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SEE PART 00 FOR WARNINGS & NOTES

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Sean opened his eyes, realizing now why one butt cheek was cold and the rest of him was almost too warm. He was on the couch with Christian, who was mostly on top of him, though he'd moved aside when the heat of passion waned and it was obvious that Sean wasn't going to be able to breathe comfortably without a little less weight on his chest. The reality of the narrow couch was that there just wasn't room for both of Sean's cheeks on the couch, and one was exposed to the air. Smiling at their uncomfortable but pricelessly intimate position, Sean checked his watch, which, with his socks, was all he was wearing.

"Shit," he said, seeing that it was after two in the morning. He didn't know exactly when they finished making love and dozed off, but he knew that neither of them had checked on Conor since about ten. He was sure he'd have heard his son crying if he did, but still, he felt guilty for falling asleep and not checking on him first.

Easing out from under Christian, he carefully covered him with a throw that was on one of the chairs, and pulled on his pants long enough to go to the nursery and make sure Conor was all right. Yawning, he entered the shadowy nursery and approached the crib.

*******

"Christian!"

The shout of his name was so loud and so...primal that it jerked Christian out of a dead sleep and to his feet before he even realized what was happening. Not bothering with clothes, he rushed toward the sound of Sean's voice.

"Christian!" he screamed again. It could only be described as a scream. The only time he'd heard that kind of terror in Sean's voice was when Quentin cut off the end of his finger.

"Sean, what is it?" Christian rushed into the nursery, where the bright overhead light was on and Sean was gripping the side of the crib. The empty crib.

"Conor's gone!" he shouted. "Somebody took him!"

"Did you look through the house?" Christian asked, taking Sean by the shoulders.

"For what?! In case he jumped out of his crib and walked away?"

Christian rushed out of the room, grabbing a blanket on his way out. He wrapped it around his waist and turned on the outside lights, rushing outdoors.

Sean didn't know what Christian was doing, and he was shaking so hard it made it nearly impossible to pick up the phone, let alone dial it. He skipped 9-1-1 and dialed Fishman's number. He hadn't thought about the time, but was grateful when he heard the detective's voice on the other end of the line.

"Fishman," he said.

"Somebody took my son!" he blurted into the phone.

"Sean, is that you?"

"Somebody took Conor. He's not in his nursery!"

"Did you call 9-1-1 yet?" Fishman asked, his voice sounding urgent, as if he were already on the move.

"No - - I called you because you already know all about the case," he said.

"Okay. Try to stay as calm as you can and don't touch anything. I'm on the way, and I'll get the alerts out right now. I have a photo of Conor we borrowed from the house during the search."

"I can't lose my son," he said, not sure why he thought Fishman would know what to say to that, or care, but it just came out.

"We're gonna get him back, Sean. You hang on until we get there, and I promise you, we'll find him safe and sound."

Sean knew Fishman couldn't really make those promises, but he clung to them and was grateful for them anyway. "Thank you," he said, somewhat absently, not sure what to say or do besides lay down the phone and start wandering through the house in the insane hope he'd find his baby somewhere else, safe, alive, and having mysteriously levitated out of his crib.

"Sean!" Christian came back inside, and finally joined Sean in the master bedroom where he was wandering around more than anything else.

"What happened to the goddamned alarm? The security people?"

"The alarm isn't set," Christian said.

"I thought you set it when we came home."

"I did! You were carrying Conor and I locked the door and set the alarm when we came in. I don't know where the security guys are. I went all over the garden area and no one showed up."

"Fishman's coming. I should finish searching the house. He might be here somewhere."

"You'd hear him by now if he were here in the house."

"Only if he's still alive," Sean said, his voice tight.

"Don't even think that way. Wherever he is, he's alive."

"We don't know that." Sean hovered in the doorway of the nursery. "Remember the Jon Benet case? Her father searched the house, too...and they found her body later..."

"We're not going to find his body, Sean. He'll be fine." Christian took a hold of Sean's shoulders. "He'll be okay."

Christian gathered up the clothing piled in the living room. He urged Sean to at least put his t-shirt back on with the pants he was wearing. Christian hastily dressed, and by the time he finished, sirens were blaring in the distance. Within moments, Fishman, two other plainclothes detectives, and a number of uniformed officers and forensics staff were in the house, searching it, checking for evidence, and fanned out to question the neighborhood.

"Well, I know where the security guys are," Christian announced, joining Sean and Fishman at the kitchen table. "They were chasing a prowler but didn't catch him. One of your guys is talking to them right now."

"Who?" Fishman asked.

"Uh...Detective Ashford, I think he said."

Fishman picked up his radio. "Hey, Ash, what've you got?"

"Tall male with a good build, hooded sweatshirt, outran their best runner," the voice on the other end of the radio said. "Real agile guy, jumped over a fence and by the time the nearest security man got over it, he lost visual on him."

"Remind you of anyone?" Fishman asked his colleague.

"I showed them a photo, but they didn't get a good look at his face," Ashford replied. "They said the build was right, though."

"Did they pull all their men for the chase?" Fishman asked.

"Yeah, they did. There were only two guys here, and the supervisor happened to be in the area and stopped by to check the site - - he tried to figure out where to cut the suspect off in his car, but he missed him."

"They didn't see anyone else?"

"No, just him. He wasn't carrying anything - - I already asked. We're combing every inch of the property, but when they first spotted him, he was in the middle of the yard and empty-handed."

"Okay, thanks," Fishman concluded, setting down his radio. "Sounds like our friend, Jude Sawyer."

"But he didn't have Conor, so what was he doing here?" Christian asked.

"Probably creating a diversion so the person who did have Conor could get out. I need you to tell me everything that happened tonight, leading up to discovering Conor missing," Fishman said to Sean and Christian.

"We went over to my place while you guys were searching the house," Christian said, resting his hand on Sean's back while he spoke. Sean was sitting there with his elbows on the table, his fingers laced, his mouth pressed against his hands as if he were physically holding in a scream that threatened to tear free from the pit of his soul. "We spent some time on the beach, grabbed a bite to eat, and then came back here this evening, probably about nine or so. Conor was already droopy, so I put him to bed and Sean called Erica. We talked for a while, and fell asleep on the couch in the living room. The next thing I remember, Sean was...I was going to say he called to me, but it was more like a scream. He was in the nursery, and Conor was gone."

"We probably dozed off around eleven or so, and I didn't wake up until almost two. I went to check on Conor, and he was gone. I should have never let myself doze off like that."

"Are you positive you set the alarm and locked the door when you got home?" Fishman asked.

"Yes, I know I did. Sean was carrying Conor, so I set the alarm and locked the door. I took Conor from Sean because he was going to call Erica. I put him to bed and then came back out to the living room."

"When we were here to search, your security people weren't here," Fishman observed.

"They followed us instead," Christian responded.

"We locked the house when we left, but we didn't have the code to reset the alarm. So there's a period of time between about four-thirty, when we left, and nine, that the alarm was off and the security people weren't here. Does anyone else have a key to the house?"

"I don't know if Julia gave out any keys after we separated..." Sean looked up. "Marlowe had one."

"I've got a call in to the Trenton PD to pick him up for questioning. Would Jude have a key?"

"I don't see why. When Julia was friends with him initially, we were still together. There was no reason for him to have a key to the house. When they were seeing each other during our separation, Julia was living in an apartment, so if she gave him a key, it would have been to her place, not here."

"I thought you had someone watching Marlowe in New Jersey," Christian said.

"I had some colleagues doing me a favor, keeping an eye on him. I was planning to fly out there this week and question him myself. We have cell phone records that prove Jude and Marlowe have been in regular contact in recent months, since Marlowe's been in town. There's a real spike of activity around the time of the explosion and right after. We have confirmed that not only did Jude have access to the explosives, but he was involved in some of the blasting activities at the Landau Industries site. The site foreman can't confirm whether or not the amount of explosives necessary to cause the car explosion are missing from the site. They're powerful stuff, so we're only talking about an amount so small it could be a counting error from an inventory standpoint."

"I'm having a hard time picturing Mr. New-Age-Repressed-Memories being a killer," Christian commented, puzzled. "I can't stand the guy, but he never seemed violent."

"I was in his way in every sense of the word," Sean said. "He didn't agree with how I wanted to raise my son, about the surgeries...hell, even that god-awful mural he painted on the wall was part of a dick-swinging contest. Like he was pissing on my territory, only with paint."

"You lost me," Fishman said, frowning.

"Marlowe painted this huge mural of the Garden of Eden on the wall in the nursery. I was impressed with it initially - - he's quite talented, even if I don't care for his style. But it was very dark and a bit disturbing, not really what I'd call appropriate for a nursery. When I found out he was sleeping with my wife, I painted over it." He paused. "He wanted to take Julia and the kids to Florence...I told her I'd never go along with that. He never had any faith in my love for Conor. He and Julia both seemed to think I couldn't accept Conor because he wasn't perfect. That's how they interpreted the fact I wanted him to have a normal life, that I wanted to fix as much of what was wrong as I could so he didn't have to go through what I - - what kids do to other kids who are different."

"Jude's awfully magnanimous, helping his cousin get rid of Sean so Marlowe can have her and the kids," Christian said.

"I can't picture Jude as the nurturing father type. I doubt he wanted to step in and raise Annie and Conor," Sean added. "I think things were pretty much over between Julia and Jude."

"Annie's diary has been pretty enlightening about Marlowe. And you're right, Sean, he doesn't like you. According to several entries in Annie's diary, the reason she didn't like him was because he was always either bad-mouthing you, telling Julia to stop letting you control her life, or making some comment on how he wanted them to all be a family. Once you left the house to be with Christian, Marlowe apparently turned up the heat to step into your place. Annie butted heads with him because she always stuck up for you, or basically just heckled him because she didn't want to have any part of him as a father figure."

"She wanted to come and live with me. Every time Julia and I separated, Annie wanted to stay with me. I'm not sure why, because her mother was with her more than I was, but she'd always ask if she could come and live with me. I never wanted to hurt Julia that way, because I knew what it meant to her to have Annie with her."

"Detective Fishman?" A young, uniformed officer stood in the doorway, motioning to Fishman.

"Excuse me." He went to talk to the officer, leaving Sean and Christian at the table.

"Are you okay?" Christian asked Sean, rubbing his back a little.

"No. I can't lose him, Christian."

"You won't," Christian said, even though he knew he couldn't promise Sean that. He realized he was holding back a little, censoring himself on how he wanted to comfort Sean because they were both men. He was still interacting with Sean in front of the cops like they were friends and not a couple. Shaking that notion off, he moved his chair close and put his arms around Sean, glad he'd done it when Sean turned into the hug and hung on tightly. "We're going to get him back, Sean. It's going to be okay," he said, as Sean relinquished a little of his hold on Christian and sat back. He took Sean's hand in both of his, and kept it that way even after Fishman returned to the table.

"Marlowe left New Jersey late last night. He took a flight to Miami," he concluded, sitting down again. "They had a missing child case of their own, and pulled everyone in on it, overtime, and the guys who were unofficially keeping an eye on him, couldn't."

"So just like that, he shows up here and takes Conor? Wasn't anyone watching?" Sean demanded.

"He found a weak moment. Unfortunately, it happens. There's no sign of forced entry here. My theory is that he probably let himself in after we left, and waited for you to get home. Once you were asleep, he picked up Conor, disarmed the alarm, and walked right back out the door. The very fact Conor didn't make any noise, didn't cry - - that's a pretty strong indication he was with someone he felt comfortable with."

"Or that he couldn't cry," Sean added quietly.

"Look, Sean, I can't even imagine what you're going through right now, but this is good news. Marlowe doesn't want Conor to kill him or do him any harm. You've said yourself that he cared very deeply for Conor. He probably thinks he can raise him better than you can, or maybe he wants him because he's part of Julia, but whatever his reasons are, Marlowe is not going to kill that little boy. If he's our kidnapper, things just looked up. It makes perfect sense - - Jude was the distraction Marlowe needed to get out with the baby."

"What happens next?"

"We've got an APB out on Marlowe, and we've amended the Amber Alert to include a description of him. A male midget traveling with a baby with a distinctive birth defect shouldn't be too hard to trace. It's not like they can blend in with the crowd."

"Excuse me." Sean got up and left the table, and Christian heard a door slam somewhere in the house.

"Nice," Christian said.

"I'm sorry. I was thinking out loud." Fishman stood. "I need to get rolling on some things. We're leaving a unit outside, and one of my people will set up in here, in case there are any ransom calls, but I don't anticipate that. I think Marlowe's making a run for it with Conor, not trying to collect money on him." He paused. "Tell him I didn't mean that to come out the way it sounded," Fishman added before leaving the house.

After Fishman left, Christian went to find Sean. The door to the master bathroom was closed, so he tapped on it.

"Sean, it's me." He tried the knob and found it locked. "Sean, the door's locked." A moment later, he was relieved to hear the lock turn, and the door opened. Sean looked pale and tired. "Fishman apologized for that remark about Conor."

"He was thinking like a cop," Sean said. "It's true, they wouldn't exactly blend in."

"You don't look like you're feeling too good," Christian said sympathetically, putting his arm around Sean.

"I feel so powerless. I should be out there looking for him."

"We've got a whole police force doing that. We wouldn't know where to look. Come with me and sit down. I want to check your BP."

"I'm okay, Christian."

"Don't fight me. It was spiking after your accident, and after the explosion." He didn't resist it or argue about it anymore. "It's up, but not more than I'd expect it to be," he said, and the fact Sean didn't ask what it was or didn't seem to care drove home just how devastated and out of it he really was. Christian sat next to him on the bed.

"I fell asleep and Marlowe walked right out of here with my son."

"Falling asleep in a locked house with an alarm set while your child is sleeping is not exactly neglect. We had no reason to think Conor was anything but safe."

"I didn't have one of the monitors in the living room. It was in the kitchen."

"And you don't think Marlowe is smart enough to turn off the monitor in the nursery, to turn down the volume on the other units? He's crafty enough to get in the house and slip back out with Conor. I think he probably would shut off the monitor."

"There's an alarm if you turn off the nursery unit and the other units are on."

"Then he turned down the volume. It's not like you left Conor alone in a shopping cart or forgot to lock the doors."

"You know, it doesn't matter. If I don't get my son back, it doesn't matter how it happened. We were making love and sleeping while he walked off with Conor."

"So now you think other couples with babies don't ever sleep or make love until the kid's in high school?" Christian asked. "There is no way to make this your fault, Sean, so give it up. You didn't kill or fail Annie, and you didn't cause Conor to be kidnaped. Let it go. You're a victim here. Shit, you convicted yourself faster than the press ever thought of doing."

"Could you call Matt? I'd really like to see our son right now."

"Sure." Christian kissed Sean's cheek and gave him a little squeeze before going to make the phone call.

Sean sat like a zombie in a chair in the living room. Christian had gotten him a sweatshirt to go over his t-shirt. He vaguely remembered shivering and being grateful for the warmth.

"Dad?" Matt's voice cut through the haze he felt he was in, and he stood up and moved toward him, hugging him, needing to feel connected to the only child he could be with at the moment. He refused to give into the voice inside that said this was Christian's child, that his natural offspring were all gone now. It didn't matter. Matt was no less special because Christian's genes were in him. Matt was still his son, and still called him Dad. "It's okay, Dad, they're going to find him."

"I love you, Matt. I know I don't say it enough anymore. I just needed to tell you that."

"I love you, too, Dad." Matt stepped back from the embrace and they sat down in the living room. "Christian told me they think Marlowe did it. That was a shocker. He sure didn't seem like the type."

"No, he fooled us all, I guess."

"The security guys missed a midget running across the lawn carrying a baby?" Matt asked. "No wonder Christian's out there ripping them new assholes."

"They were chasing a potential intruder. Apparently, Marlowe wasn't working alone. Jude Sawyer is his cousin. They think Jude created the diversion so Marlowe could get away with Conor." Sean rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Christian and I fell asleep in here. I didn't hear anything."

"You heard something, probably - - you got up to check on Conor, and weren't the security guys still running after the prowler when the cops got here?"

"Yes, I think so," Sean replied.

"So you must have heard Marlowe leaving with Conor, even though it took you a second to come to and go look."

"It was too little, too late."

"I know I came down on you about Mom and Annie, but you know that was so much bullshit, right? This isn't your fault, either, Dad."

"Marlowe thinks he can be a better father than I am. At least, that's the prevailing theory for why he took Conor, because of the fact we were always at such bitter loggerheads about Conor, even before I found out he was sleeping with your mother." Sean sighed. "Maybe he's right. I'm not exactly batting a thousand in the fatherhood department when it comes to keeping my children safe. God knows I failed you enough times."

"We've had our differences," Matt conceded. "I don't always agree with you. I know you don't always agree with me," he added, smiling. Sean had to smirk at that, though it was humorless under the circumstances. "You're a good father, Dad. You can't take the blame because somebody else did something awful to your kids."

"You're supposed to protect your children. You went through so much, and then Annie... And now Conor's missing. My track record sucks."

"Hey, quit bashing my old man," Matt joked, patting Sean's shoulder as he got up and walked past him toward the kitchen. "You want something to drink? I could use one," Matt said, looking in the refrigerator for a beer.

"I think I'll pass for now, but thanks." He paused. "How's Kimber?"

"She's okay. I told her to stay in bed and sleep in. I figured there wasn't much she could do here," he said, sitting down next to Sean on the couch. "I'm glad you asked Christian to call me."

"I needed to see my son," Sean said honestly. "What if it isn't Marlowe, and what if the prowler wasn't Jude? What if whoever wanted to kill me targeted Conor to get to me? What if they find his bo - -"

"Don't even say that," Matt cutt him off. "Why would someone go to all the trouble of kidnaping Conor just to aggravate you? If they wanted you dead, all they had to do was walk in here and put bullets in both your heads and go home - - there was an unguarded moment where they could have easily gotten to you. They didn't need to go through all this elaborate baby-snatching shit just to finish what they started with the car bomb."

"No, I guess not," Sean agreed, though he took little comfort in anything anyone was telling him. The terror was too profound to be assuaged with a few comforting words, even if they made sense. He wanted to scream, rage, cry, demand results from the cops...and none of it would bring Conor home any faster. He didn't know where to look, how to begin to figure out where Marlowe was and what plans he had in place for getting his son out of the area...maybe out of the country.

Christian came in then, red-faced and fuming. "I fired the security guards, so we'll have to watch our own backs from now on."

"They were chasing an intruder - - " Sean began.

"They should have had a plan in place to keep someone here while they did that. If they hadn't all run after the decoy like a bunch of brainless bloodhounds, Conor wouldn't be missing."

"Can't argue with that logic," Matt agreed.

"They should consider themselves lucky if we don't sue their asses for everything their two-bit company is worth," Christian concluded, sitting in a chair, though he still seemed to be vibrating with anger. The doorbell rang, and he got up immediately to go answer it. Sean stiffened in his seat, a look of fear spreading over his features. Every doorbell, every knock, every phone call...he feared it would be Fishman, somber and sorry, telling him they'd found a body...

Instead, Liz came in with Christian, and Sean stood up to greet her. She hugged him, crying herself, even though Sean was mostly past that, as if there wasn't any emotional energy left to even shed tears.

"Oh, Sean, I'm so sorry. The police are going to find him, so you just hang in there," she said sympathetically, patting his back.

"I'm working on it," he replied, forcing a little smile he didn't really feel. There was nothing anyone could do until someone could put his living son back in his arms, safe and sound.

"It's all over the news. What happened?" Liz asked.

"They think Marlowe took him," Christian explained, saving Sean going over it again.

"Marlowe? He seemed so...sweet natured," she said.

"He's Jude Sawyer's cousin," Sean added.

"The guy Julia was seeing from her college classes?" Liz asked, surprised.

"One in the same," Sean replied. "The cops think he's the one who created the diversion with our security people last night."

********

"So what makes a guy with a clean record and a fairly successful personal training business end up involved in double murder and kidnaping?" Fishman asked, sitting across the table from Jude in the police interrogation room. They'd picked him up at the gym, without incident. He wasn't in hiding, and apparently didn't realize he was under suspicion of anything until the police loaded him in a squad car.

"I don't have the faintest idea what you're talking about," Jude responded, crossing his arms over his chest. "All I know is I was in the middle of a session with a client and your flatfoots pick me up and haul me off in a squad car."

"You might as well drop the innocent act. We know you've been moonlighting on a construction site, and learning how to use explosives to bring down buildings."

"Is it a crime to work a second job? The personal training business is great, but with the economy being what it is, I've lost a few clients, and it helps to pick up a few extra bucks."

"You're aware of how Julia and Annie McNamara were killed?"

"Of course, I'm aware of it. I was a friend of Julia's for a long time. We hadn't been seeing each other recently, but you'd have to be a hermit not to know the facts of the case."

"No, she wasn't involved with you anymore - - she was having an affair with your cousin, Marlowe," Fishman said, and Jude looked a bit surprised, but quickly regained his neutral expression.

"So what does that have to do with me?"

"Conor McNamara is missing, and a man who fits your description was seen by security personnel on the McNamara property last night, just about the time of the abduction."

"A lot of men might fit my description from a distance in the dark."

"I never said it was from a distance, or in the dark."

"I assumed since this guy was spotted on the property by security, and got away, that it was probably dark, and probably at a distance, or he wouldn't have gotten away."

"I didn't say they chased him, either."

"If they're guarding the property and they see someone there, it makes sense they'd approach him. If they had and he didn't run, I wouldn't be here, because you'd have him in custody instead of me."

"Let me lay something out for you, and yes, right now, it's circumstantial. But people are on death row thanks to circumstantial evidence, so bear that in mind." Fishman opened the folder he'd been keeping beneath his folded hands on the table. "You've been employed by Landau Industries for construction work for about three months. Recently, you've been working downtown on the office complex site, helping with the demolition of the original building on that site. The explosives used to kill Mrs. McNamara and her twelve-year-old daughter were not just similar to those explosives, but from the same batch. Forensics is a funny business. You'd think blowing up the murder weapon would get rid of the evidence, but once in a while, something survives that you just don't expect, like the serial number on a unit of explosives." He leaned forward. "And just maybe, on that little piece of rubber, is a partial fingerprint."

Jude looked momentarily stricken, but he stayed silent.

"It might not be a full print, but you'd be amazed what the lab boys can do with a fragment of evidence these days." He picked up the bottle of water one of the officers had given Jude, holding it by its neck carefully. "I can't wait to run comparisons with some of our best suspects." He used his other hand to call a colleague, asking him to come into the room. A young detective soon entered. "Steve, run this down to the lab, and just touch it right here. We don't want to disturb the prints."

"Right, will do." The young man left with the bottle.

"There's a missing baby that belongs to a family who have suffered way too much loss lately, and I want to reunite that baby with his father. Ordinarily, with what he have on you, I'd just sit back and enjoy watching you hang for your part in these despicable crimes, but you've got something I want, and I'm prepared to work with you to try to save your miserable ass from death row to find out where Conor McNamara is."

"I think I should talk to a lawyer," Jude said.

"You think, or you want your lawyer? If you're just thinking about it, remember, the deal's off if you don't give me what I want. And guess what? We don't have any concrete evidence on your cousin. So he could slip right out of this scot free, while you wait for your date with a lethal injection. I'm assuming he's on the run with the baby somewhere, and maybe his plan will work. Do you think when he has what he wants, he'll hand the baby back to Dr. McNamara and give himself up to save you? Are the family ties that strong?"

"Assuming I knew anything about this, and I'm not saying that I do, what kind of deal are you offering?"

"If you tell me where your cousin and the baby are, I'll ask the DA to not seek the death penalty in your case."

"That's not much. I'm still looking at life in prison."

"The point is, you're looking at life. Your other alternative is death row. At least alive in prison, you'll have all those years to become a jailhouse lawyer and work on your appeal."

"I want immunity."

"People in hell want ice water." Fishman stood up. "You're a murderer, Sawyer. You killed that woman and her little girl in cold blood. I ought to just take you out to meet the family in a dark alley, and let them vent their grief on you. You're lower than dog shit on the bottom of my shoe. On second thought, keep your information. The DA is going to enjoy scoring two death sentences in this case. We'll find your cousin. There's only so long a dwarf and a lobster-clawed baby can hide with the kind of media we have going on this case. Fuck you. Once we have the lab results back, you can fry for all I care." Fishman started toward the door.

"Wait," Jude said, and Fishman turned around. "We never meant for Julia or Annie to get hurt. It was an accident."

"You planted explosives under the car, but you didn't expect anyone to get hurt?" Fishman sat at the table.

"It was Sean McNamara's rental car. He was supposed to be the one in it. We never planned a double murder."

"Go on." Fishman was tempted to ridicule him on the point that planning a single murder was somehow excusable, but he didn't want to risk stopping the confession, which was being caught on video camera.

"Marlowe and I were always pretty close, even as kids. He had a rough time of it growing up, and I stuck up for him. We hung out together a lot. It kind of varied with him how things went with women...sometimes they overlooked the whole size issue, but other times it was a big deal. Kids made fun of him all through school. Girls either thought he was 'cute' or they didn't think of him as date material at all." Jude paused. "He really fell hard for Julia, and she didn't seem to care about his size, at least not in the long run. He said he thought it took her some time to get used to, but apparently not very much time, because they started sleeping together pretty early on."

"Why murder Dr. McNamara? They were already separated, so how was he standing in Marlowe's way?"

"You have to understand, Julia's marriage had been in trouble for years, even before I met her, it wasn't on solid ground. When we were seeing each other, she was separated from him but still wouldn't make the final move to get a divorce and get on with her life. With our lives. We had something special, and I think we could have gone somewhere with it. But she just held onto that old life with Sean and never cut the tie. Even when he dumped her for his partner, he was still controlling her life."

"How was that?"

"Once she accepted he wasn't coming back, and the marriage was over, she started making plans with Marlowe, and he wanted to take them to Florence. He submitted some of his work to a program at one of the most prestigious art schools there, and he was offered an internship, which is kind of unusual, I guess, for an older student going back to school for another degree. He was excited about it, and he thought it would be a wonderful environment for the kids, not to mention for a new relationship. Not only did Sean tell her he'd never let her take the kids out of the country, but he was blackmailing her with some photos of himself after some fight they had."

"She broke his cheekbone in a domestic dispute," Fishman said, referring to a report in his file. "He didn't press charges."

"No, but he had evidence, and he was threatening to use it to get full custody of the kids if she tried to take them to Italy."

"So you two decided to get him out of the way?"

"Marlowe finally found the woman he wanted, and he was crazy about Conor, like he was his own son. They had a real future together, if they had been free to just live their lives their own way. I really did care deeply for Julia once...I guess on some level I still did. I felt as bad for her as I did for Marlowe. They had a great future together right in front of them, and still couldn't have it. Sean was still trying to keep Julia from reaching her potential, from being happy, even while he was starting a new life with someone else. Julia didn't know how to play the game, fight dirty. Maybe if she'd dug something up on his partner, she could have countered the whole custody thing. Going by what's on the news, there's plenty of mud to sling."

"Who's idea was it to get Sean out of the way?"

"Marlowe's."

"How did I know you were going to say that?" Fishman replied, smiling.

"Do you want me to tell you this story or not?"

"It's just convenient that this art-studying night nurse that no one can believe is involved in anything illegal, let alone violent, is the one who decided to murder a man just to make custody arrangements better for his girlfriend and her kids."

"It was more than that. As long as Sean was alive, he was going to be an obstacle to Julia's happiness. Marlowe and I were sitting at his place one night, drinking too much, and he was getting morose about his chances of ever finding real happiness, and how he was going to turn down the internship so he could be with Julia... It's one of those moments I wish I could erase, because all of this would have never happened. As a joke, I said, 'Maybe we should kill the bastard and throw the body in the swamp.' I know it sounds bad but it was a joke. Marlowe just looked at me, real serious, and said, 'I've thought about it.'"

"How did you jump from there to explosives under the car?"

"I said, 'Come on, man, you're kidding,' or something like that. But he was dead serious. He started talking about tampering with his brakes, or doing something to his car. He said he didn't think he'd ever be able to look another human being in the eyes and kill him with a gun or a knife, no matter how much he wanted him out of the way. So it would have to look like an accident, be something indirect. We let it go at that, and nothing more was said about it. About that time, I was learning to use the explosives on the construction site. I started learning how much it took to bring down part of a building - - we had so much of that stuff at the site, and it would take so little to destroy a car. I got thinking about what Marlowe had said, how serious he seemed about it. I thought he might do something stupid."

"So you beat him to it?"

"Maybe that's what you'd call it. It was a stupid decision, I should have just let the whole thing alone. But I kept thinking about the explosives and how easy it would be..." He shrugged. "So I took just enough to do the job home with me. It sat there for a day or two. I talked to Marlowe about it again, to find out if he was really serious. I thought maybe just the booze and feeling sorry for himself...maybe that had given him the idea to try to do away with Julia's ex, but he was still serious about it, and the next day, he had all the information on Sean's rental car, where he parked it, the license number so I didn't make a mistake... It seems so surreal now. I'm not a murderer."

"No one is until he kills for the first time," Fishman said. "You planted the explosives?"

"Marlowe didn't know how to do it. Besides, we figured if someone saw me, they'd be less likely to remember me or be able to identify me, than if they saw him." He ran his hand over his face. "I went there in the middle of the night, stuck the explosives under the car, wired them to the starter...and you know the rest of the story." Jude swallowed hard. "When I heard the next morning that a woman and her daughter were killed in an explosion, I..." He fought back tears, which Fishman believed were genuine. Not that it made the attempt at killing an innocent man less horrific, but the mix-up was obviously what Jude considered a tragedy - - even though blowing Sean up would have apparently been considered taking care of business. "Marlowe lost it. We were back at his place screaming at each other, crying, hysterical. We didn't know what to do. There was nothing we could do, at least that's what we finally concluded. We couldn't bring Julia and Annie back, and going to prison for the rest of our lives wouldn't solve anything. I didn't count on the guilt and the nightmares that don't ever let up. The visions of Julia with her charred hair and burned skin, looking at me accusingly, showing up in my nightmares, telling me to confess what I did. Telling me I'm a child killer, a monster. Going to prison doesn't scare me as much as having to face her again tonight when I close my eyes. Maybe this'll set things right with her."

"When did you have the brainstorm to kidnap the baby?"

"Marlowe was intent on getting Conor away from Sean and Christian. He said they'd be awful parents, that Conor would be exposed to a lifestyle of promiscuity and neglect because of the things he'd heard about Christian's lifestyle, and that all Sean cared about was making Conor perfect, and the baby would have to go through all these painful surgeries, and that coupled with the trauma of losing his mother would probably scar him for life...he was panicked that we had to do something. I knew he was going to do it on his own, and probably get caught, and blow everything. He could get past the lock and the alarm - - he had a key and the combination, but not past the security guards. We needed an opening, and when the house was unguarded, he called me, and I agreed to help him get back out with the baby. He said he'd wait in the house until Sean and Christian came home with Conor, and once they were asleep - - or doing something he thought would keep them busy - - he was going to grab Conor and make a run for it. So he texted me. I was waiting around the corner. I did my prowler routine, and sure enough, I had two guys chasing me on foot and a third trying to track me in a car. I almost didn't get away, but I was in better shape than their fastest guy, and I managed to lose them."

"Where is Marlowe now?"

"In his car, on the way to a cabin in upstate New York. My parents own it. It's not used too much, mainly just in the summer. It's pretty cold there now," he added, referring to the fact that early Spring was still chilly in New York.

"Do you know the route he was taking?"

"Yes, I can give you that, and the exact address."

********

Sean sat on the foot of the bed in Annie's room. He knew he was being ungracious, retreating in here when Matt, Liz, and now Kimber, and Linda from the office, had all come over to sit with them and offer moral support. He'd finally showered and shaved and changed into clean clothes, since he hadn't done any of that since he'd made love with Christian on the couch the night before, and he wasn't too sure he didn't smell like he'd been doing just that within the last several hours.

"I miss you so much, princess," he said to the little white box with the silver rose trim. It sat on Annie's dresser like a little music box might have. He noticed a folder lying there, and remembered Annie's teacher handing him the essay she'd written, telling him she thought he might enjoy reading it later. When the wound isn't so fresh, Sean thought. He picked up the folder and opened it.

My Favorite Childhood Memory, by Anne Catherine McNamara

He smiled at the use of her full name. Annie was very precise, and could be very dignified when she identified herself. "Annie" was her nickname, but the older she got, "Anne Catherine" became the name she gave when asked for it.

Sean put on his glasses and began reading.

When I was six years old, I wanted to bake a cake for my mom's birthday. My father said we could go get a pretty one from the bakery with flowers and Mom's name on it, but I wanted to do it myself. I had watched Mom bake, and she always let me help out, so I thought I knew enough to do it on my own. I needed Daddy's help because I wasn't allowed to use the oven by myself. He told me he didn't know anything about baking cakes, but I said I knew how to do it, so all I needed him to do was put it in the oven. He asked if he could help, so I said "okay."

I put all the ingredients in the bowl, and he used the big mixer while I watched. I think he was worried I'd hurt myself on the mixer. He helped me with the directions, too, because I didn't understand what it meant to "fold" something in, or "blend" it. I could read most of it, but some of it didn't make much sense without Mom there to show me how to do it.

We poured the batter in the pans and put it in the oven to bake. The frosting was the canned kind. When I was little, I always wanted to eat a big spoonful of frosting out of the can, but Mom wouldn't let me. Daddy let me have half a teaspoon of it. I thought I was in Heaven.

Sean paused, taking off his glasses to wipe his eyes. He was smiling and crying at the same time, but reading Annie's words was oddly comforting. For a while he was in the kitchen with his six-year-old daughter, struggling through what would become a legendary baking debacle.

Mom was running some errands and then she was going to pick up Matt at his friend's house, so we had to hurry. The cake probably hadn't cooled long enough before we started putting the frosting on it, because every time we spread the frosting over it, part of the cake came up on the knife. The more we frosted, the worse the cake looked. At first, Daddy laughed, but I started crying, and then he got all serious again. He promised me we'd fix it, and it would look fine when we were done. We managed to get frosting on top of most of the first layer, and then we put the second layer on. It was worse than the first layer, so Daddy got another can of frosting out of the cupboard, and tried whipping it with the knife to make it softer and easier to spread.

Uncle Christian stopped by, and when he saw the cake, he started teasing Daddy about not letting their patients see what he had done to that cake with a knife. I didn't get it back then, but now I think it's funny. My father and my Uncle Christian are plastic surgeons, and they do things like facelifts, nose jobs, and reconstructive surgery on people to make them look better. The cake wasn't so lucky.

Sean laughed out loud at that, remembering how utterly horrible it looked, how dismayed Annie was at his failings in the kitchen, and what pure delight Christian had taken in observing the whole mess.

Uncle Christian got tired of watching, and thought he could do better, so he said, "Stand back, I'm a surgeon." Daddy called him a name I'd get in trouble for writing here, but he let him try anyway. He managed to get a little more frosting on without the cake falling apart, but pretty soon he was just making chunks of it that were falling off stick together on the sides of it by gluing them on with the frosting. He called them cake grafts.

Sean sat on the foot of the bed, shaking for the first time in weeks with laughter more than tears.

I tried writing with the tube of frosting, but I couldn't get "Happy Birthday" on there. I started doing it too big, so we used my "Happy" and Daddy wrote "37^th" in the room we had left on top of the cake. Uncle Christian said Mom would probably kick his butt for putting her age on the cake. Daddy teased me that he would tell her I did it so she wouldn't be so mad.

We put a bunch of candles on it. I don't remember if we put all thirty-seven on there or not, but there were a lot. I think Daddy thought they'd make the cake look better. Uncle Christian said the cake would set off the smoke detector if he put any more on it. Daddy asked Uncle Christian if he didn't have someplace else he needed to be. I didn't get it then, but now I know they were just bickering with each other. They do that a lot, even now.

Sean shook his head, still smiling. He couldn't believe how much better reading Annie's essay was making him feel. Part of it broke his heart in a whole new way, remembering a six-year-old Annie, and knowing she was gone, and that this was all he had left of her. At the same time, he was finally able to smile and laugh at a memory, and feel all the wonderful feelings he'd experienced that Saturday afternoon when they ransacked the kitchen together, creating the world's ugliest birthday cake.

After dinner, Daddy turned the lights off and we brought the cake in to Mom, all lit up. Uncle Christian teased Daddy that he better keep the lights off until after the cake was cut. When Mom saw the cake in the light, she looked surprised. She said, "What did I ever do to deserve this?" Back then, I didn't know why Daddy, Uncle Christian, and Matt were all laughing, but now I understand.

"I thought you were in here crying," Christian said, smiling when he saw that while Sean was taking off his glasses again to wipe his eyes, he was smiling.

"I finally read Annie's essay about her favorite childhood memory." He handed the folder to Christian, who read a few lines of it.

"Oh, my God. I remember that." Christian skimmed a few more lines, then laughed.

"Stand back, I'm a surgeon," Sean quoted, and Christian laughed, that having been the exact line that cracked him up in the middle of all the stress and misery of waiting for news about Conor.

"She was a good writer," Christian said, noticing that the teacher had made very few corrections on her spelling or punctuation.

"She was a good daughter," Sean said, accepting the folder back from Christian. "I know this'll sound crazy, but I feel like I've been with her for a while."

"It doesn't sound crazy at all. It's just the point where memories start helping instead of just hurting more." Christian sat on the foot of the bed next to Sean. "We were worried about you."

"I know I should be out there. Our friends are just trying to support us, and Matt's been here since early this morning. It just feels too much like a wake."

"It's not, Sean. He's going to be okay, and you're going to get him back."

"I want to believe that. You know, it's funny. When I sit in here with Annie's things and...and I can see and touch the urn and know that there's literally a part of her here...sometimes it makes that burning in my chest better. It's not a physical burning, Christian," he said, when Christian looked worried.

"I know we took pictures that night," Christian said. "Maybe we can look them up sometime."

"Okay. We should probably go back out there," he said, standing up and laying the folder on the dresser.

"Dad," Matt stuck his head in the door. "Detective Fishman's out here and he'll only talk to you."

Sean stared at Matt a moment, then looked at Christian.

"Let's just go find out what he has to say," Christian said, sharing the fear that it was bad news. If Fishman wasn't carrying Conor with him, it could mean they'd found him, but not alive. That thought was more awful than either of them wanted to face, but they headed out toward the kitchen, where Fishman was waiting.

He handed Sean his cell phone, and there was a photo on it - - a photo of a grinning Conor. "The folks at the Orlando PD thought you might like to see that."

"What does this mean?" Sean asked, staring at the photo.

"It means a car with a police escort is bringing your son home from Orlando as we speak, safe and alive. They arrested Marlowe without incident in a restaurant where they were having lunch."

Sean handed the phone back to Fishman and hugged Christian, neither of them sure if they were laughing or crying, and that started a flurry of hugs all around as their friends joined them in the kitchen, all of them eager to see the cell phone picture and join in the celebration.

"How did you find him?" Sean asked Fishman, finally having emerged from the moment of celebration.

"We picked up Jude Sawyer for questioning, and it was very productive. He cracked and sang like a canary," Fishman added, smiling a little evilly. "As soon as he heard about that partial fingerprint we found on the casing from the explosives, where the serial number was."

"You found a fingerprint?" Sean asked, stunned.

"Hell no. We were lucky to lift the serial number off it. He was a little upset with me when he found out," Fishman said, chuckling.

"That was sneaky," Christian joked, and Fishman retained his devilish smile.

"Nothing I love more than watching a scumbag hang himself. Makes my day."

"Miami's very own Dirty Harry," Matt joked.

After the hoopla settled down, Matt and the others left, deciding that Sean and Christian might like some time with Conor, and a little time to relax after such a long, stressful wait. While they waited for the cars from the Orlando PD to arrive, Christian made another pot of coffee and the three of them sat around the kitchen table while Fishman filled them in on Jude's confession.

"It's just hard for me to believe that someone would go to those lengths over a custody situation that wasn't even theirs," Sean said, referring to Jude's role in the crime.

"You'd be amazed at the stupid reasons people have for killing other people," Fishman said. "Marlowe definitely had a dark side." He took a small book in a plastic bag out of his sport coat pocket and handed it to Sean. "I copied anything we felt might be worthwhile for evidence."

"Annie's diary," Sean said, holding onto the little book with both hands.

"People can become obsessed, and it sounds to me like Marlowe became obsessed with the idea of your wife and your son being his family. With that obsession came the fixation on you as the sole reason that all of it was falling apart. Julia couldn't take the children to Florence, and she probably didn't want to go and leave them here. Plus, he wanted Conor with them. Annie mentions in her diary a couple incidents where she overheard Marlowe saying something about them going to Florence, and it was like she was an afterthought."

"Because she was old enough to be attached to me, and to stick up for me when he said something negative. I should have listened to her when she wanted to live with us," Sean said to Christian.

"Julia didn't want her to move out. You were trying not to back-stab Julia by just letting her do it," Christian said. "It's about time you stopped beating yourself up for every part of this mess. Marlowe is apparently missing a few of his marbles - - you didn't even want to hire the little psycho, but I don't hear you blaming Julia for it."

"She didn't think she was hiring a homicidal maniac. I never would have pegged him as dangerous, though I thought his art was a little disturbing. But not everyone who paints a scary picture is a killer, either."

"The whole fingerprint scheme with Jude was great," Christian said. "Do you really do that with suspects all that often? You see it on TV, but you see a lot of things on TV."

"It's not a good idea if you can avoid it. The suspect can just as easily stay silent if they know there's no possibility you have that evidence. I figured Sawyer wouldn't wear gloves when he handled the explosives, since he was planning to blow up the evidence. We were racing against the clock to rescue a missing child, so I pulled all the stops and just went for it."

"Life in prison isn't much of a bargain, even if he gets out of the death penalty," Sean said. "I'm still surprised he confessed so easily."

"I guess he's been having nightmares about your wife," Fishman said. "He said something about 'Julia with her charred hair and burned skin' accusing him of being a child killer."

Sean felt weak, and he was glad he was sitting down. He wondered if all the color had drained out of his face, because he felt as if it must have.

"He had nightmares about Julia?"

"I shouldn't have brought that up. It's unpleasant, and nothing you needed to hear."

"No, it's all right. I was just curious what kind of nightmares they were."

"Mainly just her showing up, accusing him, like I said. He referred to them as 'visions', so his guilt must have been doing a real number on him."

"Must be," Sean said, thinking of his own visions of Julia, of hearing her voice in the nursery in a whisper of Marlowe's name. Of why the photo of Julia, Marlowe, and Conor was the sole object that broke in the nursery that night for no explainable reason.

It all had an explainable reason...the drafts, the cold, the visions, the nightmares, the picture falling off a table, the ghostly voice in the nursery and Conor's fussiness. It was Sean's fragile mental state in his overpowering grief, a minor malfunction of the air conditioning, a chance breaking of a picture that just fell off a table, a baby who missed his mother...

Sean took a drink of his coffee and tried to let go of those thoughts. Conor was coming home, and that was all that mattered now.

Fishman's cell phone went off, and he answered it. Looking irritated, he snapped it shut.

"Well, Marlowe Sawyer's clammed up and is demanding his lawyer. I guess he's not going to be as easy as his cousin."

"He might as well give up. Jude's told the whole story and he was arrested with Conor," Christian said.

"He's not going anywhere anytime soon, no matter what he pleads. He's a kidnapper," Fishman concluded.

By the time the unmarked sedan, followed by a police cruiser, pulled into the driveway, Fishman was the only cop present. He'd arranged a decoy car to be included in bringing Marlowe back to the local police headquarters so any reporters who got wind of Conor's rescue would be expecting the action at the police station, not the McNamara house.

"They're here," Fishman said, looking out the window. Sean and Christian stood and waited near the door while Fishman opened it and went out to greet the police and the social worker who had traveled with Conor. When Sean caught a glimpse of the older woman removing Conor from a car seat, and holding him as she stood near the car, he bolted through the door on a dead run toward them.

"Conor!" he called out, heading toward his son, unable to wait another second to have him back. The woman just smiled and prepared to hand Conor off to Sean as soon as he got there. Somehow, he managed to calm down so his excitement and emotions wouldn't upset Conor as he carefully took his son from the social worker, holding him close.

"I think he's glad to see his daddy," she commented, since Conor looked almost as happy to see Sean as Sean looked to see him. A moment later, Christian joined them, sliding an arm around Sean, touching the back of Conor's head gently. Sean's face was wreathed in smiles, even though he was crying at the same time.

"Thank you," Sean said to Fishman, who was standing back, watching the reunion.

"You folks get some rest. I'll keep you posted about the case. I'm leaving a unit out front to make sure you don't get harassed by the media until you can get your own security back to take care of it."

"Really, thanks for everything you've done," Sean repeated. "I can't tell you what this means to me."

"I'm a father, too, remember? I know what it means." He slapped Sean's arm lightly. "Get some sleep. We've got both of them in custody, so you don't have to watch your back."

********

Christian leaned on the doorframe and smiled. Sean was sitting in the rocker, with Conor in his arms, and both were sound asleep. Christian had waited in bed for his partner for almost an hour, and finally decided to see what was taking him so long in putting Conor down for the night. After such a long, stressful day and almost no sleep the night before, they had decided to go to bed and get some much needed rest as soon as Conor was asleep. It was obvious that Sean was reluctant to let go of his son, and must have fallen asleep once the baby had fallen silent and still.

Figuring Sean would be stiff and uncomfortable if he left him there much longer, Christian touched Sean's shoulder.

"Wake up, sweetheart," he whispered softly, not wanting to startle Sean when he had Conor in his arms. Sean opened his eyes slowly, looking a little confused for a moment. "Let's bring Conor into bed with us."

"I know it's stupid, everything's safe now. I just can't put him down and leave him here."

"You don't have to. Come on." Christian guided Sean toward the bedroom, and they settled Conor between them in the king size bed. As much as Christian would have liked to hold Sean, seeing the complete peace on his face as he dozed off almost as soon as his head hit the pillow, with their son safe and sound between them, was just as satisfying.

Letting his eyes drift shut, Christian felt very much at peace himself.

********

Christian finished his consult, and after the patient left, made a few notes on her chart. He had scheduled her for surgery, which represented some much needed income. The only other surgery he'd performed recently was removing Kimber's implants so she could be ready to breast feed her child. Now, though, their schedule was slowly filling in again, and he'd sold Mike Hamoi his condo, so they were liquid for the time being. There was something liberating in not being all that concerned about the condo. Truth be told, he wasn't that worried about the Lambourghini. If it had to go, it could go, as long as there was enough for the three of them to live comfortably and have what they needed. As long as they could afford Conor's surgeries and ultimately his college fund, everything was okay. He found himself smiling a little at the thought of a quiet evening at home with Sean and Conor...with his family.

Just then, Sean opened the door to his office and walked in, sitting across the desk from him. He looked discouraged.

"Marlowe's sticking to his story and turned down the plea bargain. There's going to be a trial." Sean rubbed the bridge of his nose. "This could drag on for months, years even."

"I was sure he'd take the plea deal to avoid the death penalty," Christian said, walking over to where Sean sat, standing behind him and rubbing his shoulders.

"He's still saying it was all a big joke when he was drunk and that he never seriously told Jude to kill me. He can't wriggle out of taking Conor, but he claims he was trying to save him from a painful series of surgeries from a father who couldn't accept him unless he was perfect."

"Sean, it doesn't matter if he goes away for murder or for kidnaping. By the time he gets out, he'll be too old to be a threat to anybody, if he gets out at all."

"A sensational trial isn't going to help our business," Sean leaned into Christian's touch. "And I don't want to be distracted with all that shit when we're trying to work on Conor's surgery and recovery. The media just got disinterested in chasing us around. It'll all start back up again with a trial. Plus, there's no way if he's trying to worm out of paying for killing Annie and Julia that I'm not going to be sitting in the front row staring him down every fucking day of that trial."

"We're going to be there, sweetheart. Together." He paused, just massaging Sean's shoulders. "If a good lawyer's convinced Marlowe he can get off the hook on the murder charges, he's going to give it a shot." He stopped massaging and noisily kissed the top of his head. "Let's get some Chinese and go home to our kid."

"We can't both sit in a courtroom all day while our practice goes down the tubes."

"We'll figure out something to get through it. Come on, it's been a long day."

"Before I heard from Fishman, I heard from our real estate agent. She found a house for us to take a look at. We probably should hold off on that, because we don't know what kind of impact all this'll have on the practice."

"What kind of place is it?" Christian sat in the other visitor chair.

"It's a one-floor, Spanish-style, built back in the 40's, tile roof, garden, total privacy from the neighbors. There are steps leading down to the beach. She said the interior is pretty interesting. There are marble floors in part of it, a sunroom with a great view of the garden. She e-mailed me a photo of it."

"You really love it, don't you? Just from the photo?"

"It's not even that much longer a commute than we already have."

"I think we should look at it." Christian took Sean's hand. "Are you feeling ready to think about putting the house on the market?"

"As soon as we move. I'd rather get settled in a new place, and then sell it. But I'm ready for us to make a fresh start with Conor."

"I think we should look at this place." Christian squeezed Sean's hand and then kissed it, holding it against his face. "Your eyes lit up when you talked about it. I haven't seen that light in your eyes for a long time. If that house can make that happen, let's go see it tomorrow, and get a deposit on it."

"You haven't even seen the picture," Sean said, smiling.

"If a shack on the beach made you look that happy, I'd be all for it."

"I love you. I don't know if I mentioned that today."

"Not since this morning, and I was beginning to feel unwanted," Christian joked, leaning in for a kiss. "I was watching your mouth all through that consult with Mrs. Hillier, and all I could think about is how much I wanted to be kissing you."

"That's a relief. I thought I had something in my teeth from the shrimp scampi we had for lunch, the way you kept staring at me."

"Even with garlic breath, I wanted to make out with you."

"I didn't have garlic breath. I rinsed out my mouth after lunch."

"Not long enough, but that's okay. I want you anyway."

"How about now?" Sean kissed him, complete with tongue.

"Coffee. And you." He kissed Sean again. "I love you, too, by the way."

"Good thing you said it back, " Sean joked. "I was going to withhold my favors if you didn't."

"How'd it go with your patients?" Christian asked, referring to those for whom he hadn't joined Sean in doing the consults.

"Fine. Remember Mrs. Foster? She's one of my regular botox ladies."

"She only trusts you to stick a needle in her face. Yes, I remember her," Christian joked, referring to the sixty-year-old socialite turning him down to wait for Sean on one of her previous visits.

"She hugged me and brought me a book on grief. She lost her son to a motorcycle accident about ten years ago, so she was very sympathetic. We started talking about dealing with losing a child, and both ended up crying, so I rescheduled her for tomorrow, and she promised we'd only talk about her vacation in Paris this time. Mrs. Gonzalez gave me a rosary she said she had blessed for me and that I should use it to pray for Annie and Julia. I'm glad she was just a consult for a some touch-up work on her eyes, because between her and Mrs. Foster, and the staff hugging me one-by-one and asking me how I'm holding up, I feel like I've been at a wake service."

"They mean well. They care about you."

"I know. It meant a lot to me. It was just hard to go through. Part of me wants to talk about it and in one way it feels good to have people be that sensitive about it, but then another part of me just wants to focus on business because if I don't, I can't get through the day. It's been two months. I thought it would start getting easier."

"You're back at work, we're having some good times together...it's getting better. You're doing better." Christian caressed Sean's cheek lightly and rested his hand there on the side of his face. Sean leaned into the touch, closing his eyes.

"You really think so?"

"I really think so. I think you're amazing."

"I don't feel amazing," Sean admitted, opening his eyes and looking into Christian's. "I feel so damn...fragile."

"Glass is fragile, but it's still strong. And so are you. It's still a fresh wound, Sean."

"That's what Mrs. Foster said. She told me she was still on a cocktail of sleeping pills and antidepressants this soon after her son died."

"We agreed you were going to break in gradually with the easy outpatient stuff, and a few consults. You're doing that. Maybe you can assist me tomorrow with Mr. Olson's rhinoplasty, get a feel for being back in the OR when it's not essential that you be there."

"Okay." Sean stood, and so did Christian. Before starting out for home, Sean put his arms around Christian and hung on tightly for a few seconds, lingering there when Christian's arms came around him. "It still hurts," Sean said softly, his voice barely a whisper.

"I know it does, partner. Every day we come in and try to keep a routine going, it's going to feel a little better. I promise."

Sean stepped back and nodded, smiling a little, though it was faint. Christian put his arm around Sean's shoulders, and Sean's arm came around his waist, and they walked out together.

********

"I'll let you two take a walk through on your own," the real estate agent said, smiling. Though neither of them had given away exactly how interested they were, she apparently had the impression the showing was progressing well. The house was cozy and yet large enough with its three bedrooms and three bathrooms to not feel cramped. The marble floors in the living room and kitchen, a newly renovated master suite with a luxurious bathroom with a sunken garden tub and a separate, oversized shower, and the beautiful sunroom with the pale yellow walls and the windows overlooking the lush garden were all reasons both of them loved the house. The small housekeeper's quarters in the back of the house would be an ideal spot for Conor's new nanny.

"There's a beautiful spot out there for Conor to play when he gets a little older, " Sean said, looking out the windows of the sunroom.

"We can offer Maria the housekeeper's room if she'll agree to be live-in for Conor," Chritian said. "It's a beautiful house, Sean."

"I can see this being our house. It feels like home."

"Then let's not play games. Let's make an offer on it right now. She said it's immediate possession. We could have our stuff moved in here in a few weeks."

"Do you think I'm running away? Wanting another house?"

"Maybe a little, but I am, too. There's nothing wrong with wanting to leave the pain behind and have a fresh start."

"Sometimes I don't want to leave the other house, because all those memories are there. The kids when they were little, Julia, all the times you and I and Julia and the kids sat around the table or trimmed the tree. It's the only house Annie ever lived in."

"If you want a couple days to think about it, we can hold off on making an offer. Or we don't have to move at all if you're not sure."

"Why are you so good to me?" Sean asked, and the question took Christian by surprise.

"Because I love you," he answered, thinking that should be obvious. Sean studied him for a moment, then nodded.

"I know you do. I guess I just haven't been loved that way before," he said, smiling.

"Get used to it," Christian replied, taking Sean's face in his hands and kissing him, prolonging the contact until Sean finally pulled back smiling. "Why don't we go home early, send Maria out with Conor, and make love for the rest of the afternoon? If the house is meant to be ours, it'll be here when we're ready to make a decision."

"That's one offer I'm prepared to accept on the spot," Sean quipped.

********

Sean lay on the bed on his stomach, relishing the warm weight of Christian's body against his back and the slow, steady pace of his Christian's cock as it slid in and out of him. They were alone in the house, they had a good couple of hours to just enjoy each other. Christian was treating him to the kind of slow, easy rhythm he knew Sean liked best, taking the long road to climax. His arms were braced on either side of Sean, his warm breath on the back of Sean's neck Then his lips were there, kissing Sean's neck and shoulders, nuzzling him, making him feel cherished. Christian was putting more pressure on his prostate now, and Sean was rubbing his cock against the mattress as Christian was picking up his pace a little. The combined movements carried Sean into a sweetly intense orgasm, and Christian wasn't far behind him.

"Stay in me a few minutes," Sean said, rolling onto his side with Christian, so they were spooned together. He wasn't ready to let go of their union just yet. They just lay there quietly for a little while, exchanging a few caresses and kisses, mumbling a few love words. Christian finally eased out of Sean, then wrapped him in an even tighter hold to make up for the loss.

"Do you really like it, when I'm in you?" Christian asked.

"You know I do."

"How do you get past it hurting to like it?"

"It doesn't hurt when we do it like this. It doesn't really hurt anymore when we go at it a little faster and harder. It can just get a little uncomfortable if it's too rough. You always think about me, even when you're moving faster - - I know you're taking care of me, and maybe that's why it's okay. I'm not afraid of you hurting me for real, and a slightly raw asshole isn't the end of the world. It would be worth anything to feel this close to you."

"I still think about it, Sean, and I don't know how to relax and want it."

"If you have to work at it like that, you're not ready for it. When you were inside me the first time, it was because I knew I wanted you that way. I never did it before, never had anything up there except for my annual physical, but I felt ready to be with you that way. I want you to feel that...sense of peace and resolve about it."

"I want the memories to go away so I can just enjoy it. It's not you, Sean. It's not that I don't want you in me."

"I know that." Sean turned over so they were face to face. He caressed the side of Christian's troubled face. "I don't doubt how you feel about me because I haven't been inside your body. I've seen inside your heart and soul, Christian. I know what kind of man you are, and I know how much you love me. You seem to feel like you're taking something from me when you're inside me. And you are, but you're giving me something at the same time. It feels good, and having part of your body inside mine is something I wouldn't give up for anything."

Christian kissed him then, passionately and possessively, running his hand up and down Sean's thigh and his hip, around to his ass, stroking it gently, letting his fingertips brush over Sean's center. Christian's hand felt good there, and Sean humped against him a little. They were both getting hard again, and Christian rolled them until Sean was on his back. Christian pushed Sean's thighs up, exposing his still slick hole, which already looked a little stretched from their first session of lovemaking.

"Do it, Christian. I want you to," Sean goaded, knowing Christian needed a little nudge to take him again, and to do it the way he was longing to do it. Sean watched him coat the large, growing erection with gel, stroking himself to full hardness. Sean started stroking his own cock, until they were almost jerking off in unison.

Christian slid inside him, meeting little resistance since Sean was relaxed from his first orgasm and stretched from accommodating Christian the first time. While he started pumping in and out of Sean, Christian kissed him, rubbed his nipples, then licked them. He raised his head to watch Sean, to see the pleasure on his face, and took in the sensations of Sean's warm thighs around him, his hands coming up now to frame Christian's face. He had a green light from Sean to take what he thought he wanted, to drill him as fast and hard as he needed, but the thought of lingering inside him, of watching the love and the pleasure on his face...it meant too much to miss a moment by rushing it. Watching Sean endure it rather than enjoy it suddenly held no lure, and he relaxed into making love to him, glad that it was taking both their bodies longer to respond this time.

He took time for more kisses, to touch Sean's skin and really feel him, letting his hands roam over his chest, his sides, his hips. He stroked Sean's cock, kissed his upraised thighs, let Sean guide him back down for more kisses, enjoyed the feeling of Sean's fingers rubbing over his own nipples, making them hard, Sean's hands caressing his back, his sides, straining to reach his ass. He realized he was smiling, unable to not respond to the little smile on Sean's face, interrupted only when he opened his mouth in a moment when Christian paid special attention to his prostate.

Knowing his climax wasn't far away, he worked at making Sean come first, since he didn't want to finish and leave him unsatisfied.

"I love feeling you around me, being inside you," he said, holding Sean's gaze. "I never wanted anyone the way I want you," he added, seeing Sean's eyes fill a little at that.

"I love you, Christian...I love you in me," he said, a little breathlessly, pulling Christian down for more kissing. While their mouths were locked together, their bodies as close as they could be, Christian could feel Sean coming, just as he withdrew from their kissing to gasp and moan a little, his body arching as Christian felt the slick moisture on his belly. The intimacy and beauty of that moment was the final straw that brought Christian's orgasm sweeping over him in a warm, wonderful, almost unexpected wave, since he'd lost himself so much in Sean that he realized his own climax came from giving Sean his. In giving himself over so completely to Sean, his own pleasure was like a sweet surprise that shook him to his very core.

He reluctantly slid free of Sean's body, already missing the connection. He made up for it by gathering Sean in his arms and kissing him, and being kissed by him, touching as much of him as he could, loving the feeling of Sean returning the caresses that couldn't possibly stir another reaction from either of them. They were spent, sated, sweaty, and deliciously tired. The touches now were all about love, closeness, wanting to show each other that somehow the feelings were just as intense now that the sex was over as they were before it started.

"Thank you," Christian whispered against Sean's ear, kissing it.

"I thought you wanted it hard and fast," Sean said, sounding a little puzzled. "You made it so good for me." Sean's face was so close to his, Sean's hand coming up to touch his cheek.

"Making it good for you made it even better for me. I've never felt that with anybody else. I wanted it however you wanted it." Christian didn't know if that made sense when he said it, but judging by the look in Sean's eyes, he understood it. Sean kissed him again, then just kept his face close against Christian's, and it felt like they were just silently communicating, connecting with each other, like nothing else in the world existed outside that warm space of their body heat and shared breath. There was no need for words...and no words that would have been enough.

********

When Christian woke, he was disappointed not to feel Sean's body in his arms. Realization was dawning, and he looked on the night stand at the clock, which read almost six. Maria and Conor would have returned home by now, and Sean probably had gotten up in time to relieve her so she could go home. He felt a bit guilty for not setting an alarm or being alert to that himself, but relieved that Sean took care of it.

He was surprised to see Sean come back into the room wearing only his robe, carrying Conor, two beers in his free hand. He set the beers on the night stand and sat on the bed with their son, who explored the sensation of walking on the mattress, falling on the pillows with a giggle when his unsteady toddler gait didn't fare well on the softer surface. Christian leaned toward him, making faces, encouraging Conor's little fit of giggling.

"Maria probably knows what we were doing with our free couple of hours," Christian said to Sean.

"She probably does," Sean responded, smiling. His hair was still rumpled and he had a little sheet wrinkle on the side of his face. "I didn't wake up until after five. She was already in the nursery with Conor. I didn't see much point in putting on a show. Besides, I figured we could take our shower together later, after we put Conor down for the night."

"I like the sound of that," Christian said. He rolled onto his back and Conor happily climbed on top of him, playing a slightly sloppy version of patty-cake.

"I talked to Mogabi on the phone this morning. He's got some open time on his schedule in a few weeks." Sean paused. "I told him to reserve us some time in a couple months. I want to be sure he's strong enough, that it's not too much for him right after...Julia."

"He's doing great, Sean, but I think you're doing the right thing by giving it a little extra time. Between weaning him off breast milk and Julia not being here, it could have made his recovery tougher emotionally."

"I just want him to be happy," Sean said, kissing Conor's unaltered hand, scooting close to Christian so they were both in Conor's easy reach.

"I know you do. He will be. We're going to make sure of that." Christian looked at Sean, smiling at seeing real happiness in Sean's face in an unguarded moment. Since the explosion, if Christian happened to look at Sean when Sean didn't think anyone was looking at him, he had an overpowering sadness in his eyes. Not at this moment, though. He looked happy and content, snuggled against Christian, playing with their son, just relishing the quiet closeness of the family moment.

"I love you," Sean said, looking at Christian, who leaned over to kiss him.

"I love you, too," Christian said, then looked at the grinning baby sitting on his stomach - - now officially Conor Troy McNamara, his son, too, thanks to a name change, and a few key legal documents bearing both their signatures. "Both of you." Christian paused. "Thank you for what you did at the lawyer's. It means a lot to me that he has my name. That I have parental rights with him."

"I wanted to be sure if anything ever happened to me, he'd be with his other father." Sean was quiet a few minutes, just watching Christian and Conor, looking like he was at utter peace.

"This afternoon was special," Christian said, reaching over to touch Sean's cheek.

"Yeah, it was." He smiled broadly, and Christian found the smile contagious. So did Conor, apparently, as he smiled and slapped both little hands on Christian's chest.

"I think he's hungry," Sean said.

"He's not alone. Let's get everybody dressed and go out for dinner. What do you think?"

"How about Chen's?" Sean suggested, choosing a Chinese restaurant they both liked. "Conor likes the cashew chicken there."

"Oh, bullshit. Daddy Sean likes the cashew chicken there," Christian teased, chuckling.

"And the egg rolls. I think I worked off all the calories I ate earlier."

"Yeah, that rib-stickin' salad you had for lunch is gone just six hours later, imagine that. We're going to eat like pigs tonight. It's not that I'm complaining about your gorgeous body, but I would like to feel a little less rib on you, sweetheart."

"My appetite's still working its way back to normal," Sean admitted. "Sometimes it's okay, and sometimes I don't feel like I can swallow, if I get thinking about it too much...have a bad day."

"I know. I just want you to feel good and stay healthy."

"I feel good now," Sean said, kissing Christian.

********

A couple days after looking at the house by the beach, they decided to make an offer on it, which was accepted quickly. Not feeling that the furniture from either Sean's house or Christian's apartment was what they wanted, Christian hired a decorator he'd worked with before to give them some ideas. Sean was actually not expecting to play much part in that process, since Christian had usually done his best to keep him at arm's length when he was on a roll with office renovations. Julia had taken the reins of decorating the house, and Sean had gone along for the ride, paying the bills and not asking too many questions. He was surprised when Christian insisted that this time, both of them would meet with the decorator and nothing would be selected that wasn't chosen by mutual agreement.

After going through a number of possibilities that didn't meet that criterion of mutual agreement, they finally found some color schemes and furnishings both could agree on following a subtle, Spanish-influenced Mediterranean theme, using rich golds, greens, and burnt orange tones for furniture combining leather and suede and the occasional tapestry piece for accent.

The dark, carved wood bedroom set for the master suite featured a tall, impressive headboard, footboard and coordinating dresser, mirror and armoire. A rich mossy green color on the walls was brightened by a gold bedspread and green tapestry accent pillows.

The living room featured a large, colorful rug on which a cognac leather sofa sat, flanked by burnt orange chairs and accented with a few colorful paintings on the walls. Overall, the house had a masculine feel to it, but enough bright accents and mixture of colors to keep the dark woods and rich fabrics from making things gloomy.

The color scheme and furnishings went perfectly with the Spanish style of the house and the marble and tile floors. The sunroom deviated a bit from the rest of the house with woven sea grass furniture with pale cream colored cushions and a wide variety of leafy plants to give the room an almost tropical feel.

Conor's nursery was painted a soft, pale green, with yellow and white accents. The second of the home's three bedrooms closest to the master bedroom was chosen for the nursery, since Sean and Christian had made the decision they would care for Conor at night, even if their nanny was living in the housekeeper's quarters. Both felt strongly about keeping up the bond they were forming with their son, and since most of his daytime care was Maria's responsibility, both felt nighttime was their only time to really be with him.

Christian was surprised that Sean turned out to be a good decorating partner, his more conservative tastes keeping Christian from going too extreme with some of the furniture choices, and actually having a pretty good eye for color when it came to choosing paints and fabrics. Mostly, they were both happy to have designed their new home together, even if they did rely heavily on the decorator to help guide some of their choices.

********

Sean taped another carton shut and added it to the stack by the door in the kitchen. Now that moving day was just several hours away at the crack of dawn, he felt some of that melancholy he knew he would, leaving the past behind. Still, he was at peace with their decision to buy the house by the beach and make a new beginning. The trial was a few weeks away, and he dreaded the painful journey into the past it would force on them. Maybe having something so acutely tied to their future, like a new home, would help keep him focused on moving forward instead of sliding back into the overpowering grief that always seemed to lurk around the corner, waiting to envelop him.

"I think that's everything," Christian said, adding another carton to the stack. "We're ready for the movers," he added.

"Not a moment too soon," Sean said through a yawn. "I'm wasted."

"Me, too. I'm actually jealous of Conor for getting to sleep the last three hours while we've been working."

"You labeled everything that was going into storage separately, right?"

"Yes, sir," Christian executed a sloppy salute with a smile. "I followed your instructions to the letter."

"Sorry. I didn't mean to sound like a drill sergeant. I just want to be sure we don't open a carton expecting our underwear and find the unwanted portion of Matt's old CD collection instead."

"I packed everything in Annie's room for storage," Christian said, the reluctance to bring up the subject clear in his voice.

"I know I should have just packed most of it up for Goodwill. I did ask Kimber if she'd like to have a couple of Annie's best dolls for our granddaughter when she's old enough - - you know those big expensive ones she displayed?" Kimber's ultrasound had revealed the baby was a girl, and she was getting closer to her due date.

"I remember those. I brought one of them home for her from Italy. She was only seven or eight, I think. She went nuts over it."

"She was so excited about it. Erica got her the other one in New York a couple years later." Sean sighed. "I packed those up separately and labeled them. I told Kimber we'd hang onto them for her."

"There's no rush in sorting through her stuff, Sean. We'll put it in storage, and deal with it when you're ready."

"I feel like I'm putting her in storage, boxing up all her things and hiding the fact I ever had a daughter," Sean said, leaning on the stack of boxes, angry at the pain that was flaring again, that he was feeling so sad when he should be excited about the move.

"Maybe we're putting too much in storage," Christian said, rubbing Sean's back. "Is there anything special you want me to put in with the stuff going to the house?"

"You've got the...urn out of there, right?" Sean asked.

"Of course, I did. It's on our dresser with the last minute things we're taking with us."

"Good." Part of him didn't want Christian to put his arms around him, because he knew it was going to be the thing that shook what fragile control he had, but the other part of him turned gratefully into the hug, holding onto Christian, letting a few tears out. "I'm sorry to be a wet blanket," he said, his voice still shaky.

"I miss her too, Sean. I know you can't just turn off your grief like a light switch when you think you should be done with it. And we're both tired and stressed out with the trial coming up, that doesn't help."

"Part of me wants to go, and the other part wants to stay," Sean said, pulling back. Before he could wipe at his eyes, Christian brushed the tears away for him. Then he wiped his wet fingers on his pant leg, which made Sean laugh. "Tissues usually work better," he said.

"I'm not touching your nose, just so we're clear on that."

"You would if you really loved me," Sean teased him, grabbing a paper towel off the kitchen counter, since it was about the only paper product handy, and blowing his nose in it.

"Let's just say there are some of your body fluids I'd rather get my hands in than others."

"Is that a proposition?"

"What if it was?"

"It better be," Sean replied, leading the way into the bedroom.

********

Sean felt as if everyone who saw him in the car, and then saw him at his destination, would immediately recognize him, and figure out what he was doing. Despite the dark glasses, baseball cap, jeans, t-shirt and casual jacket, he didn't feel camouflaged enough to go to the adult toy store. Truthfully, he felt a little bit like a pervert, as if all he needed was a trench coat to complete the look.

He sat in his car a few minutes, trying to decide if he really wanted, and needed, to go through with this. He'd told Christian it didn't matter if he could turn the tables and be inside him the was Christian was often inside Sean, and he stood by that. He'd live happily ever after with Christian if that never happened. But reality was calling, and he'd found his thoughts often occupied by fantasies of pumping in and out of something. It wasn't necessarily Christian, and it wasn't any specific woman, or even a particular type. It was just his natural instinct to want to screw something that was bedeviling his fantasy life and the subject of the rare times he jerked off in the shower, when Christian wasn't nearby to keep him company in there. Staring at the store, he took a deep breath and got out of the car, making the decision to go inside and see what they had to offer.

The store was surprisingly clean, well-lit, and looked more like a nice department store than a seedy sex shop. He hoped to see what he was there for and throw some cash on the counter for it and get out before he lost his nerve.

"Can I help you find something?" a male voice startled him from behind. A clean-cut, middle-aged man with a receding hairline stood a few feet away.

"Where are your...male...toys?" he asked, hoping that was enough. Of course, it wasn't.

"Are you looking for the fake penises, strap-ons?"

"No, no, not the toys that are male. Toys for males...fake pussies, I guess," he shot out before he lost his nerve.

"Right over here. Before you settle for one of those old school ones that looks like a blow-dryer with a pussy in it, check these out." He led Sean to a display of, well, asses. Sean knew only too well about the real doll industry, but he'd never seen an anatomically correct woman's ass, complete with high quality latex "skin" and both functional holes, in a box on a shelf. "We have them modeled after some of the top porn stars. You can pick whichever one you like. They're all a little different. We've got four of them."

"Kind of weird without the rest of the woman attached to it," Sean said, picking the one that looked the most appealing to him. Part of him felt like he was picking up spare parts at the anatomy lab, but he tried to banish that thought. He knew what he needed, and this ass-in-a-box could probably scratch the itch. He sure as hell couldn't hide a full sized sex doll in the closet, and he didn't want Christian to feel like he wasn't enough, or that his reluctance to deal with being penetrated was causing any serious problem in their relationship.

"You don't have to take her to dinner or cuddle afterwards," the man joked, and Sean smiled faintly. "She's got a vibrator you can use, or you can skip that and just let her have it with no motion from her."

"Okay. I'll take this one." Sean handed him the box.

"Don't tell me - - this'll be cash, right?"

"Right," Sean said, anxious to grab his fake ass and run for the door.

"Unmarked bags," he said, holding up a purple plastic bag that accommodated the item, and gave it complete coverage. "Enjoy," he said, handing Sean his change.

"Yeah, thanks," Sean replied, stuffing the bills in his pocket and leaving with his purchase.

Driving back toward their old house, he knew he'd have complete privacy. It hadn't been listed with the real estate company yet, and Conor and his nanny were settled in the new house. Christian had a nose job at two, and it was just a little past noon. He let himself into the quiet, shadowy house, trying not to feel like a teenager with a stolen Hustler sneaking into the john to jerk off.

He went into the guest room and unpacked his purchase, setting the artificial ass in the middle of the bed. It had the bizarre effect of making it look as if the woman's upper body and legs had somehow disappeared into the mattress, and only her ass remained visible.

"Well, I guess since you're already naked," he said to the rubber ass, before stripping off his own clothes and trying not to feel too ridiculous.

He knelt on the bed behind the toy, using the lube that came with it to start stroking his cock. Closing his eyes, he tried to forget that it was a fake ass on the bed. He started thinking about Christian's ass, about what it would feel like to pump in and out of him, and his body started responding to that. He used one hand to rub across his chest, rolling and pinching his nipples, the way Christian would if they were making love. He imagined Christian's hands on him, his mouth, the heat of his body when they were skin on skin. He aimed his slick cock toward the fake pussy and shoved inside it, not needing to be careful of its feelings or avoid hurting it.

His foreplay fantasies were of Christian, but these physical sensations were ends in themselves, and he didn't really have a name or a face or a backstory for his rubber partner. She was an anonymous hole that served a purpose. He fucked the toy vigorously, moaning out loud now as his cock enjoyed the sensations of sliding in and out, of pumping into something. He was ramming into it, completely driven by his own physical need, and when his orgasm did come, it was intense, shaking him and possessing him until he pulled out of the opening that had sated him, and rolled on his back on the bed. He froze, his eyes going wide, when he saw Christian standing in the doorway of the bedroom.

"How long have you been there?" he asked, still out of breath. Then he noticed Christian's pants were open, and his hand was around his semi-erect cock.

"Long enough," Christian said, a little smile curling the corners of his mouth. "Is there a woman stuck in the mattress, or is that all there is?" he teased, entering the room, looking at the rubber ass, intrigued.

"I'm sorry, Christian. I don't know what got into me." Sean felt trapped. He felt ridiculous trying to cover himself up, since Christian saw him naked at least once or twice most days. But he still felt humiliated, perverted, guilty...

"I do. Since you've been with me, you're always on the receiving end, and you needed a little action of your own." Christian seemed to notice for the first time how stricken Sean looked at having been caught. "It's okay, Sean. Did you think I was going to be mad because you had a little fun with a sex toy?"

"It's not that you're not enough, that it isn't great between us, I just...needed it."

"Do you know how hot it was, watching you get off like that? I just about christened this new Armani with a full load," he said, referring to his suit's brush with being squirted.

"I just needed to..."

"Fuck something. You're human, Sean, and you're male. You're not gay just because we fell in love with each other. So where's the harm in having a little fun with...God, she doesn't have a name, does she?" Christian winced a little.

"Uh," Sean picked up the box where he'd tossed it on the floor. "Ashley."

"You mind if I play with your new toy?" Christian tossed his jacket aside, and took off his pants and underwear, leaving just an eye-catching lavender shirt over his naked body.

"I could clean her...it...up a little if you want."

"Nah, let's just gangbang her," Christian said, moving into position behind the rubber ass, sticking his cock into the pussy. "God, she feels like she's ready for me, but it's your come in there. Shit, that's hot," Christian gasped, starting to pump into the rubber form, letting loose and giving it a rough pounding he'd never dream of giving Sean.

Sean watched him, entranced with seeing him take what he needed from the toy, watching the orgasm sweep over him, and hearing him cry out as he finished with a few jerky thrusts. Panting, he pulled out of Ashley, flopping back on the bed, looking over at Sean and laughing.

"I think we should take Ashley out to dinner or something," he said, patting a rubber butt cheek. "Maybe get her a fourteen karat gold pussy piercing."

"It was good, wasn't it?" Sean asked, finally smiling and losing a little of his initial embarrassment. It was silly to be shy with Christian about something like this. They'd shared having sex with a woman before, so why should a little action with the ass-in-the-box be such a big deal?

"Get to have all the rough stuff without hurting someone I love in the process," he said, reaching out until Sean put his hand in Christian's. "Did you really think you had to hide this?"

"I thought maybe you'd think I was weird."

"Well, she is kind of like a spare part from the anatomy lab - - "

"Oh, shit," Sean said, laughing. "That's all I could think of when I first saw this thing. Is this what proctologists practice on in the lab?"

"So where were you planning to store Ashley, anyway?"

"You're going to keep calling it Ashley, aren't you?"

"Beats saying, 'hey, Sean, where'd you put the rubber ass?' doesn't it?" Christian sighed. "I have to hand it to her, she was one of the best lays I've ever had. But she can't hold a candle to my number one." He squeezed Sean's hand. "You have got to lighten up a little, Sean. You're not a pervert because you try something new, or because you have a need that's just purely physical. Let's enjoy that - - that we're friends first, that we can enjoy this stuff together?"

"We haven't even tried her asshole yet," Sean said, flexing his eyebrows, emboldened by the easiness of their interaction over something he thought would be a disaster in their relationship. Christian just laughed. "What are you doing here, anyway?" Sean finally asked, curious.

"I lost one of my cufflinks, and I wanted to see if it was still in a drawer or on the floor somewhere here. It was one of the diamond ones, and it's pricey."

"You want to look for it now?"

"Excuse me, Ashley," Christian picked up the rubber ass and set it on the floor by the bed. Then he scooted over closer to Sean. "Maybe after we make out for a while."

"What happened to your nose job at two?"

"Cancelled. She had a family emergency or something. I have to be back at four for another one. Want to assist?"

"Sure." Sean smiled as Christian climbed on top of him, kissing him thoroughly. "Ashley's good, but there ain't nothing like the real thing," he said, and Christian smiled, kissing him again, launching a session of stolen afternoon lovemaking that left little time to look for cufflinks.

********

Christian slipped into his suit coat, having chosen one of his conservative looks for the court room. Sean was already dressed, also in a dark suit, with a white shirt and tie, taking a few minutes to spend with Conor before they started out for court. They'd settled nicely into their new house, and as Christian checked his look in the large mirror over the dresser, he had to admit he was enjoying the new decor. It was warm and inviting, and the rich golds and greens in the master suite were relaxing and beautiful.

As he entered the kitchen, he found Sean at the table, helping Conor with breakfast while Maria washed the dishes. A matronly woman in her fifties, Maria had a cheery demeanor and infinite patience with the challenges of childcare. She loved to cook, and even gladly adjusted a few of her spicier Mexican recipes to make them rest better with Sean, who didn't quite have Christian's high threshold for hot seasoning. She was also adept at cooking a variety of other types of foods than Mexican, so no one in the McNamara-Troy household could complain of going hungry.

"Oh, Dr. Troy, you look nice, too," Maria said, giving his dark suit and purple shirt an appreciative once-over.

"Thanks, Maria. We should go," Christian said, squeezing Sean's shoulder.

"I know." He touched Conor's cheek. "I was procrastinating a little."

"Depending on the timing, maybe neither one of us will even have to testify today. They're taking a damned lifetime nitpicking the forensics."

Christian admired Sean's strength in having sat through the grueling testimony of the medical examiner, even though the prosecutor had the courtesy to set his easels displaying the autopsy photos toward the judge and jury, and not the area where the family was sitting. Still, the lengthy descriptions and discussion of the condition of the bodies had been enough to bring tears to Christian's eyes and cause Matt to leave the court room. Sean had sat there through it all, going from tears in his eyes to crying softly while the coroner went into the necessary details about Annie's death and the condition of her remains. He hadn't let go of Christian's hand through most of the testimony. Thankfully, most of the discussion was now focused on the explosion and the technical issues surrounding the explosives and how they traced them to Landau Industries and the site where Jude was working.

"I'd rather get it over with. Having it hanging over my head is worse." Sean stood, leaning down to kiss Conor's cheek. "I love you, buddy," he said to the content toddler, who seemed preoccupied with his pieces of banana.

"Ove you," came the reply. Sean stared at him, since it was the first time Conor had answered him so directly and clearly. Grinning like the proud parent he was, Sean picked Conor up, lifting him out of his high chair and hugging him, risking banana stains on his dark suit, and not caring.

"That's my boy," he said, kissing Conor again, holding him while Christian made a growling noise against Conor's neck that made him recoil a little, giggling.

"I love you," Sean said again, and again, Conor replied with an "Ove you."

"I love both of you," Christian said, patting Sean's back.

"I really needed that this morning," Sean said, reluctantly putting Conor back in his high chair.

The explosives expert finished his testimony relatively early, and Sean was on the stand by mid-morning, mostly answering questions about Marlowe's interview and hiring, their conflict over Conor's surgeries, and finally Julia's affair with Marlowe and the issue of Marlowe wanting to take Julia and the kids to Florence while he studied art there. Being it was the prosecutor asking the questions, testifying wasn't nearly as contentious and unpleasant as they were prepared to face with the defense attorney, who had concocted a scenario in which Jude may have been working for Sean, not Marlowe, since Sean had so much to gain from the deaths. He claimed there was as much hard evidence for one theory as the other, and a more clearly defined motive for Sean.

The most difficult part of the testimony for Sean was recounting what happened the morning of the explosion, including his memories of the explosion itself. By the time the court went into recess for lunch, he was drained, and grateful for the break. Christian didn't feel much better. It was like watching Sean being tortured and being unable to stop it. He knew the cross-examination would be worse, and he questioned his ability to sit there and let Marlowe's lawyer badger Sean with a lot of sordid questions and gruesome implications.

"How are you holding up, sweetheart?" Christian asked as Sean rejoined him, finally free from the witness stand for the hour lunch break. He put his arm around Sean's shoulders, giving him a little squeeze.

"It's harder than I thought, talking about it." He slid his arm around Christian's waist, leaning into the contact as they walked toward the doors to exit the court room.

"This way," Fishman called to them from near the front of the room. He gestured for them to follow him, and they did, going out another exit the jury had used. "You can take a break in a conference room back here. The reporters'll eat you alive out there. They know Sean's testifying today, so it's a real circus." Once he'd led them to the conference room, he patted Sean's arm. "You're doing great up there, Sean. When Hirsch goes after you, and he will, don't let it get to you. He's desperate and he's reaching, so he's probably going to focus heavily on your infidelity, the domestic violence issues, your relationship with Christian, and really tie it all in to the insurance money. Just answer him honestly, and do your best not to have an outburst. If you have trouble with your emotions, let the jury see that. Reducing the grieving father to tears probably won't earn him the points he thinks. The jury likes you - - you can tell they're reacting well to you on the stand. Four of them started crying when you broke down, talking about your daughter."

"You think so?" Sean asked. "I didn't even notice that, I guess."

"Christian, Hirsch is going to be rough with him, and I'm going to tell you the same thing. You're not going to be much support to him if you end up in jail for contempt, and this judge is pretty no-nonsense. The prosecution will object to inappropriate questions, or any time that he's badgering Sean beyond what he has a right to do in the process of asking his questions. But leave it to us. I don't care what shitty thing he says or asks."

"I'll do my best, but I'm not going to sit there and let that asshole accuse Sean of killing his family."

"You have to, Christian," Sean said, sighing. "I'm not looking forward to this, either, but Fishman's right. I don't want you thrown in jail for contempt. It's going to be more stressful for me if I have to worry about you erupting."

"I hear you," Christian said, though he wasn't happy with the admonition.

"I'll leave you two alone for a while. Do you want lunch? There's a sandwich shop right near the courthouse that delivers. They're ordering for the jury, and I'm going to get myself something."

"Go ahead if you're hungry," Sean said to Christian, sitting at the conference table.

"If somebody could get us a large turkey sub, I'll try to get him to split it with me," Christian said to Fishman.

"Will do."

Fishman had barely left when the door opened and Richard Matthews, the prosecutor, stuck his head in the door. A tall, slender man in his late forties, Matthews had thinning brown hair and wore small, wire-rimmed glasses.

"Sean, nice job this morning," he said, extending his hand to Sean, who shook it.

"I didn't really do anything except answer your questions."

"Well, that's partially why things flowed so smoothly. You're sincere, and the jury is connecting with that. I thought we should go over a couple things before Hirsch gets a hold of you this afternoon.

"The way you and Fishman are talking about this, I'm expecting bamboo shoots under my fingernails," Sean said, trying for humor, but his voice held a trace of unease.

"Fishman already gave us the 'don't have an outburst' speech," Christian said.

"That's crucial. Sean, he's going to try to paint you as a viable suspect, and that means making you look bad to the jury. Now, you're not on trial, and even if Marlowe walks, the DA's office has no intention of pursuing charges against you for anything. There's no solid evidence, and we're satisfied we're trying the right man. You don't need to panic or defend yourself - - or to convict Marlowe. If he scores any points, that's my problem to deflect, not yours. If he asks an inappropriate question, or crosses a line, I'll object. Otherwise, just answer his questions, and as often as you can, make it a simple yes or no answer. Don't volunteer anything. If you open the door to it, the prosecution can run with it, just like we talked about before. If a question seems really offensive, take an extra breath before you answer him. It'll give me time to object if I have a valid reason to. Too often, witnesses blurt out an answer before I have time to object, and then the horse is out of the barn and the jury's heard the answer. If I don't object, answer him to the best of your ability."

"I thought Marlowe was on trial here. How can his lawyer just turn around and start putting Sean on trial?" Christian asked.

"It's a strategy. Find another possible suspect and put them unofficially on trial to deflect attention from the evidence piled up against your client. Despite the fact he's entered into a plea deal, Jude is a good witness. He's believable, his testimony is solid, and we're going to put Marlowe away. He could have just as easily accused you of hiring him if that were true, but he's testifying against his own cousin. We would have made him a plea deal for either story, if he convinced us it was true. So while he has a plea bargain, he could have gotten it for implicating you as much as he could for implicating Marlowe. And it's apparent he isn't too fond of you, since he was planting explosives under your car, so we can assume if there was a valid case against you, he would have been implicating you."

"You think the jury'll figure all that out?" Sean asked.

"I'll make sure they do, in the long run. The problem is that you'll have to tolerate this bullshit from the defense in the meantime. I want Jude's testimony to be the last big piece of our case that sticks with the jury."

"I'll do the best I can," Sean said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He was feeling over-coached and stressed out, as if the entire case were riding on his shoulders, despite the prosecutor's words, taking the responsibility on himself for winning or losing the case.

"Maybe you could give us a few minutes?" Christian said, and Matthews nodded, standing up and heading for the door.

"Did anyone order lunch for you?"

"Fishman's getting us something," Christian replied.

"Sean, you're going to do fine, and hopefully we'll get through this today. We might need to do a re-direct tomorrow to clean up some loose ends, but this should be the tough part."

"Okay," Sean said, not really caring what he was saying anymore. He'd been duly advised that he was going to spend the afternoon being turned on the figurative spit, and made to look like a monster who would kill his wife and child for their insurance money. Once Matthews left, Christian shifted his chair closer and put his arm around Sean.

"I wish I could make this easier for you," he said, kissing Sean's temple.

"You are making it easier. I couldn't do this without you here."

"Matt left a voicemail on my cell phone. He's going to try to get here this afternoon. Kimber wasn't feeling well this morning and he thought she might be going into labor, but then she started feeling better."

"She's so close to her due date, he probably shouldn't get tied up here."

"Apparently someone from the Church is going to stay with her this afternoon."

"Keep an eye on him. You know he's a hothead, and he's probably going to explode faster than you are if things get ugly."

"I'll hold him back. I'm still bigger than he is."

"Okay," Sean said, smiling faintly.

********

The defense attorney, Martin Hirsch, was an older man with gray hair and glasses, tall and imposing, and experienced litigator with a number of wins under his belt. He approached the witness stand, greeting Sean cordially, as if they were new business acquaintances.

"Marlowe Sawyer wasn't your first choice for a night nurse for your son, was he?" Hirsch asked.

"No," Sean replied simply.

"In fact, you hired another night nurse, or nanny was it? What were you calling it?"

"Night nurse. His official work schedule was only at night."

"I see. The first young lady you hired, Monica Wilder...she wasn't in your employ very long, was she?"

"No."

"She resigned."

"Yes."

"Why did she resign, Dr. McNamara?"

"She said she was moving back home."

"But you knew there was another reason."

"Yes."

"What reason was that?"

"I asked her to leave."

"Because...?"

"We had a one-night...mistake."

"You slept with her?"

"Yes."

"How many times?"

"Once. I knew it was a mistake as soon as I did it."

"So you paid her off to leave town before your wife found out?"

"I gave her severance pay. I felt it was only fair."

"She didn't leave town though, did she?"

"No, she didn't."

"You continued to see her."

"She continued to see me. I told her it was over, but she was obsessed."

"With you?"

"That there was more to our...encounter than there was."

"So this young girl whom you slept with and then fired, felt there was something between you?"

"Yes," Sean replied, though his irritation was beginning to seep into his voice.

"But you never cared about her beyond having sex with her while your pregnant wife was waiting at home?"

"Objection, the defense is making a speech, not asking a question."

"I'll allow it, but get to your point Mr. Hirsch," the judge replied,

"Thank you, your honor." Hirsch stared at Sean. "Should I repeat the question, Doctor?"

"No, I heard you. I did care what happened to Monica, but I was committed to making my family work, and I realized I'd made a huge mistake, and I did my best to fix it."

"Ultimately, Monica met a conveniently bad end, didn't she?"

"Objection," the prosecutor said. "Argumentative."

"Sustained."

"What happened to Ms. Wilder?"

"She was hit by a bus," Sean said, the memory of Monica's gruesome death still vivid if he gave it more than a passing thought.

"Right in front of your office - - you were present when she backed into the street, weren't you?"

"Yes, I was. I followed her out of the office because she was upset, and I was concerned about her."

"So you were facing the road, and she had her back to it?"

"Yes."

"You didn't notice the bus coming as she stepped backwards into the street, while she was arguing with you?"

"No, I didn't. It all happened so fast that it's a blur."

"You've been present at a couple of shocking deaths in the last year...first, Ms. Wilder's bus accident, and then the explosion that killed your wife and daughter."

"Objection. The defense is piecing together an argument, not asking questions.

"No more speech making, Mr. Matthews. Sustained."

"Ms. Wilder wasn't your first affair, was she?"

"I'd hardly call it an affair. It was one time."

"Please answer my question, Dr. McNamara."

"No, it wasn't."

"You had an affair with a woman named Megan O'Hara, isn't that correct?"

"Yes."

"You would classify this one as an affair, correct?" Matthews asked, obvious sarcasm in his tone.

"Yes."

"As a matter of fact, you were in love with Mrs. O'Hara and would have left your wife for her, had she lived?"

"Yes," Sean replied, never having quite faced that truth himself. If Megan had lived, what would he have done? In that moment, he knew he would have found a way to end his marriage to Julia and be with her. Maybe somewhere, she could hear him and know that he was owning up to it, not hiding her like a dirty secret anymore.

"She did leave her husband for you, isn't that right?"

"No, it isn't. She separated from her husband, but that was before we...were together romantically."

"Your wife found out about the affair?"

"Yes."

"How did she react?"

"She was angry, hurt, felt betrayed."

"She didn't leave you?"

"No. We worked through it."

"Mrs. O'Hara committed suicide, isn't that right?"

"Yes."

"That was convenient, wasn't it?"

"Her cancer recurred, and she was dying a horrible, painful death. There was nothing convenient about it, for anyone."

"Women have a tendency of dying around you, at fortuitous times, don't they?" he said.

"Objection, your honor. This is completely inappropriate and irrelevant. He's simply badgering Dr. McNamara."

"Your honor, two mistresses, an ex-wife, and a daughter have died under questionable circumstances around Dr. McNamara. It is relevant to establishing the possibility that this man may have had something to do with at least one or more of those deaths, which is directly relevant to proving my client's innocence."

"Objection sustained on the basis of making speeches, which I have already told you not to do, Mr. Hirsch. You may proceed with this line of questioning, but be sure it is germane to your case, and confine yourself to asking the witness appropriate questions. I know you are well aware of where the line is," the judge added.

"Not long after the whole debacle with your first mistress, your wife revealed something rather shocking to you, didn't she?"

"Yes."

"What was that?"

"My son, Matt, wasn't my biological son."

"And the father was?"

"My partner, Christian Troy."

"You were upset by this revelation, weren't you?"

"Yes."

"So upset that you shoved your wife against the refrigerator and attempted to choke her, isn't that right?"

"No, that's not right."

"You did push her."

"Yes."

"You put your hand on her throat?"

"Yes."

"So what part of what I said was false?"

"I didn't try to choke her. I didn't leave a single mark on her, and she didn't seek any medical attention."

"So it's okay to have shoved her and put your hand on her throat, as long as you didn't leave marks?"

"No, not at all. I should have never touched her, but I was upset, and I did. But I would have never hurt her, and I didn't."

"Your son filed for an order of protection against you several months later. Can you tell us about that incident?"

"We were attempting to have a family meeting with my son - - an intervention of sorts. Christian, Julia, and I were concerned because he'd been having some serious problems, some of which had escalated to violence. It turned into an argument, and he pushed his mother across the room. She would have fallen if Christian hadn't caught her. I grabbed him, and then I hit him."

"Re-broke a recently repaired broken nose, I believe?"

"Yes."

"And you hit him for pushing his mother?"

"Yes."

"But you pushed his mother yourself when you were angry with her."

"The circumstances were a little different."

"So you pushing your wife and putting your hand on her throat is excusable, but your son pushing your wife is cause to break his nose?"

"Objection," Matthews stood. "Dr. McNamara isn't already answered the questions regarding the alleged assaults on his wife and son."

"Dr. McNamara has a history of violence with his wife and son. That is directly relevant to considering him as a possible suspect in the death of his wife and daughter."

"Overruled. Answer the question, Dr. McNamara," the judge said.

"None of it was excusable, and if I had it to do over again, I wouldn't."

"You didn't like Marlowe Sawyer, did you?"

"I had no personal animosity for him. I just didn't choose to hire him. My wife did." Sean was momentarily distracted by watching Christian lean forward to hand an envelope to the prosecutor. There was a note inside, which Matthews read, and then looked at photographs. He made a couple notes on his legal pad, but did nothing else.

"Why didn't you like him?"

"I felt he was too outspoken. He lectured us during the interview, which I found indicative of someone who would be disinclined to cooperate with decisions we made as parents for our son."

"He threatened your control of the family?"

"No, I just didn't feel he was the best choice for a night nurse, and I felt we wouldn't work well together."

"Your wife didn't agree, and hired him after your son was born, correct?"

"Correct."

"That must have made you angry."

"Not angry. I was disappointed she made the decision without me, but I respected it."

"How do you feel Mr. Sawyer did as a night nurse? Was he an effective caregiver for your son?"

"To a point." Sean glanced over at Marlowe, who was watching him with interest, making the occasional note.

"Meaning what?"

"An effective caregiver works with the family, and with the child's medical care team, they don't take it on themselves to interfere at a level that far exceeds their credentials and the scope of their position."

"You're referring to Mr. Sawyer's concerns over the painful reconstructive surgeries you were performing on your son's hand?"

"Among other things, yes."

"Such as?"

"Shortly after being hired, he took it on himself to paint a dark and somewhat inappropriate mural covering an entire wall of my son's nursery."

"I understand you complimented him on it, initially."

"I thought he had artistic talent. I didn't say the mural wasn't good, just that it was dark and inappropriate for a nursery. I later painted over it because I felt it was disturbing to my son. I wouldn't have wanted to wake up to that every morning myself," he added, and a few people in the jury box actually smiled.

"You painted over it after you learned of his relationship with your wife."

"I did think sleeping with the mother of the child he was caring for was less than ideal conduct for a night nurse, yes."

"But you slept with the first night nurse."

"Yes, and she didn't work for us afterward," Sean retorted, his fuse getting shorter by the minute.

"She was at fault in that situation, not you?"

"We were both consenting adults, and neither one of us had any business doing what we were doing. We were both wrong."

"Your wife was in love with Mr. Sawyer, and hoping to go to Florence with him, and take your children, isn't that right?"

"Yes."

"So your wife is in love with this man you have obvious contempt for, and is threatening to take your children overseas. What did you plan to do to stop this from happening?"

"Take my wife to court over custody if necessary."

"That's all?"

"Is there something else you think I should have done?" Sean shot back.

"While you were so angry over your wife's relationship with my client, isn't it true you were having an affair with your partner, Christian Troy?"

"No, I wasn't having an affair. Our relationship changed, and I told my wife about it within less than twenty-four hours of that change. She had already slept with your client by that time, and I was aware of it."

"You started having sex with your partner."

"Yes."

"Are you gay, Doctor?"

"I've never been with a man before, and don't plan on being with anyone else besides Christian. I don't know what label you want to put on that."

"You don't consider yourself gay, then?"

"Not after being married for twenty years, and having enjoyable physical relationships with other women I've seen when I was separated or divorced, no."

"Does it bother you to be considered gay?"

"Objection, relevance."

"Your honor, we have testimony that Mrs. McNamara challenged her husband about his sudden change in sexuality. If he has issues with being called 'gay', it could be a basis for conflict between them."

"Make your point and move on, Mr. Hirsch. Overruled."

"I'm happy in my relationship with Christian, so I frankly don't care what kind of label someone else chooses to put on me."

"What turned out to be wrong with your wife's car, the one that was malfunctioning the morning she was killed?"

"It wouldn't start...I don't remember. My son, Matt, had the car towed and took care of it for me. I let him keep it. He needed a nice car of his own and his mother would have been pleased if he had it. I never asked him what was wrong with it."

"I see. But you probably paid for the repairs?"

"I don't know. I didn't handle my own bills right after it happened. Christian handled the household business for both of us, and anything like the car repairs."

"How long was your wife upstairs, talking to you and Dr. Troy, before going back down to her car?"

"I don't recall exactly. Maybe five or ten minutes."

"So her car was untended outside on the street during that time?"

"Objection, calls for conjecture since Dr. McNamara previously stated he wasn't in a position to see Mrs. McNamara's car from upstairs in Dr. Troy's condo."

"Sustained."

"To your knowledge, was anyone in your wife's car during that time?"

"Objection. Conjecture."

"Sustained."

"Did your wife indicate she had brought any additional passengers with her that morning?"

"No."

"When you went downstairs, and out to the sidewalk, were there any other passengers in or around the car?"

"No."

"You had large insurance policies on your wife and daughter."

"Yes."

"Five million dollars on your wife. I believe that policy recently paid out, did it not?"

"Yes."

"What are your plans for that money?"

"I've enhanced my son's trust fund for college, and my investment manager is handling the rest for the time being."

"And you had a million dollar policy on your daughter, which has also paid out?"

"Yes."

"You were going to establish some kind of charitable fund with that."

"Yes, I plan to."

"But you haven't done that yet, have you?"

"No, I haven't."

The attorney walked back to his table, and pulled out a couple of photographs from a folder, returning and slapping them down on the witness box railing in front of Sean.

"Was this worth six million dollars, Dr. McNamara?" he demanded, as Sean laid eyes on vivid 8x10 autopsy photos of Julia and Annie for the first time.

He knew Matthews was objecting and the judge was pounding his gavel, and he thought he heard Christian's voice, but all he could do was turn away from the awful images, the swiveling chair freeing him from the sight. His stomach heaved and despite his best efforts and a hand over his mouth, he felt himself losing the battle and throwing up, feeling like he couldn't breathe between the tears he couldn't control and the heaves that felt like they were choking him.

Christian was at his side then, and he heard him bark something about acting as Sean's doctor, presumably in response to an order for him to go back to his seat.

"I'm here, Sean," he whispered close to Sean's ear. Christian produced a handkerchief to help Sean wipe his mouth. Sean realized then he was shaking too hard to do it himself. "Just take a deep breath, sweetheart," he said, low enough that only Sean could hear the endearment. "The judge called a recess. Can you stand up?"

"Yeah, just give me a second." Sean worked at taking in some deep breaths, and then stood, glad that Christian was staying close and steadying him with an arm around him and holding onto his hand to walk him back to a seat. The courtroom was becoming blissfully silent as the jury and spectators were ushered out. Fishman and Matthews were standing between Matt and Hirsch, having obviously pulled Matt back from the defense lawyer before he could do any actionable damage. Matt was still reading the lawyer the riot act, calling him a colorful variety of names.

"Matty, let it go," Christian called to him. "Come over here and sit with your dad."

Matt glowered at the lawyer another moment or two, then turned and came back to where Sean and Christian were sitting, taking a seat on the other side of Sean, resting his hand on his father's back. Christian stood then and strode over to Hirsch, grabbing him by the lapels of his expensive suit before Fishman or Matthews realized what he was doing.

"What kind of perverted bottom feeder are you, anyway? What the hell was the point of that?"

"Take your hands off me, Dr. Troy. I'll have you arrested for assault."

"Oh, really? Then I might as well make it count," Christian said, pulling back his arm to deliver a powerful punch. Before it could connect, Sean was on him, pulling him back, with the help of Fishman and Matthews.

"I'll look forward to questioning you, Dr. Troy," Hirsch said, straightening his suit.

"Give it your best shot, asshole. Let's see how good you are when you're not tormenting grieving fathers," he retorted.

"Christian, forget it," Sean said tiredly. "We've got a break, and I need one."

While Matthews and Christian exchanged a few heated words, Fishman guided Matt and Sean out the side exit to a men's room.

"Shit, I thought I hit the floor," Sean said, looking at the healthy swath of vomit that had splattered his shirt and tie.

"You did that, too," Matt said, with a little smile. "Nice shooting, Dad," he joked while he wet a large handful of paper towels and tried to help Sean get the worst of the stain off his clothing.

"I smell like the medical waste dumpster," Sean complained, trying to dry some of the wetness.

"That son of a bitch should be disbarred."

"No argument there," Sean said, feeling frighteningly dizzy and a little light-headed. A moment later, everything was dark.

********

"Christian!!" Matt shouted, rushing out of the men's room just as Christian was coming toward it. "He just collapsed," he said, leading the way back into the men's room where Sean lay on the floor.

"Shit." Christian checked Sean's pulse. "His pulse is a little rapid, but it's steady. He probably just passed out. He's already coming out of it," Christian loosened Sean's tie, and Sean's own hand went up to his collar a little weakly when he felt the movement.

Fishman and Matthews were close behind them. "Is he all right?" Fishman asked.

"He passed out, but he's already coming around."

"I'll call for an ambulance," Fishman said.

"Don't do that, he'll hate it. I'll check his blood pressure and keep an eye on his vitals." Christian supported Sean's head and shoulders, raising him off the tile floor. "Okay, Sean, talk to me, partner," he said gently.

"I'll go talk to the judge about getting a recess for the rest of the afternoon," Matthews said, leaving.

"What happened?" Sean asked, blinking a time or two, raising his hand to his head when he tried to sit up.

"Take it easy, Sean," Christian supported him as he tried sitting up again. "Sit tight a minute and take a couple deep breaths. Do you remember where we are?"

"The men's room," he replied.

"Where?"

"Are we still at the courthouse?"

"Yes, but we're going home. It's all over for today," he said.

"You scared the shit out of me, Dad," Matt said, smiling, relieved.

"Sorry. I don't know what happened. I was just standing here, and now, I'm down here."

"Sean, look at me. Any blurred vision? Chest pain?" Christian asked.

"My head's killing me but no, my vision's okay and I feel kind of winded, but no chest pain."

"Dizziness?"

"I feel...I guess, kind of. Can you get me off the floor?"

"Matt, get on his other side so we can support him once he's up."

Once Sean was on his feet, he reeled a little, leaning on the support.

"I'll go find out what the judge said," Fishman said.

"He can't go back up on the stand today. As his doctor, I won't allow it."

"You sure he shouldn't go to the ER?" Fishman asked.

"All they'll do is make him sit there for three hours to see a doctor. I'll check him over and monitor him, so he'll be better off resting at home."

Fishman nodded and left the room to go find the prosecutor.

"Did you see those pictures?" Sean asked Christian, looking into his eyes with an expression that held such agony that it broke Christian's heart. "I should have known what to expect...I'm a plastic surgeon, I know what fire does to flesh...even bone..."

"Shit," Matt muttered, running a hand over his face.

"Give us a second, Matty," Christian said, inclining his head toward the door. Matt seemed only too glad to leave, not any better able to discuss the condition of the bodies than Sean was. Maybe not as able, since he didn't even have training as a surgeon to bolster his capacity for the grotesque details.

"They were awful," Sean said quietly, burying his face against Christian's shoulder, letting out some of the shock and new grief the horrific photos had brought to the surface. "There was nothing left of my little girl," he sobbed.

"You shouldn't have had to see that. There was no good reason for it," Christian added, holding Sean close. "That's not Julia and Annie anymore. No matter how awful it looks, it was too fast for them to suffer, and they're not suffering now." Christian just stood there a few more seconds, letting Sean vent his pain, knowing there wasn't anything else he could do to make it better than just to be there. "I'm going to take you home, check your blood pressure and make sure you're okay, and maybe we can spend an unscheduled afternoon relaxing and hanging out with Conor."

"Sorry about all this," Sean said, pulling back, wiping at his eyes. Christian grabbed a couple paper towels and handed them to Sean, who dried off his face and wiped his nose.

"You've got nothing to apologize for, sweetheart." Christian rubbed his back and kissed his cheek, tossing out the used paper towels for him. "Feel steady enough to walk?"

"Oh, yeah, I can walk."

"Head still hurting?"

"Not as bad, but it still aches and I still feel kind of light-headed."

"You haven't eaten much in the last couple of days."

"And I'm not eating anything now."

"We'll get you a soda with some sugar in it you can drink on the way home. In case your blood sugar's low."

There was a tap on the door and Matt stuck his head in, carrying a Coke. "I thought the cola might help your stomach," he said, handing Sean the can.

"You must be psychic," Sean said, smiling a little as he took a couple sips of the Coke.

"I was just telling Sean we needed to get him a soda to make sure his blood sugar wasn't too low, since he hasn't been eating much."

"Are you okay, Dad?" Matt asked, and Christian could tell it was about more than the fainting spell. Matt wasn't used to seeing Sean anything but strong and healthy throughout his life, and now he was seeing him made fragile by the horror of the tragedy their family had been through. There was a real note of fear in the question.

"I'll be fine, Matt," Sean said, moving forward to hug him. "I've been upset with the trial and not taking care of myself the way I should. Christian's always on my ass to eat something or relax, and I don't listen to him most of the time."

"Start listening, Dad." Matt stepped back. "I don't want to lose anymore parents just yet."

"You aren't going to lose me. I'll be fine after I get some rest. And after this goddamn trial is over."

"Kimber and I could take Conor tonight, if you guys want some time to relax."

"Kimber doesn't need the stress right now. She's almost at her due date." Sean patted Matt's shoulder. "Go home and take care of her, and call us if our granddaughter is getting ready to make her appearance."

"Okay. Take care of yourself, Dad. I'll be here tomorrow as soon as court's back in session."

After Matt left, Sean and Christian left the men's room and found a bench in the quiet hallway. In this area of the courthouse, the press couldn't get easy access, and only the occasional staff person walked down the hall. A few minutes later, Fishman and Matthews came down the hall together, talking, before pausing where the two men sat.

"Sean, you're up and about, that's good," Fishman said.

"I'll be all right," Sean said. "What about the trial?"

"We're in recess until tomorrow afternoon," Matthews said. "I explained that you collapsed, and still hadn't been fully evaluated medically. The judge was fine about starting back up tomorrow at one. The only good news is, I think Hirsch lost the jury. He was gambling on throwing you off balance, or pushing you into faking a reaction, if you were really guilty of anything. It backfired."

"He sure made me feel like a dirtbag, so I can't believe the jury is on my side anymore," Sean said.

"Between this stunt, and the photos Christian gave me, we'll take care of that tomorrow on re-direct."

"What photos?" Sean asked, vaguely remembering now the exchange he'd watched between Christian and the prosecutor.

"The photos of your cheek fracture after your wife threw that votive holder at you. Between that and the fact it wasn't the first thing she ever threw at you, we'll make sure we level the playing field a little."

"By smearing Julia when she's not here to defend herself? When she's dead, for God's sake? Forget it. I won't testify about that."

"But it's okay for the jury to hear about you assaulting her?"

"Maybe it's best to just move past the whole domestic violence thing and let the jury focus on Sean's reaction to the photos," Christian suggested.

"Abusive husbands are great murder suspects. You may have pushed your wife in a moment of intense emotional distress, but if she habitually threw things at you when she was angry, you're going to come out looking more like a victim of ongoing domestic violence than she is. Matt also said he's willing to testify in a way that will mitigate the negative impact of the incident in which you struck him."

"I was not an abusive husband," Sean shot back, the anger plain in his voice.

"I'm not saying you were, but you could look that way to the jury if we don't counter it. Your wife is dead, she can't be upset by any of this. But her killer could get off the hook if the jury even entertains the possibility you could have had anything to do with this. Reasonable doubt is all it takes to blow a conviction. They have to keep liking you, Sean. So we have to deal with any reasons why they might not."

"Trials get ugly, and Matthews knows what he's talking about," Fishman said. "I know this isn't easy, but keeping the jury sympathetic to you and your family is key in convicting Sawyer, even if it's not fair."

"All right, if it's that important to the case - - but I don't want you making Julia into the villain here."

"Understood," Matthews said, nodding.

"Because if you do, I won't cooperate with you on the stand. She was my wife, and I loved her, and I'm not going to make her into something she wasn't."

"Fair enough. Get some rest, and we'll see you back here tomorrow at one," Matthews said.

"Do you guys need a lift?" Fishman offered.

"I drove, so we can manage," Christian said as they both stood.

********

"Christian, for the tenth time, I'm all right," Sean complained, sitting on the side of the bed in his robe while Christian listened to his heart with the stethoscope.

"Shut up and take a deep breath," Christian retorted, his tone much gentler than his words. Sean followed the directions. "One more," he said, and Sean shot him a look, but did it anyway. "Your heart sounds good, your lungs are clear, but your blood pressure's high again. I think we should put you on a low dose med to keep it down and then re-evaluate it once things have settled down a little."

"It's just the stress," Sean said, standing and taking off his robe, throwing it on the foot of the bed.

"Now you're making my blood pressure go up," Christian quipped, as Sean was clad only in his boxers.

"I feel like shit right now," Sean said, getting into bed and closing his eyes.

"How's your head?" Christian asked, sitting on the side of the bed.

"It's pounding like the bass speakers in a low rider."

"I'll get you something for your headache. If I send Maria out to get this prescription filled, will you take it?"

"You're that worried about my blood pressure? Shit, Christian, anybody's would be out of the ballpark after this morning." Sean closed his eyes and covered them with his hand.

"It's out of the ballpark each time one of these things happens, and it's running on the high side in between. Just humor me for a month or so, and if it levels back out after the trial, you won't need it anymore." Christian took a hold of the hand Sean didn't have over his eyes. "I love you. Let me take care of you."

Sean moved his hand away from his eyes and opened them a little. "I don't mean to be such an asshole. I just don't feel good and you're here for me to take it out on."

"I'll get you something for your head, and then I'm going to bring you something to eat."

"Not unless you want it in your lap," Sean said, running his hand over his stomach. "I'm too nauseous to eat anything. It was all I could do to keep that Coke down."

"You don't have a fever, so I don't think it's the flu. Any abdominal pain?" Christian asked, beginning to press on Sean's stomach in a few key areas.

"Will you just leave me alone, Christian? I threw up and I'm stressed out. I don't have a goddamned brain tumor."

"You didn't answer my question, sweetheart. Any abdominal pain?" Christian added a little caress of Sean's hair to his gentle tone. When Sean looked at him, a little guiltily, he just smiled. "I know you don't feel good, it's okay. I just want to be sure your appendix and your gall bladder are all right."

"No pain except in my head."

"Okay. I'll be right back." Christian was gone a minute and then returned with two Tylenol and water, with a washcloth over his arm. Sean took the pills and chased them with the water, lying back on the pillow, wincing. "Moving around is making it pound like crazy, huh?"

"I haven't had a headache like this one since med school."

"Try this." He laid the cool cloth on Sean's forehead. "Will you humor me and let me check your BP one more time, see if it's coming down a little?"

"Okay."

Christian checked Sean's blood pressure, and was relieved to see that it was not as high as the first time.

"I'm going to keep an eye on Conor while Maria goes after that prescription. Try to doze off if you can. I'll check on you in a little while."

"I love you," Sean said, not opening his eyes.

"I love you, too," Christian replied, kissing Sean's shoulder before making sure it was covered.

********

It was near dinner time when Sean emerged from the bedroom, still in his robe, hair rumpled, bleary-eyed. Christian wasn't sure if he'd really slept all that time, or just retreated there and stayed in bed because he felt too lousy to do anything else. Any time Christian had looked in on him, he didn't move or respond, so he either slept that soundly or needed the time to himself.

"How's your head?" Christian asked. He was sitting at the table with Conor, while Maria put the final touches on dinner.

"Better. I can move my head without feeling like it's going to explode, and I'm kind of hungry." He sat at the table, managing a smile for Conor.

"I made baked chicken and rice," Maria said. "Nice and mild, just some lemon and pepper for flavor."

"Sounds good," Sean said. "Do you get the feeling we're never going to use that big table in the dining room?" he asked Christian, since they were comfortably seated around the table in the large, cheerful, eat-in kitchen.

"Maybe when we have some company over the holidays," Christian said. It was hard to believe Thanksgiving was just a few weeks away, and Christmas would be close behind.

"Yeah, maybe," Sean agreed.

"Sit tight. I want to - - "

"Check my blood pressure before dinner."

"Got it in one," Christian replied, returning a few seconds later to check it. "It's down quite a bit. The rest and the pill did their work."

"I'm sorry I gave you such a hard time earlier."

"You had a right to be cranky. If you eat something for dinner, that'll make it up to me."

They shared a quiet family meal, and Sean did eat, relieved that he had an appetite, and that the food actually made him feel better. It eased the residue of the headache that lingered, and made him feel less lightheaded. He dreaded going back to court the next day, but hoped by the time afternoon rolled around, he would feel strong enough to go through another round of interrogations.

Family time with Conor was spent in the master bedroom, since Sean still felt tired from his earlier ordeal. He was propped up on pillows in the bed, just relaxing and holding Conor while Christian stretched out on his side of the bed and read stories. At times, he wondered which one was benefitting more from the drone of him reading aloud - - Conor or Sean. The latter was dozing as much as he was awake, rallying when Conor would wriggle around or make noise.

"He's out like a light," Christian reported, returning to the bedroom after putting Conor down for the night. "Looks like you're not too far behind him."

"I didn't sleep all that much this afternoon," Sean confessed. "I know I played dead when you looked in on me."

"You're entitled to some time to yourself once in a while, Sean. Today was a lot to handle. I know seeing those photos was a nightmare, and I'd still like to corner Hirsch in a dark alley and perform a little unanesthetized surgery on him."

"It wasn't anything I didn't already know. It was just seeing it that I couldn't handle. Now when I close my eyes, I can't see anything else."

"This was pretty close to going through the whole thing over again, from the beginning."

"That's how it feels. It's like all the progress of the last several months, moving ahead, us making a new start...it was like being dragged back to the starting gate again." Sean sighed. "Now my blood pressure's all over the map and I'm afraid I'm going to drop dead from a stroke or a heart attack and not be here for Conor...and get cheated out of my time with you. I was so shitty to you earlier because I know you're right. I should have been on something for the blood pressure since shortly after my accident with the truck. I guess I didn't want to accept it."

"You told me it was elevated while you were going through Megan's death, and Julia finding out. It went back to normal. It probably will this time, too." Christian got back into bed and scooted over close to Sean, who gladly moved into his arms, resting his head on Christian's chest. "Trust your in-house doctor, Sean. I'm keeping a close eye on you, and you're going to be fine."

"I don't want to go back there tomorrow. I know I have to, but I just...don't want to."

"I know. I'd give everything I have to be able to make that go away so you didn't have to be back on that witness stand again." Christian rested his head against Sean's. "I don't care how many anti-outburst lectures Fishman gives me, if they go after you that way again, I'm putting a stop to it as your doctor."

"Might as well let it run its course, Christian. I really don't want you to end up in jail for contempt. I don't think I could do this alone."

"You don't have to."

"Thanks for putting up with me."

Christian smiled at that, and gently tilted Sean's chin up so they could kiss. One led to another, and while Sean didn't feel up to anything more than that, they both drew strength from the intimacy of it, and tried to banish the ugliness of the day with the beauty of the feelings that came with those kisses.

********

Sean found himself sitting on the witness stand again. This time, when he looked over at the defense table, it seemed that Marlowe was avoiding eye contact, something he hadn't done before. He wondered if it was possible that Marlowe could have such a dark side as to want him dead at one time, and still have enough of a conscience to feel ashamed of the way his attorney was trying to get him exonerated on the murder charges.

"The defense has no further questions at this time, but reserves the right to re-cross at a later time," Hirsch said, rising momentarily to make the statement.

Sean wondered if his relief was visible, or if the slight unknotting of his stomach was just internal. Matthews rose to ask his questions, but Sean didn't dread that. At least they were on the same side.

"How are you feeling today, Sean?" Matthews asked, approaching the witness box. He knew the prosecutor's friendly demeanor was intended to make the jury feel more familiar and friendly with Sean, too.

"Much better, thank you," Sean said, not much in the mood to revisit the previous day's incident.

"I understand you're under a doctor's care for your blood pressure."

"Yes," he responded.

"If you feel unwell during our discussion, please let me know. Judge Cavanaugh has indicated he will entertain a motion for a recess if needed for health reasons."

"I appreciate that, thank you," Sean said. He realized Matthews was making an issue of this to make Hirsch look worse, and make the jury feel sorry for him, and therefore be more sympathetic to him. The more they felt for Sean's situation, the less likely they were to buy a scenario in which he was responsible for Annie's and Julia's deaths.

"Just prior to your affair with Mrs. O'Hara, you suffered a loss in your family."

"Julia miscarried. I took it hard."

"You were very anxious to have another child?"

"It took me by surprise at first, but once I got used to it, I was really happy," Sean said, finding himself smiling a little at the memory of how excited he'd really been at the prospect of being a father again.

"Julia was confined to bed rest for the duration of her pregnancy, wasn't she?"

"Yes."

"At a point, she made a decision to not remain on bed rest and to return to her college classes, correct?"

"That's correct."

"Did she discuss that decision and its potential outcomes with you?"

"No. She only left the house once, and she had the miscarriage."

"At the time, she was friends with Jude Sawyer, correct?"

"Yes, that's right. He drove her to the hospital."

"You believed they had an affair."

"I was wrong. They didn't."

"She saw him romantically after you separated though?"

"Yes. Annie mentioned that he stayed over occasionally."

"So when you had your affair with Megan O'Hara, you were dealing with the loss of a child, and also were under the impression your wife was already having an affair."

"Yes," Sean replied. "I misjudged the situation."

"Would you have become intimate with someone other than your wife at that time if you didn't have strong feelings for that person?"

"I don't understand," Sean said, a little confused. "I wasn't looking for a one-night stand, if that's what you mean. I never intended to have an affair with anyone. Even when I had those feelings for Megan, that...connection. I didn't act on it right away."

"You felt guilty?"

"I felt awful. My father left our family when I was a child. I'd vowed I'd never do that to my own family, and then I found myself in love with someone else, and on the verge of doing just that."

"Mr. Hirsch brought up your brief encounter with Monica Wilder. Is it safe to say that was a stressful time, too?"

"Yes, very."

"You were awaiting the birth of your son and you still didn't know the extent of his physical challenges."

"That's right."

"You had sold your business recently."

"Yes."

"Was that a decision that rested well with you?"

"No. The business has always meant a lot to me. It felt like a loss, even though we made money on the sale."

"You only slept with Ms. Wilder on one occasion, right?"

"That's right. I shouldn't have done it at all. I regretted it even while it was happening."

"You sound as if you still feel guilty for that."

"I do. Julia didn't deserve infidelity right then, and I never forgave myself for it."

"In the seventeen years you were married to Julia before you met Megan O'Hara, did you ever cheat on her?"

"No."

"Did you ever want to?"

"No. I loved Julia and my family was too important to me."

"So you were a faithful husband, father, provider for a good seventeen years before some extremely stressful circumstances and a misunderstanding about the nature of your wife's relationship with another man led to the only affair you had."

"That's true."

"Objection, your honor," Hirsch said. "I fail to see how this is relevant to determining my client's guilt or innocence."

"The defense spent a substantial amount of time maligning Dr. McNamara's character as a husband and father. I think it's only fair we have the opportunity to explore these incidents as they relate to our witness's character, and therefore the likelihood that he was somehow involved in his wife's and daughter's deaths."

"Overruled. You opened the door, Mr. Hirsch."

"Yesterday, the defense brought up some incidents of domestic violence. Were you ever arrested for domestic violence?"

"No."

"And the restraining order your son obtained, he later dropped."

"Yes, that's right."

"How would you characterize your relationship with your son, overall?"

"I love Matt. I'm very proud of the man he's become, and I like to think we've always been close, except for a few trouble spots when he was a teenager."

"As far as you know, does your son harbor any animosity toward you based on the incident that led to the restraining order?"

"No. Matt and I have a good relationship, and he's been very supportive," he said, smiling in Matt's direction."

"You mentioned rough spots when he was a teenager. Did he ever speak to you in a disrespectful manner?"

"He was a teenager," Sean replied, smiling, drawing a few chuckles in the courtroom.

"Fair enough," Matthews said, smiling. "Did those occasions include profanity?"

"Sometimes."

"Did he call you names, or swear at you?"

"Sometimes."

"Did you ever strike him when he did that?"

"No."

"Did you want to?"

"I was angry, but no. I don't believe in corporal punishment."

"You never slapped or spanked your children?"

"No."

"The fact he isn't your biological son doesn't affect your feelings for him?"

"He's my son, regardless of biology. And his natural father is my best friend and life partner, so there's no reason for me to love him any less than if he were biologically mine."

"Would it be a fair statement that you actually suffered greater injury and danger to your safety as a result of domestic violence than your wife or son did?"

Sean just stared at Matthews.

"Dr. McNamara, did your wife throw an object at you that resulted in a fracture of your cheekbone?"

"Yes."

"Is this a photograph of your injury?" he asked, showing Sean one of the photos.

"Yes."

"I'd like to enter this into evidence, your honor." The judge approved the motion, and the lawyer handed the photo to the jury foreman to begin circulating it to the jurors. "Was that the first time she ever threw an object at you?"

"No."

"What did she throw at you before?"

"A coffee mug. I ducked and it hit the wall."

"If you hadn't ducked, do you have an idea of where it would have hit you?"

"My face or head, judging by where it hit the wall behind me."

"When that happened, were you angry?"

"Yes."

"Did you throw something back at your wife?"

"No."

"Did you hit her?"

"No."

"Slap her, push her, menace her physically in any way?"

"No."

"Did you want to?"

"Hit her? No."

"What about when she broke your cheekbone with the votive glass?"

"It was an accident. She threw it when she was angry and it hit me. She was upset about it. She didn't mean to do it."

"Did you require medical attention?" 

"Yes. I had x-rays, a CT scan, and saw an opthamologist to be sure my eye wasn't affected. I was on a liquid diet and painkillers for a period of weeks."

"In spite of that, you still loved your wife? Even after she did that to you?"

"Yes."

"Do you miss her?"

"Yes."

"Did you consider pressing charges against her?"

"No."

"You documented the injury with photographs."

"I didn't want to use that in any way, but the only reason I would have was to keep her from taking my children out of the country."

"Even then, you didn't plan to pursue criminal charges?"

"No. I never would have wanted her to be arrested. For her sake or the children's."

"Sean, did you have anything to do with the deaths of your wife and daughter?"

"No," Sean said, his voice choked.

"Thank you," Matthews said, returning to his table. "No further questions at this time," he said.

Sean was relieved to leave the witness stand, and returned to his seat between Christian and Matt.

*********

The rest of the prosecution's case focused on Jude Sawyer's testimony, and the testimony of several other people, including Christian and Matt, to corroborate the testimony from Sean and to give their views of Marlowe, Jude, and various other details of the case. Apparently feeling his tactics had backfired in his questioning of Sean, Hirsch's approach with the other witnesses was not nearly as dramatic or abusive.

The grim experience of the trial was interrupted for the McNamara-Troy clan when Kimber went into labor. Sean and Christian were both involved in the delivery of their new granddaughter, Jenna. The baby came just in time for the Thanksgiving holiday, which was a mixture of joyous and painful firsts - - Jenna's first holiday, Sean's and Christian's first holiday together and in their new home, and the first major holiday since Julia's and Annie's deaths.

"That turkey's smelling pretty good, Lizzie," Christian said as he entered the kitchen where Liz was checking on the bird.

"It's almost done. We're right on schedule for dinner," she said, closing the oven door.

"Thanks for doing all this," he said, referring to the Thanksgiving dinner she was preparing. "I know it was a big job."

"Well, Kimber has a good excuse for not cooking, and I don't think Sean's cooking has progressed to doing a turkey, has it?"

"He's doing pretty well, but the trial's been hard on him. We were going to do it ourselves, but neither one of us had the heart for it, after dredging up every horrible detail, and considering we could have to go back for the verdict anytime."

"They did let those poor people go home for the holiday, didn't they?" Liz asked.

"They took a break today, but tomorrow, they're back at it."

"Is Sean all right? He looks so tired."

"The medication is keeping his blood pressure under control, but he doesn't sleep well. Ever since Marlowe's asshole lawyer showed him those autopsy photos. He either has nightmares or he ends up sitting in Conor's room, watching him sleep. I'm hoping when this trial is over that we can move on a little."

"You're going to have to accept that losing Annie is probably going to leave a wound with Sean that won't heal. When I was growing up, friends of ours lost their daughter - - she was murdered by her boyfriend. Their family fell apart. The parents divorced, her father ended up an alcoholic, her mother battled depression until the day she died."

"Are you trying to cheer me up?" Christian asked, uneasy as he nibbled on a carrot stick that was waiting to be chopped up for the salad.

"All I'm saying is that it could be a longer road for Sean than just the end of a trial, or even Marlowe going to prison or even being executed if it comes to that. When all that is over, Annie will still be dead, and that realization could be harder on him that anything else. People think revenge on the killer is going to be a magic solution, but it isn't."

"I love him, Lizzie. It doesn't matter if we have to live with the aftershocks of this for the rest of our lives. It's hard watching him suffer. I want him to feel happy again. I thought he was starting to move in that direction, and then this damn trial just dragged him back down."

"Just don't be surprised when, for the rest of your lives, he has setbacks. When Annie should be turning sixteen, when Annie should be going to the prom, or when she should be graduating, or getting married. Or when Jenna grows up and goes through those milestones that Annie never will."

"Then I guess I'll just have to make his life so happy and so good that he can get through those setbacks."

"Something tells me you will," Liz said. "Go get Sean and drag him out here and make him chop some vegetables. The turkey's good for a little while. Figure out a way to cheer him up." She winked at Christian and patted his cheek.

Christian did lure Sean out to the kitchen on the pretext of chopping vegetables, dislodging him from his spot on the couch next to Matt, where he was watching him holding Jenna.

"Turkey's almost done, huh?" Sean said, going to the sink and washing his hands.

"We need to put the salad together eventually," Christian said, sliding his arms around Sean.

"You got me out here under false pretenses, huh?" Sean replied, smiling.

"I thought I'd give you something to be thankful for," Christian said, unfastening Sean's pants.

"We can't do that in here! We have company in the living room."

"And they'll stay there for a few minutes." Christian slipped his hand inside Sean's underwear, wrapping his hand around Sean's cock.

"God, that feels good," Sean whispered as he leaned back against the counter. Christian knelt in front of him and took Sean's cock in his mouth. He worked intently at bringing Sean to hardness, enjoying the little gasps of pleasure he knew Sean was trying to stifle. Sean stroked Christian's hair, keeping enough control of himself not to thrust too hard.

Christian knew Sean was getting close, so he deep-throated him, making him come, holding onto Sean's hips as he rode out the waves of his orgasm. Christian stood, touching Sean's face, taking in the soft, sated smile and the slight droop to Sean's lids. He could feel Sean breathing hard as he pressed against him.

"I love looking at you after you come," Christian said, kissing him.

"I don't mind you looking at me but I'd just as soon pass on everyone else doing it."

"Don't tell me you didn't enjoy that little element of danger, keeping one eye on the door?"

"I'd be lying if I did," Sean admitted, kissing Christian. "Thanks."

"A little birdie told me you could use cheering up."

"Oh, don't tell me that. Liz told you to blow me?" Sean asked, his eyes bugging.

"She suggested I bring you in here to chop vegetables and cheer you up. Don't get your shorts in a knot - - well, at least, not in a worse one than they're in right now. I thought you might enjoy that more than making salad."

"Think we have time for me to return the favor?"

"Your hand is okay. I want that perfect mouth of yours right up here with me." Christian kissed him, thrusting his tongue inside Sean's mouth. They lingered over their kisses, Sean's hand freeing Christian's semi-hard cock from its confines and pumping it, stroking it firmly. Christian stifled a moan in Sean's mouth as he came, and in their passion, neither thought of the fact that there was no mouth around Christian's cock as it joyfully spread its seed on Sean's and Christian's pants.

When Sean spotted the stains, he started laughing. "Oops," he said, wiping the come off his hand on the pants that were already spattered.

"We can't go out there like this," Christian said, though Sean's good humor about the whole mess was contagious, and he couldn't help smiling. Mainly, he was thrilled to have given Sean a happy distraction, no matter how messy it turned out to be.

"Put this on," Sean said, handing him one of Maria's aprons.

"You want me to wear an apron that says Mamasita Caliente on it?" Christian referred to the black apron with its bold red inscription. He'd bought it as a gag birthday gift for Maria, and she'd been amused by it to no end. It was always hanging somewhere handy in the kitchen.

"You can have Kiss the Cook if you prefer it," Sean retorted, shaking his head. "Just long enough for us to get to the bedroom and change. Don't give me that look - - this was your idea."

"Can I help it if I prefer your pulsing rod of man meat to the turkey?"

"My pulsing rod of what? Where the hell do you get this stuff?"

"You never watched a cheap porno movie before?"

"Not that cheap, apparently," Sean responded, chuckling. He used a dishcloth to wipe at the stain on Christian's pants, and then his own, so they wouldn't end up causing stains on the aprons they couldn't explain - - or wouldn't care to. "Just put on the apron before somebody walks in here and sees us with come on our pants."

Unable to argue with that logic, Christian put the apron on and Sean put on his, and they managed to make a reasonably unobtrusive dash to the hall and then to their bedroom while the guests were too enthralled with the babies to pay much attention.

Gathered around the big dining room table, the small group said grace, then began eating their meal. Despite pleasant instrumental piano background music, a lovely spread of food, and everyone's best effort to be cheerful, there was an undeniable shadow over the gathering. Sean was grateful they were at least in a different house at a different table. The thought of sitting in their old house, where they'd spent so many Thanksgivings as a family, was unbearable.

He poked the green bean casserole with his fork, but couldn't eat it. It was Julia's recipe, and the last year she was alive, Annie had taken over preparing it, wanting to be able to say one thing on the table was her creation. He took pride in keeping up a decent front for Matt's sake, not wanting his son to feel so blue and miserable when it was his first Thanksgiving as a husband and father. Also, he knew Liz, and Christian especially, were doing all they could to make this as easy for him as it could be. The least he could do was pretend it was working. Mostly, he wanted the day to just end, so he could wake up the next morning to another ordinary day, one of the holidays behind him.

"You did a wonderful job on the dinner, Liz," Kimber said. "Next year, Matt and I will host dinner, I promise."

"You had a good excuse to sit this one out," Sean said, smiling. "I totally agree. Liz, everything is delicious," he said, knowing the meal was good. He just didn't enjoy eating it.

"It was my pleasure. I haven't cooked a big dinner for Thanksgiving in years, and surprisingly enough, you can actually miss doing it," she added.

"Mom always complained about it, but I think she liked doing it," Matt said with a grin.

"Julia was a great cook," Sean said, trying to keep the light tone to his voice that would welcome any discussion of Julia or Annie the rest of the group wanted to have. The last thing he wanted was to be a killjoy, or worse, to keep Matt or anyone else from having happy memories of the family members whose absence he felt so acutely.

He distracted himself interacting with Conor, making sure the little boy had all the goodies he wanted on his plate in a form he could eat them. Each time he picked up something with his reconstructed hand, Sean's heart jumped just a little. As soon as the trial was over, they would get started on the other hand.

Decorated in warm shades of gold and orange, the family room where they all settled to watch football offered comfortable leather couches, overstuffed chairs, and plenty of end tables and a large coffee table to hold coffee, dessert, and snacks as the day and evening wore on. Sean focused on the football, something Annie and Julia were never excited about anyway. Christian, Matt, and he usually stretched out and watched the games while Julia and Annie either got a head start on cleaning up dishes or went on strike from the kitchen and found themselves a movie to watch.

Right now, he was on the couch with Christian, only this year, Christian had sat so close to him he was almost on him, and now was resting his head on Sean's shoulder, nibbling some of the chocolate covered pretzels that were among their snack foods. Conor was on a blanket on the floor, playing with a wide array of toys, closely under the watchful eyes of his two fathers. Matt was sleeping in a chair, the toll of new fatherhood making him steal a nap whenever he could. Kimber was holding Jenna, but didn't fight Liz's offer to take over for a while. Sean knew he was lucky to be surrounded by family and friends, and even luckier to have Christian in his life the way he was now. He tried to focus on being thankful for that, and not think too much about what he had lost.

********

On to Part 5