they converged on the cabin and the car.

"Yes. Where's my partner? He was being held here."

"He's safe, at police headquarters."

"We need an ambulance out here!" another officer called as he crouched inside the door of the car, checking Nanette's wound.

"Here," Christian said, pulling out the gun and handing it, hand grip first, to the nearest cop. "I shot her to get her to bring me out here. She threatened to come out here and kill Sean this morning, and I didn't see another way to stop her and find him."

"You can give a full statement at headquarters, Doctor. We'll take care of her," he said, accepting the gun and ushering Christian toward a plain sedan that pulled up behind the car Christian had been driving. Fishman got out of it.

"Glad to see you're all right, Dr. Troy. How'd you manage to get her out here?"

"I was trying to play the game with her. She said she'd kill Sean if I didn't do surgery on her face. Then she came on to me this morning and I snapped. Once I turned on her, she threatened to come out here and kill Sean right away, forget the explosives, so I had to make a move. I had the gun, and so I shot her and then threatened to shoot her again or let her bleed out if she didn't tell me where Sean was."

"Nicely done, Doctor. You brought in a very dangerous criminal."

"Right now, I'd just like to see my partner."

"Get in. I'll give you a lift back to the station. We'll need a full statement from you."

********

Sean's back was stiff from hours of sitting on a straight plastic chair, and hours before that on the lumpy mattress in the cabin. He'd worked with the sketch artist to draw a composite of Nanette, and he'd eaten a donut and drunk coffee provided by the police. He felt almost weak with relief at the news that Christian was in one piece and being brought back to the station by Fishman. Still, he knew Christian would have to give a statement, and he hoped it would all move along swiftly. He was exhausted, and all he wanted to do was take a hot shower and crawl into bed–preferably with Christian–and sleep for hours without the fear of waking up to The Carver's painted false face.

The door to the conference room opened, and Fishman walked in, followed by a slightly bedraggled looking Christian–hair rumpled, shirttail hanging, bare feet stuffed into expensive Italian leather shoes. Despite the detective's presence, neither man hesitated before moving toward the other, meeting in a crushing embrace. Surprisingly, Fishman quietly left the room, giving them a few minutes of illusory privacy, since both figured the room was most likely under some kind of security surveillance.

"Are you okay?" The question came almost simultaneously, making both men laugh a little tiredly.

"The explosives were phonies," Sean said, smiling. "Would have been a real kick in the ass to find that out after hacking my own hand off to escape."

Christian grabbed Sean's right arm and pulled his wrist and hand into clear view, as if he had to see that they were still untouched.

"I didn't do it, Christian," Sean said, surprised that Christian was still holding his hand in both of his larger ones. "I just didn't trust her to come back in two weeks, or that she didn't lie about how long I had. I was just starting to look at my options, and that was one of them."

"I'm so sorry. I had the gun when we were there, but with the cuffs on, I couldn't reach it. It was in the back of my pants."

"Fishman told Stanley over the radio that she made a move on you and you went after her with the gun. She didn't...?"

"No, she didn't. She wanted me to do her. I couldn't do that. I probably should have, because this whole damn thing could have blown up in our faces–literally. I just...couldn't do it."

"I'm glad you didn't. We're both okay. That's what matters. As soon as you give your statement, we'll get out of here. I'm going to call Julia. I don't know how much she's told Matt and Annie, and I don't want them to worry." Sean pulled his hand away gently. "Cameras," he whispered.

"I don't care." Christian gave Sean a penetrating look. "I meant what I said at the cabin. I don't care who knows, and I don't need to keep banging every woman in sight."

"Don't do this just because you're glad I didn't blow up. We'll still be friends no matter what happens with...our relationship...beyond that."

"I forgot my Ferrari for you, Sean."

"Excuse me?"

"When she picked me up, she made me leave it in a clearing in the woods. I haven't given it a second thought until right now. Shit, I traded Kimber in for a better car. But thinking about you...there wasn't even room to care what happened to it. Truth is, I don't even care now. I just want to be with you."

"That's all I want, too," Sean admitted. "Give your statement so we can get out of here, okay?"

"Okay. Oh, and while you're calling Julia, could you–"

"Flatbed tow, to your parking space in the ramp by the office."

"That'll work, thanks," Christian said, grinning. "The security tracking system should point them where they need to go to find it."

********

Relieved to no longer be hidden in a conference room, Sean used an empty desk near Fishman's office to dial Julia's cell number.

"Hello?" She sounded anxious, and Sean wasn't sure if the story had broken in the press yet about their rescue and the capture of The Carver.

"Hey, Jules, it's me."

"Oh, my God, Sean, are you all right? It's all over the news!"

"I'm fine. So is Christian. We're at the police station now. Christian's giving his statement."

"They said he captured her and delivered her to the police."

"He used the gun he'd kept with him to force her into taking him to where she had left me. In the meantime, the cops found me on their own, so they were waiting for her when Christian arrived with her at the cabin."

"I'll be right over."

"Do Matt and Annie know?"

"Matt knows–he's been following the news and pestering the police for updates. Annie doesn't know. I kept her home from school so she wouldn't hear about it. She didn't mind playing hooky with Mom for the day."

"Is Matt there?"

"He's at school."

"I'll call his cell number and let him know I'm okay. Listen, we're both exhausted, and we're just going to catch a ride home with one of the officers here and get some sleep."

"I want to see you, Sean. You nearly died."

"I want to see you and the kids, too, but I'm really drained right now. I just need sleep. This thing shook me up more than I thought it would."

"I can imagine it would. I'm just trying to be there for you. Can't you just let me in a little? I can at least give you a ride home and make sure you have what you need at the house. I can bring Annie, and she can see for herself you're fine. I can't keep her away from the TV forever. I can pick up Matt on the way."

"Okay," Sean conceded tiredly. He didn't have the energy to argue with her, and he knew it would be best for Annie to see him alive and well with her own eyes. Matt was a big boy; he could understand his father's need for some downtime, but Annie was too young to grasp that, and Julia had apparently never grasped it.

"I'll start out right now, and I should be there in a half hour or so."

"Fine. I'll be here." With that, he hung up the phone and the called to make arrangements for the pick up of Christian's car.

********

Julia was there as promised, with time to spare, to reunite Sean with the kids and see for herself that he had survived his ordeal mostly unscathed. Matt rode in the front seat with his mother, while Annie happily sat in the backseat between her father and godfather.

"She didn't need to hit you if you were cooperating," Julia commented as she glanced in the rearview mirror, looking at the faded bruising on Sean's face, and the nearly healed split in his lip.

"I'm just glad it's over, and we both got through it in one piece," Sean replied, sparing a quick look at Christian, who seemed grateful that Sean was pinning the bruises on The Carver.

"Mom said you and Uncle Christian caught the criminal," Annie said, enthused. "Did she have a gun?"

"The police did the catching. I just made sure she was in the right place at the right time, and your dad helped the police catch her," Christian said.

"Wow!" Annie's eyes widened, and she looked at Sean, who was shooting a slightly admonishing look at Christian, who just shrugged.

"Tough being a hero, isn't it?" he quipped.

"I thought you were at the station–" Matt began until Julia cut him off.

"The details aren't important right now, honey. Your dad and Christian are tired."

"Smuggling that gun with you was a neat trick. How'd you manage to keep it without her noticing it?" Matt asked Christian.

"She never looked for it. She took my cell phone, but I guess she didn't expect I'd have a gun. So I just stashed it until I needed it."

"Man, that's awesome. You guys actually caught The Carver. And it was a woman. That's incredible."

"I told you it was a woman a long time ago," Christian said, a little annoyed that everyone seemed so amazed when a woman was actually arrested.

"Well, yeah, but–"

"But now there's proof." Christian sighed tiredly. "It's okay, Matt. I'm just tired and grumpy."

"When we get home, I can make you dinner, or order out," Julia offered.

"Let's just order out something easy," Sean responded, smiling at his daughter's contented expression at having both of them safe and sound and riding in the backseat with her. "We can all have dinner together."

"That'd be nice," Julia said, smiling as she cast him a look in the rearview mirror.

Their meal was pleasant, but Sean had to admit, if only to himself, that he was counting the minutes until it was over. There was something so large, so critical out there between Christian and himself that they hadn't even had a few private moments to talk about since Nanette Babcock had been taken into custody.

When the last bites of dessert had been consumed, it was Matt who finally took the cue from his father's haggard, tired look to move his mother and sister along toward the idea of going home.

"I've got some studying to do tonight, and it looks like Dad and Christian are pretty well whipped," he said, rising from the table and starting to clear it. "Come on, Annie, give me a hand." His little sister sprang into action immediately, and before Julia knew what was happening, the kids were clearing away the dishes and preparing to go home.

"Well, I guess my passengers are leaving without me," she said, smiling and standing as Sean and Christian did the same. "I'm glad you're both all right," she said, hugging Sean, and then Christian. "If you need anything, just give me a call."

"We'll be fine, but thanks. Dinner was nice," Sean said, feeling the slightest twinge of guilt at ushering his estranged wife and children out of the house so he could explore his romantic feelings for his partner.

"Yeah, it was. It was good to all spend some time together. Get some sleep. You both look exhausted."

When they were all finally gone, and Sean shut and locked the door behind them, he sagged against it with relief.

"Just you and me, partner," Christian said, taking a hold of Sean's shoulders from behind, loving the feeling of Sean leaning back into him, craving the contact. "How about a shower and bed?"

"Do you really want this, Christian? Even if sex seems difficult and scary right now, it'll get better. You'll be able to be with a woman the way you always have, and–"

"There's something I want you to know. You'll know about it as soon as we get upstairs anyway."

"What?" Sean turned to face him, troubled.

"Kimber came over. Before all this happened. We were upstairs in the guest room. Nothing happened. I thought at the time it was because of what that lunatic did to me with her rubber dick, but that's not what it was. I wanted to be with you."

"It's kind of hard to fathom you'd pick me over someone like Kimber."

"That's what I was trying to tell you at the cabin. I'd pick you over anyone. I've tried to push that aside, to deny that it was there, but it is, and once I looked at it and acknowledged it, there wasn't any room for anything or anyone else. I want you. I think I probably have since I bought your lunch in the cafeteria that day."

"I want you, too." Sean moved closer and Christian eagerly met him halfway, their lips touching, then pressing, tongues eagerly exploring as they held each other, giving vent to just a little of the pent up passion and emotion that had burned inside of them since that moment in the cabin when they knew they both wanted the same thing.

"Did I hurt your lip this time?" Christian asked, his mouth so close to Sean's that their lips were still touching.

"The only thing that's hurting me is that we stopped. How about your face?"

"What face?" Christian covered the smile that was forming on Sean's mouth, unwilling to give up the taste and feeling of their kisses long enough to move from the awkward spot in the kitchen where they were standing, exhausted but exhilarated at the same time.

"Let's go upstairs. We'll use the master bedroom."

Reluctantly, they separated long enough to make the journey upstairs, dowsing lights as they went, relishing the peace of mind that no one was lurking in the shadows, and they had a safe sanctuary to rest, and to explore each other in the unhurried peace of a long evening and night ahead.

Wordlessly, they went into the master bedroom and began shedding clothes, tossing them on the floor, kicking off shoes and sending underwear and socks to join them. Sean led the way into the bathroom and started the water in the shower, feeling Christian's warm body close behind him. As he leaned back into the inviting feeling of Christian's arms, another feeling nudged at his tail bone. He looked over his shoulder at Christian.

"That's right, Sean, I'm hard for you. Just kissing you and getting naked with you."

They got into the shower under the warm spray, and a little unsure what to do next, lapsed back into a prolonged session of kissing, only this time, hands slid over water-slick skin, taking liberties that were always off limits among friends.

Christian maneuvered Sean back against the tiles, kissing down his jaw to his throat, sucking on the tender skin there, purposely making a mark and drawing no protest for it. He kissed his way down to a nipple, eager to see if the little nub lurking amidst the chest hair would spring to attention and respond to his ministrations the way a prominent nipple at the end of a heaving breast would. Sean groaned and arched into the sucking, his hand coming up to the back of Christian's head to encourage him.

He licked his way to the other nipple, sucking it hard, hearing and feeling Sean's indrawn breath, the hand in his hair flexing. Spurred on by Sean's rapid breathing and obvious pleasure, Christian moved down to the hollow at Sean's navel, teasing it with his tongue and nipping at the edges of it with lip-covered teeth.

"God, Christian...I'm coming," he gasped, apologetic, as he began climaxing. Christian moved up and pulled Sean into his arms, kissing him deeply, rubbing his body against Sean's, amazed to feel his own climax sweeping over him in a sudden wave. They stayed wrapped around each other as they shuddered through the final waves of an orgasm that had startled both of them with its swiftness and intensity.

"I'm sorry," he said against Christian's chest, his voice broken.

"Why are you apologizing? That's the best response time I've ever gotten from the old magic tongue here." He smiled as Sean laughed a little shakily at that. "One of the perks about being with each other should be leaving all the damned sexual etiquette and politics at the door. If it feels good and you're ready to come, do it. You don't have to prolong it. I'm good enough to make you come twice if the first one is over too soon," Christian teased.

"You are, huh? We're over 40, remember? You're good, but you're not a miracle worker." Sean backed away a little. "Let me do something for you–" Sean found himself touching a soft, spent cock instead of the large erection Christian had been sporting earlier. "You came, too?"

"Just tasting and feeling you, listening to you come." Christian smiled at the bewildered look on Sean's face. He couldn't resist kissing him again. "Don't look so surprised. You're pretty damn sexy when you're coming."

"Nobody ever said that to me before."

"Let's get dried off and go to bed. I don't know about you, but that used up the last of the energy I had left. Maybe after we have a nap, we'll wake up and make something interesting happen."

"I hate being so tired tonight."

"There's no better sleep than after coming like there's no tomorrow. I want to have some of that sleep with your naked body pressed up against me."

"I love you," Sean said, smiling. "I can't believe how much."

"I never felt this way about anyone before. I don't care how many women I've been with. None of them ever made me come by squeezing my heart instead of my dick."

Sean was speechless, so he didn't bother with words, pulling Christian in for another intense kiss before they dried off and headed for bed. Snuggled under the covers, wrapped around each other, safe and secure for the first time in months, both men fell into a deep sleep.

********

Sean opened his eyes, confused for a moment. Strong arms held him tight, and a hair-dusted chest was rising and falling beneath his cheek in the even respiration of sleep. Raising up slightly, he looked at Christian's sleeping face, savoring the sight, and reeling a little at the way his life had shifted in just a few short weeks.

The cuts on Christian's face were healing well. They were inoffensive looking lines that just needed more time to fade and heal fully. If they weren't as perfect as Christian wanted, he'd do a little dermabrasion, find a better fade cream...whatever it took to make Christian happy with his face again. Sean couldn't have been happier with it, lines or no lines.

Christian came just because I did.

Sean pondered that a moment, rolling it around on his brain the way he would roll a fine wine on his tongue. One thing he had to say for making love with a man–there was no faking it. You either did or you didn't, and no amount of acting could hide the truth. And the truth was that Christian was excited by him. He didn't just love him with all the emotion and history that came with a twenty-year friendship. He wanted him; wanted him so much that Sean accomplished what a sexy, blonde, female porn star couldn't.

"You look like the cat that swallowed the canary," Christian said, amused. Sean hadn't realized he was lying there with a sappy smile on his face. Maybe it was the license to finally have something so utterly forbidden, or maybe it was just the intimacy and romance of lying there naked together. Maybe it was the way Christian's arms came up around him, or the passion in his responses. Maybe it was just love.

"I guess I just like waking up with you," Sean said simply, his heart warming at the truth in that statement, and at the thought he could look forward to this every morning.

Christian reached down and enclosed Sean's cock in a firm grip, pumping slowly. "Come on, show me what those magic hands can do."

Sean took a hold of Christian's semi-erect cock, and soon they were stroking each other in cadence, kissing and licking at each other's mouths, tongues sliding together and exploring as they worked their way closer to climax. They came within moments of each other, losing themselves in a close embrace in the afterglow, their hearts pumping together as their bodies cooled.

"You want to freak Liz out and let her catch us in the supply room?" Christian joked, and Sean laughed.

"This can't change how we behave in the office. Well, except if I catch you doing one of our patients again, you'll be in deep shit."

"Get real, Sean. You think I'm going to spend all day with you when we're doing this all night, and not look at you differently?"

"We're still professional partners. Underscore professional. We've got a thriving business together, and we need to maintain our focus."

"How can being happy together mess with our focus? Did it ever occur to you that with both of us in a healthy, functional relationship, our practice is more likely to skyrocket than suffer?"

"How do you think our patients will feel about it if they know we're life partners?" Sean asked.

"The majority of our practice are women. The men are probably more likely to be uneasy about it. The women might actually feel more comfortable–it might make them more comfortable if they don't think we're looking at them as heterosexual men."

"But we are heterosexual men."

"Who just happen to be banging each other every chance we get."

"You think that makes us gay?"

"No. I think it makes us lucky," Christian quipped, nuzzling Sean's neck.

"I'm serious."

"No. I wouldn't get in bed with any other guy but you. I don't like watching men's asses or anything. If I'm going to do some sight-seeing, the subjects will be female."

"Do you think it's unreasonable for me to want us to be monogamous?"

"Well," Christian began, sighing, "I always thought 'monogamous' was too damn close to 'monotonous' for my tastes, but then I'd never met anyone I loved so much that I wanted to spend my life with them. Most of the women I've been with have had a very short shelf life, if you know what I mean."

"How about my shelf life? What's my expiration date?" Sean asked, trying to sound as if he were joking, but he felt as if his entire life was riding on the answer.

"You don't have one," Christian said, completely serious. "I don't ever want to lose you."

"You never will," Sean responded, looking into Christian's eyes. Then they were kissing again, losing themselves in each other until they reluctantly parted.

"Let's go out somewhere tonight to celebrate. We've been eating take out and casseroles long enough. Let's go to a terrific restaurant, order the best champagne in the house–we've earned it."

"No arguments there," Sean agreed. "Anyplace special in mind?"

"Somewhere we don't ordinarily go."

"With other people."

"Right."

"That eliminates most of the decent places in this part of Florida." Christian yawned. "We could order out from a really expensive place, and have dinner here."

"We're still serving ourselves and cleaning it up. Besides, the last time I planned a romantic dinner here, it was a disaster."

"You want to talk about it?"

"Not very badly. I had everything set up, candles and all... That was the night Julia introduced me to Jude. She'd brought him home to study because she thought I was working late. I let them have the dinner and ended up watching that basket of porno movies in the bedroom by myself."

"If you still have that basket of movies, there's no reason we can't run a little film festival ourselves some night."

"I tossed them."

"You–the whole basket of them?"

"I have a nine-year-old daughter and a teenage son with some kind of porn radar. I didn't want them lying around the house where Annie or Matt could find them."

"I have a few goodies back at my place, fortunately."

"We should talk about what we're going to tell people, how we're going to live, what effect this'll have on the kids–"

"Getting rid of this without surgery is my life's goal," Christian said, tracing with his finger the little lines that Sean's frequent worried expression caused. "Will you relax?"

"Julia will probably get the house in a divorce. She has the kids, and if I don't want to give up a partial interest in the practice, it's probably smarter for me to be generous with her up front. If a judge gets wind of our relationship, she'll probably be able to clean me out."

"I don't think Julia would do that."

"If she's disillusioned enough when she finds out about us, and if Erica pushes her hard enough, she will."

"My place isn't really set up for two people, and it doesn't have the greatest memories. I don't just mean the whole mess with The Carver. It's been a place for a lot of sadness and failed relationships. Let's buy a new place."

"I think I better wait until the divorce is final."

"Okay. So when it's final. Maybe a nice place on the beach."

"I may not have a lot to bring to the table financially, Christian. If Julia gets the house, I still have to pay the mortgage payments, and there's Matt's and Annie's college, and–"

"Matt's and Annie's college isn't just your worry. I'm Annie's godfather, and Matt's my son, too. I'm life partners with you, so we'll deal with all that together. As far as supporting Julia and the kids, you know I've always felt like they were my family, too, and I'll help take care of them. Neither one of us would have what we have without the other. From now on, when you're worried about something, I want to know about it. We're partners all the way now."

"I don't have as much put away or invested as you do. With a family, the money seems to just disappear as fast as I make it."

"Whatever I've got are profits from our practice. Besides, what am I gonna do with that money? Horde it? Leave it to my long list of heirs? Or did you think I was just in love with you for your vast financial empire? I saw what you had liquid when we put that money together for Gallardo. There are no secrets here."

"I guess not," Sean admitted, snorting. Then he became very serious. "I really can't wait to spend my life with you."

"For the first time in my life, I really don't care about the money or the cars or the boats. Maybe it's because I finally have what I wanted most. The rest is just window dressing. Besides, we can always make more money."

Sean didn't say anything, but hugged his lover close, soaking up the feeling of not being alone. He'd been alone in his own skin for so long that it was hard to remember that now someone else was looking out for him, and that his love and desire to take care of his life partner was returned full force.

********

After spending a decadent number of hours in bed, both men felt it was time to make an appearance at the office, reassure their staff after the insanity of the last few weeks, and talk to them about getting patients back on the schedule. Their collective livelihood had suffered during Christian's recuperation, and no matter how much they were both willing to live on love, neither saw a reason to do so if they could still have money, too.

They arrived together in Sean's car, first stopping in the garage for Christian to inspect his Ferrari. As he checked it over solicitously, Sean couldn't resist needling him.

"If we hadn't just spent the last fifteen hours in bed together, I'd be jealous," he said quietly.

"It was your idea to come to the office today. We could be home, and I'd be stroking your fenders instead."

"Satisfied your baby has all her parts intact?" Sean asked, grinning and blushing a little at the same time.

"My baby's parts are all perfect–something else I already knew without getting out of bed. But the car's okay, too."

"I'm not going to be able to go in and greet the staff with a hard-on, so just cool it," Sean replied, gesturing.

"I might have to take care of that for you before we go in."

"We're in public, Christian. We can't–"

"The car's not public, and it has tinted windows." Christian flexed his eyebrows.

"When it's parked in the garage at home, maybe. Not here."

"I've got a lot of work to do on you," Christian teased, putting his arm around Sean's shoulders as they started walking toward the entrance to their offices.

"I'll look forward to that."

Linda was the first to greet them, delighted to see both her bosses in one piece after such a horrible ordeal. Most of the staff was still reeling from Sean being abducted out of his office by an alleged patient.

The commotion soon drew Liz to the front, and she greeted them both with enthusiastic hugs.

"For guys who were held hostage by a lunatic, you're looking remarkably well today," she said, beaming. "Christian, Sean did an amazing job on your face. I can't get over how well it's healing."

"That's no surprise to anyone, is it?" Christian said, patting Sean's back. "Wouldn't trust this exceptional mug to anyone else's hands. I've already booked my GQ cover."

"Are you both all right?" Linda asked.

"We were exhausted yesterday when we got back, so we just had a quiet dinner with the family and then took a hot shower and got a lot of rest. It was mostly psychological stress. Neither one of us were really injured."

"She wanted you to fix her face? That's almost...sad," Liz said.

"She's slashed and raped people, Liz. Forgive me if I don't feel sorry for her," Christian responded.

"I was just thinking about how our society's nearly unattainable standard of beauty could drive someone so far over the edge. I certainly don't condone her behavior."

"It's so ironic. We wouldn't operate on her before, but if she'd come in after the shooting, I'd have done her surgeries pro bono. I suppose I can see how the hostility mounted in an already sick mind," Sean said. "But I'll never be able to go far enough to feel sorry for her, or forgive her for what she did to Christian or the other victims."

"Or you," Christian added.

"I got off easy."

"Nobody who went through one of her nocturnal visits got off easy," Christian argued.

"They said on the news she was going to be all right, that they're doing psychiatric evaluations on her now while she's recovering from the wound in her leg," Linda said.

"I don't envy those shrinks, plumbing the depths of her twisted psyche," Christian said.

"We figured it was time we took a look at the files on the patients we've had to cancel and get them back on the schedule."

"Starting Monday," Christian interjected.

"I thought we were starting back tomorrow," Sean said, frowning and looking at his partner.

"Christian's right, Sean. You've been through a lot. Tomorrow's already Thursday. Give yourselves an extra few days before everything starts up again. We have a lot of patients waiting for you two," Liz said.

"Okay, we'll start scheduling Monday, then," Sean agreed. Christian caught his gaze and winked.

When they were alone in Sean's office, looking through the files and the accumulated mail, Sean looked up, a puzzled expression on his face.

"What's with the delay? Are you still having pain?"

"A little now and then, but that's not why I postponed things. I have plans for you tonight and tomorrow, and they don't involve work."

"You're postponing us getting back to work so we can–"

"Do something really special together. Look, once we get back into the routine, we're never going to be able to take off together for the weekend without raising a lot of eyebrows. Right now, we've both been through a lot, and nobody will think it's strange if we go somewhere to relax for a couple days."

"Sneaking around. I just don't like living a double life."

"You said yourself this could complicate the divorce, and you're right. Julia could use something like this to not only relieve you of the house, but half your share of the business, too."

"She already knows I dated Kimber and had sex with a blow-up doll. Do you really think the fact you and I are sleeping together is going to make things much worse?"

"Absolutely. It's not fair, but it's true. If you were dating some nice, upstanding woman, it would be natural. She's already seeing someone else. But you're having a homosexual relationship with your business partner, who also is godfather to your children, and natural father to one of them. A lawyer would love that, and a conservative judge would crucify you."

"The moment the ink's dry on my divorce decree–"

"No more sneaking." Christian reached across the desk and took Sean's hand in both of his. "I finally found what I've spent my entire adult life searching for. I'm not going to keep it hidden like a dirty little secret." He looked at the ring on Sean's finger. "I might even want us to have a set of these of our own."

"Rings?" Sean asked, surprised.

"Think about it. I'll work on convincing you this weekend. See if I can get you to take the old one off, at least." Christian released Sean's hand and went back to reading the file in front of him. He smiled when he snuck a look to see Sean ostensibly reading the mail, but smiling softly, a sweet expression on his face Christian wished he could capture forever.

********

Riding in Christian's Ferrari, top down, wind toying with his hair, Sean's eyes were closed behind his sunglasses, his head supported by the headrest. He knew he was smiling. He couldn't seem to stop doing that lately. Christian had kept their destination a secret, and truth be told, Sean didn't really care where they were going. They were together, they had a long weekend ahead of them, and all felt right in his world for the first time in years. Even the song on the radio seemed in synch with his thoughts.

I feel like this is the beginning

Though I've loved you for a million years

And if I thought our love was ending

I'd find myself drowning in my own tears

You are the sunshine of my life

That's why I'll always stay around...

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty, are you still with me over there?" Christian asked, a laugh in his voice.

"I'm always with you," Sean responded, not moving or opening his eyes. "I'm relaxing. It's kind of enjoyable. Now I see why it's so popular," he quipped.

"We'll be there in a little while."

"I've given up on finding out where 'there' is."

"I wanted you to. It's part of the relaxation thing. Let someone else be in control of things."

"I'll need to call Julia with a number, in case there's anything with the kids–"

"There's no reason our cell phones won't be in service. I'm not taking you to a shack in the Everglades."

"That's a relief," Sean replied, straightening a little in his seat and opening his eyes. "I expected to see us in the middle of a strip of luxury hotels."

The terrain they were passing now was oceanfront property, an area of nice beachfront homes.

"I spoke to a realtor, said I might be considering purchasing a beachfront property, and I wanted to spend a weekend in one to see if it was all I hoped it would be. She came up with a great place for sale or lease out here." Christian took a set of keys out of his pocket and handed them to Sean. "It's all ours until I return those on Monday morning."

"I don't get it. We're test-driving a house for the weekend?"

"It's a pretty nice house, Sean. It's been on the market a while, and she said the owner was willing to rent it for occasional weekends and vacations, refundable if we decide we like it and want to lease or buy it. They're an older couple, and they like to get the income from an occasional rental to people the real estate agent screens carefully."

"I think you should slow down a little. First, I can't buy anything until I know what's going on with the divorce. Second, this is way too far from our office to make it our permanent home, and third–"

"I told her I might not be in a position to buy for six months to a year. If Julia gets the house, you can move in with me, and we could have a place like this for weekends."

"That's a lot to pay just for weekends."

"We don't have to make any decisions or commitments. But it'll give us a chance to see if we like it well enough to buy a place like this when we're ready. We work long hours, and if we're not screwing around with other people, all we need in town is a nice place to eat dinner and spend the night–it doesn't have to be big. Besides, it's not that far from the office."

"When did you do all this?"

"Yesterday, when I said I had some errands to run."

"So that whole spiel about wanting time to go somewhere alone and not be afraid was–"

"A line of bullshit to keep you from finding out what I was up to." Christian smiled. "It's true that I wanted the experience of doing something for myself–for us–by myself and without looking over my shoulder. That much wasn't a lie. It was good to feel...whole again. But I mainly needed to get away from you so I could surprise you."

"It's great, Christian. It was a great idea. I don't mean to be a wet blanket."

"You're a worrier. I'm used to it. Just relax and enjoy this. We'll be together in a beach house or an apartment, or wherever."

The house was set back from the road, behind an electronically controlled security gate, surrounded by beautifully manicured grounds featuring swaying palm trees, flowering plants, and rolling lawn stretching to a white sandy beach, kissed by the perfect blue ocean. A symphony of white exterior and expanses of glass, the house itself seemed at one with the surroundings, a fine barrier between the occupants and the beauty of their natural surroundings. The structure was modest in size, but with one side ending in a distinctive curved shape with a checkerboard of windows, the architecture was as exciting as that of many larger mansions.

"She said the master suite had a great view of the ocean, and an outdoor jacuzzi on the balcony. The way the house is set, it's completely private. It's not huge, but it's top quality."

"I'm really sorry we're looking at this when we can't buy it," Sean said, captivated by the surroundings, the house itself, and the thought of retreating to a place like this with Christian on a regular basis. Their own private paradise.

"Julia and her attorney don't have any claim on my assets, Sean. If this is what we really want, we can do all the paperwork in my name for the time being, and change the title after your divorce is final."

"It seems bizarre to be trying to hide things from her or the kids. I'd like the kids to see this place–or whatever place we end up in–and visit us and enjoy it. I don't want to deny my family the things they need or should have. I just–"

"Divorces are painful. I've never had to go through one, but I know plenty of people who have. We both do. The financial and business end of it is an ugly reality. It's not that either one of us want to shortchange our kids–and they're our kids as far as I'm concerned, not just yours–but we want to start a life together and make that life a good one. We've worked hard to get where we are. We deserve to have some happiness from that."

"You don't think it's wrong of me to be looking for ways to hide assets from Julia?"

"We don't even know Julia will go after more than the house. It depends on her lawyer and how much influence she lets Erica exert on her. Ava was one fucked up nutcase, but I'm hoping she at least helped Julia break that choke hold Erica had on her."

"It seemed like she did, but I don't know what'll happen now."

"Before we figure out the rest of our lives, should we go inside and have a look around?"

"I'm doing it again–worrying about everything too much."

"That's okay. You wouldn't be you if you didn't," Christian responded, smiling and dangling the keys as they headed toward the door, each carrying his overnight bag. "Damn, if that Ferrari doesn't look like it belongs there," Christian said, pausing to look at his car in the house's circular drive.

The inside of the house was as spectacular as the exterior. Just inside the door, there was a short barrier of wall between the entry and the living room, but in a few steps, they found themselves in an impressive two-story room that featured the curved wall of windows stretching from floor to second floor ceiling. The white decor was accented with black modern sectional sofas and chairs, glass tables, and uniquely shaped floor lamps. Colorful accent pillows in red, orange, and yellow added dashes of excitement to the decor. The floor was a marbled tile that blended the black and white influences in subtle shades of gray. The open stairway's black metal railing rose to the second floor and down the open portion of the upstairs hall.

To the right of the entrance was the dining room, furnished with a glass top table and vibrant orange chairs that matched the color of the living room accent pillows. A spectacular wet bar made of frosted glass cubes and a shiny black counter top separated the dining room from the kitchen, with its stainless steel appliances and generous windows. There was a hallway beyond the dining room that appeared to lead to a first floor bedroom.

"There's one bedroom down here, with a bathroom, and three bedrooms upstairs, including the master suite. The other two bedrooms share a bathroom. What do you think?" Christian asked.

"It's beautiful," Sean said, walking a little farther into the dining room area. "This bar is great." He reached to turn on a light switch, and was surprised with the glass cubes were all illuminated, the glow of the lights reflecting off the counter and the polished tile floor.

"I love this place," Christian enthused, checking out the view through the living room wall of windows. "Total privacy, with total openness. That's the realtor's line, but she's right. You don't need to cover these windows, but you don't have to worry about your neighbors peeking in at you, either. You've got to see this back yard. The pool is great."

"State of the art security system," Sean said, checking out the alarm on the wall. "It's not activated?"

"She came out here and deactivated it for us, and left instructions for setting it."

"Sounds like she wants to sell this place pretty badly."

"She's had a few nibbles, but a few of the prospective buyers thought it was too small. The owners built it as a retirement home, so they didn't want it large. Then the woman had a stroke, and it didn't work out for them."

"Too bad. Talk about shattered dreams, huh?" Sean said, looking at the upstairs hall. "It's a great house, Christian. I really like it."

"Let's see the rest of it." Christian took Sean's bag from him and set it with his own at the foot of the stairs.

At the top of the stairs, they paused to check out the view over the railing to the living room below, the proceeded to the double doors at the end of the hall they assumed led to the master suite. The white walls and gray carpeting were accented by a sapphire blue bedspread on a king sized bed, flanked by two built in night stands with black marble tops and white long-neck lamps for reading. Two blue chaise lounges sat on either side of a glass table bearing another small lamp. There was a huge walk-in closet with extensive shelving and drawers.

"Sean, you've got to see this," Christian said from the doorway of the bathroom. "These folks have a sense of decadence I'm growing very fond of," he said as Sean joined him in the bathroom.

The floor was a plain white tile, with black and white marble covering the walls and counter tops. Double sinks, a commode, and an oversized shower with two shower heads occupied one side of the room. The other side was devoted to a oversized square bathtub in an alcove, bathed in soft sunlight from the window overlooking it. At one end of the tub, mounted in the wall, was a small fireplace.

"A fireplace in the bathtub. I wouldn't have thought of that myself," Sean quipped, shaking his head.

"They've thought of everything." Christian tapped on a small white door built into the wall. He opened it to expose champagne and wine chilling inside.

"Must be something the realtor left. Maybe she was hoping for an invitation."

"Hope she wasn't counting on it," Christian responded, pulling Sean into his arms. "I've got plans for this weekend."

"This house is great, Christian. A real find. Thanks for getting it for us."

"I'm not giving up on it being for more than a weekend."

"Neither am I. For now, I want to see the pool. I wouldn't mind a swim."

"I'll show you the pool if you'll go skinny dipping with me."

"Thought you'd never ask." Sean grabbed two towels from the neat stack on the end of the bathroom counter. They shed their clothes in the bedroom and headed out to explore the pool.

The pool was surrounded by a cement patio, with blue and white striped lounge chairs. A thatch-like umbrella shaded a table and chairs, and one end of the pool from the heat of the midday sun. A low white wall surrounded the pool area, with a small metal gate cut in the side of it that led to a short set of steps down to the beach below.

"I want this house, Sean," Christian stated simply, before diving into the pool's crystal blue water.

You belong in this house, Sean thought, smiling, as he dove in after him. Just like you belong with me. Maybe we belong here...maybe we deserve a new beginning.

Before Sean could get too lost in his own thoughts, Christian was moving toward him, and Sean met him halfway, eager for the kisses and wet caresses they shared in what felt like their own oasis away from the world.

"Ever done it in a pool before?" Christian asked, flexing his eyebrows.

"If I had, you'd have known about it," Sean said, referring to their habit of discussing their more memorable sexploits in painstaking detail.

They fell back on something familiar and easy, losing themselves in long kisses, enjoying the buoyant feeling of the water making the rubbing motion of their bodies against one another slick and effortless. Sean guided them closer to the side of the pool where a gradual set of steps led from the shallow portion to the patio.

"What are you doing?" Christian asked, puzzled by the movement as he found himself sitting on the patio.

"You'll find out," Sean replied, moving between Christian's legs, leaning up for a kiss before sliding back down in the water. He gently grasped Christian's semi-erect cock and engulfed the head in his mouth, eliciting a surprised moan of pleasure from Christian as he leaned back on his elbows.

He tried to ignore all the alarm bells going off in his head, all the inhibitions, all the inner voices that were telling him this was making him less of a man, that having another man's cock in his mouth was disgusting and just...wrong. The longer he worked on pleasuring Christian, the easier it was to ignore all that pointless inner turmoil. This was the person he loved, the one who loved him, the one he'd always had but kept looking for–thanks to those same inner voices. There was nothing disgusting about Christian's beautiful tanned body stretched out on the patio, the noises he was making in response to Sean's actions, or the utter intimacy of the act.

Sean knew he was an amateur at this. He knew what he liked, but he marveled at the elasticity of the female throat to be able to accommodate it. He'd always known Christian was generously endowed, but it was never more acutely evident than when he tried to envision deep throating him.

Not feeling ready to take that on just yet, he used his free hand to massage and play with Christian's balls, eliciting a surprised cry and a thrust.

"God...Sean...I'm coming..."

As much as he wanted to drink down what his lover had to give, the doctor's voice in his head wouldn't back down that far, and he withdrew, massaging the pulsing erection with his hand as Christian came, planting kisses around his groin and belly, feeling the come coating his hand and knowing some was in his wet hair.

Christian slid back down the water with him, and they kissed again, holding each other close.

"We both need to get tested, but when we've both been monogamous for a while, I want to drink you dry," Sean murmured against Christian's ear.

"Only you could make HIV testing sound sexy," Christian replied, a languid smile on his face. "That was great."

"It had to be one of the more amateur jobs you've experienced, but I'm a quick study."

"It was you doing it. That tops the others, no contest."

"I really love you," Sean said, kissing him again. "Maybe we should go inside and christen the bedroom."

"Christen it? Sounds like you might be having some longer term thoughts about this place."

"I've got long term thoughts about you. I'll think about the house later."

They left the pool and went back inside, heading upstairs to the master bedroom. With a couple swift gestures, the bed had been cleared of the spread and covers, leaving the sheet-clad mattress and pillows only. They rolled together on it, kissing and caressing, humping as their bodies took renewed interest.

"Make love to me," Sean gasped into Christian's mouth as they kissed, and Christian pulled back a little.

"I thought that's what we were doing."

"I want to try it. I want to know what it's like to have you inside me."

"I don't know if I'm ready for that." Christian rolled aside, leaning up on his elbow. He knew that request took a lot of courage to make, and the last thing he wanted to do was stifle Sean's sexual urges.

"Are you having pain?" Sean asked, concerned. "You seem to be healing fine."

"No, nothing significant. It's just..."

"Too soon. I'm sorry, Christian. I should have never brought it up. There's so much else we can do–"

"Don't apologize for wanting what you want, or for asking for it. It's just when I think of doing that, all I think of is pain. Ugliness. I don't know if I can ever do that."

"You wouldn't hurt me. What you're remembering is something violent and forced, not something consensual between two people who love each other. Look, I'm not trying to talk you into anything. There's no time limit here."

"I was afraid this was going to happen. The moment would be right and I'd let it drop."

"You didn't drop anything," Sean said, moving up on his elbow now, so they were facing each other. "I love you, and I love being with you. I just wanted you to know that I want it whenever you want it."

"Every time I've gone through it, it's been horrible. Demeaning and painful...so ugly I wanted to die instead of having to live through it and look in the mirror when it was over."

"I know," Sean said sympathetically, taking Christian's hand. "It's always been about abuse and control, not love."

"I don't want to dominate you that way."

"Let's let it go for now. Why don't we get cleaned up and go out for dinner?"

"You give me a blow job and you don't get anything out of it, and we just forget it and go to dinner?"

"I wanted to do that with you. I'm okay for now. We'll see what develops later."

"I can't do this." Christian got up and started pacing. "It's not going to work."

"What's not going to work?" Sean sat up now, looking worried.

Congratulations, asshole, Christian thought to himself. You let him relax for all of two hours.

"This. Us. It's no use."

"Why not? Because you don't want to penetrate me? That's just one act. It doesn't define our whole relationship."

"When you were giving me that blow job, as good as it felt, all I could think of what that I was glad it was you and not me doing it."

"You were all set to do that for me in the shower–"

"You came before I got there. I don't know what I would have done if I'd had to actually do it."

"Does it disgust you? Do I disgust you sexually? What are you saying?"

"The only sex I've ever had with a man was forced on me! Whether it was being pinned down and fucked or having some smelly dick shoved in my face! I swore if I lived through that, I'd never have to put up with it again!" Christian stood there, breathing heavily, feeling the threat of tears.

Sean didn't move, and for a long moment, he didn't speak, either. He looked more wounded than Christian had ever seen him look, yet to his credit, he wasn't overreacting, and he wasn't making this about himself.

"Before we started this, I told you that our friendship would still be there, no matter what." Sean got up and moved closer to Christian. "That still stands. If this isn't right for you, or maybe it might be later but it's moving too fast... I love you. I'll be here. If it's never right for you and it can't work, we're still partners for the long haul." Sean paused. "Unless what's already happened between us makes you too uncomfortable." Sean's composure seemed to waver a little at that, but he didn't break down or hesitate. "If that's the case, I'll respect your wishes, and we'll find the best way to handle it."

Christian stared at him a moment, wondering how he could have said what he said, how he could have ever equated anything that happened between them with the abuse he'd suffered in the past. Worst of all, how he could have destroyed their first attempt at a romantic getaway, and taken Sean's offer of himself and thrown it back in his face.

"I'm sorry," Christian said, hating the inadequacy of the words.

"You don't have to be sorry. I want you to tell me what you're feeling."

"It's the damn memories. It's not you. You didn't do anything to deserve what I said to you." Christian looked into his partner's worried face, feeling like more and more of an asshole.

"Deep down, I knew going into this that it might not work. I just want you to know that I won't hold it against you if it didn't–if this isn't right for you."

"I want it to work. In ways, it is working. I came when you did that first time, and you hadn't even touched me. There are just times when I can't picture taking it up the ass as anything but degrading, or when sucking another man's dick looks like just one more way to be dominated by him."

"You didn't dominate me in the pool, Christian. I did that because I wanted to. Having control is about choice. Neither one of us is going to physically force the other to do anything. It doesn't matter to me if I'm giving you a blow job or you're giving me one or we're humping like teenagers. It's all making love, and none of it feels like being dominated, and I don't have any desire to dominate you."

"You're the most important person in the world to me. You always have been," Christian admitted, and the words seemed to spread relief over Sean's features. "I panicked," he admitted.

"It's okay. We'll work it out." Sean pulled him into a hug, and Christian held him close.

"I didn't mean to hurt you. I felt...cornered."

"You're not cornered. We can put things on hold for a while. Slow it down a little." Sean pulled back. "I was serious about dinner. Let's go out for a nice evening, then come back here and split a bottle of wine out on the beach and discuss the meaning of life, like we used to do in college."

"There's a great place not too far from here that serves dinner on the balcony, overlooking the ocean. Their lobster is outstanding."

"Let's go. I'm starving."

********

To Part Three