You can't build castles on quicksand   Standard Disclaimer. If you're
not going to use them anymore, do you mind if I do? Please send comments,
questions, compliments, and otters to sdelcul@mail.com or visit
http://members.ncbi.com/dueSou and
http://www.learnlink.emory.edu/~sdelcul. Second in the 'Measure of a Man'
trilogy, after 'Rose-colored Glasses.' Judy's note is from Matchbox
Twenty, "Rest Stop," and the art lesson is brought to you by Kroger
Frosted Flakes.  You can't build castles on quicksand I tried to be, but
I'm not.  So could you please collect your things? I've got to find more
than what's happening with you.  While you were sleeping, I was listening
to the radio and wondering what you're dreaming when it came to mind that
I didn't care. And I thought, hell, if it's over, I had better end it
quick or I could lose my nerve. 

I wake up suddenly, breathing harshly and sweating. Going to have to
change the sheets. I'm not going to be able to sleep now.  5:00 a.m. Too
early to go to the station, but I get up anyway.  It's not like I have
anything better to do.  I make breakfast, eggs, toast, and coffee, black. 
Not milk and two sugars.  That's her coffee.  I think the milk in the
fridge now is older than I am. I haven't had that dream for a long time.
Nightmare. 

The words play in my head over and over. It's never quiet. The closest it
gets is when I'm at work, and maybe that was the problem in the first
place, but if it was she knew about it beforehand, and she should have
said something instead of blindsiding me like that. One minute she's
driving home because I'm too tired, next thing I know, I'm left with a
note and we talk through lawyers.  After the divorce, I had the dreams
more often, but it still gets me every now and then.  What a way to start
the morning.  I procrastinate as much as possible to try not to get to the
station too early.  Besides, as much as I have no life, I hate paperwork. 

Did I mention that I hate paperwork? Paper cuts, triplicate copies - what
happened to policework being about catching the bad guys? I've got the
remains of an entire rainforest sitting on my desk waiting for me. Staring
at me.  First up is one of Vecchio's reports.  From the lack of whiteout,
I can assume that Fraser actually typed it, but it 's not a big deal. 

They're pretty much interchangeable.  I swear, some of the things that
happen to that poor guy - everything from horse meat to unconscious
Mounties on a train headed for disaster. They almost make me feel better
about my life.  Fraser can certainly be thanked, or blamed, for Vecchio's
resurrection. He was headed toward disaster himself at that point. He can
still be an idiot sometimes, but he's a good cop.  Don't know why he hangs
out with that Mountie so much, though. Rumor has it that they're lovers.
Not that it matters. He could be sleeping with half of Canada and it
wouldn't make a difference. I don't know if I believe that, although it
would explain a lot. 

Gradually the day speeds up a little, and time actually passes.  By the
time I finish signing off on the last report, Vecchio again by
coincidence, it's late enough that I should probably head home before
someone catches on. 

Speaking of Vecchio, I wonder what he's doing here so late.  I thought he
left hours ago, and he's here alone.  He's hardly ever alone anymore. 
Fraser's usually around here somewhere.  I wonder what's up. 

"What are you doing here, Vecchio?" 

He hadn't even heard me coming.  "I need your help, Lieutenant. I can't go
into it now, but I really need Turnbull's address, and I don't have time
to explain why. I have a really bad feeling about this." 

I could tell from the seriousness of his tone and expression that he
really did feel something was wrong. "Okay, let's see what we can do.
What's his full name?" 

"Ren - Renfield Turnbull." 

It took a little bit of fudging, but I found what he was looking for. 
"219 East Wilson Avenue.   Let's go." 

"What?" 

I don't know why I decided to go; sometimes I try to believe it was
because Ray was in no condition to drive.  "I'm coming with you. We'll
take my car."  It took forever to reach his apartment, and I think the
closer we got, the more nervous I became.  When we walked into the bedroom
and saw the blood on his arm, my first thought was amazement that none of
it had stained his undershirt.  Ray was brushing Turnbull's hair back, and
his hand was shaking.  Training finally set in, and I found a first aid
kit in the bathroom. 

I've never seen anyone as devastated as Ray was, even though he was trying
his best to cover it up.  I wasn't sure if he was going to be able to hold
himself together.  We were all relieved when he went to call Fraser. 

  

"You're talking in the wrong language." 

"What do you mean?" 

I hadn't meant to say that, but since he'd actually responded, I had to
continue.  "The people you're trying to make listen can't hear this. They
can't comprehend the why's." 

"How would you know?" 

The words were harsh but I don't think they were anything but defensive. I
shrugged. "I don't know anything." 

Ray came back to the room then. He looked a little better, but basically
he still looked like Hell would be a nice vacation by comparison. Turnbull
wouldn't talk to him. I think he was too embarrassed now that Ray *knew,*
and I told him that. For both their sakes, I volunteered to stay. Ray
needed a break, Turnbull needed anonymity again, and I needed - something.
It felt nice to be needed again. Reminded me of when what I did actually
meant something. To me at least. 

We didn't talk much after Ray left, although we had never really talked
before anyway. Eventually I fell asleep and I woke up once with Turnbull
close at my side. I was cuddling him like a warm little puppy by morning.
It felt really nice, like I'd just realized the world had color in it.  
This young man had so much pain and he deserved so much better.  And
somewhere during that night, he came in and stole my heart. 

  

I fought it, of course.  I'm 48 years old.  He's only 29, that's 19 years'
difference.  But he needed all the friends, good friends, that he could
get.  Ray called to check on him, and Fraser spoke to Inspector Thatcher,
getting him a few days off for personal reasons.  We took turns being with
him that first day and night. 

I could see myself falling more and more that next week, but I couldn't
help myself.  Underneath that shy, bumbling, clumsy idiot is a warm,
intelligent, nice guy.  We went to a hockey game and had a lot of fun.  We
both love the Musical Ride, something my wife never understood.  We had
fun together. 

I thought everything was going well until Thursday Night.  I was cooking
him dinner, something I'd only recently begun doing again, when the phone
rang.  After the second ring, he picked it up.  I didn't think much more
about it till the food was almost ready.  I turned off the stove, went
into the bedroom. 

The phone was in his hand, but he was just holding it; his knuckles were
turning white because he was squeezing it so hard.  "Renny?  Renny, what
happened?" 

Red in the face from trying to hold it in, Turnbull shook his head. 
"stupid stupid stupid" 

"What's wrong?" 

"doesn't matter doesn't matter doesn't -" 

I hated to do it, but I forced the situation by making Turnbull to look at
me.  "Who was it?" 

It was obvious that he wasn't ready to talk.  I knew it had to be the
phone call that had upset him, but the only thing I could think of was to
check the caller ID.  Luckily it had been on. 

Duncan Turnbull.  Oh no.  Not now.  Please not now.  We were just starting
to get somewhere.  What could I possibly say to make this better? 

"stupid stupid stupid" 

 Only then did I realize that he was still muttering as he rocked himself
slightly. I turned off the lights and lay down next to him, both of us
fully dressed.  When he kept rocking, I put an arm over him, hoping it
would calm him down.  He stopped rocking, so I assumed it helped. 

  

I was wrong.  In the morning I woke, not quite sure when I had fallen
asleep.  Turnbull obviously hadn't.  His eyes were wide open, but I don't
think he was seeing anything.  He was still mouthing the word stupid over
and over.  The way he acted scared me.  I wasn't sure what to do.  I did
the only thing I could think of and called Ray, but he wasn't home. 

Fraser came over, and he was as worried as I was.  Something about this
young man seemed to bring out the protectiveness of everyone around him. 
But there didn't seem to be anything Fraser could do either.  Somehow it
was decided that we needed more help.  I'm not sure if Fraser suggested
it, and I went along with it or what.  I'm not sure anymore. 

When the doctor was looking Renny over, Ray showed up looking haunted.  I
watched Ray go into that hospital room and I watched him when he came out,
and I don't think he even saw me.  There was only one person he was
looking for.  Fraser didn't say a word as Ray walked up to him and held on
tight.  He just leaned against the wall, and wrapped his arms around Ray,
pulling him even closer.  At that moment, I felt like crying.  In all the
terror of the moment, I had no one to turn to, no one who would know that
I was this close to falling apart. 

  

That was yesterday, but today life goes on.  In the end they let him go,
with the provision that someone stayed with him.  They were a little
worried that he might hurt himself. 

I think that was the first time Ray really recognized that I was involved
now.  When I glanced up, he was looking right at me.  Our eyes met, and I
think he knew I cared because his eyes widened and a ghost of a smile
appeared for a split second. 

Fraser pulled me aside, and maybe he knew more than he was willing to
admit.  "Sir, would it be at all possible for you to stay with him?  I
would greatly appreciate it, as would Inspector Thatcher if she knew.  I
don't think Ray is - " 

"Sure, Constable," I interrupted.  It was obvious that Ray wasn't up to
doing this alone.  By now I was pretty sure that they were sleeping
together, and Ray needed that. 

Turnbull accepted the news and agreed to the doctor's 'request,' quietly. 
Suddenly, I was living with someone again.  It was awful and wonderful at
the same time - there were so many little traps that I had to avoid . . . 

  

"Harding?" 

"Yeah, Renny?" 

"Can I ask you something?" 

"Sure, what's up?"  I had the weirdest feeling that we were playing a game
of Whose Line, where you have to keep asking questions. 

"Do you - never mind." He stood up suddenly.  I knew this was important. 

"Go ahead.  Do I what?" 

"Do you think I might have a chance with Ray?  I mean, he's been wonderful
and he means so much to me. And -" 

He kept going but I'd heard enough.  Somehow, of all the things he could
have asked me, I hadn't predicted this one.  I should have known it was
coming.  'Me? What do I think?  I think right about now, all you can see
are the monsters in your head. And I think that you could have kept
running from the pain, except that it caught up to you. You see Ray as the
gallant knight who rescued you.  I think that if you weren't - broken -
right now, you'd see something else. That's what I think.  "Ren -" I
interrupted, "You do know that Ray is with Fraser, right?  You wouldn't
want them to split up, would you?" 

 "Oh yeah.  I forgot." He said sheepishly.  "I wouldn't want to do that to
Ray. He loves him." 

Bombs away, torpedo me down.  I know I shouldn't have gotten my hopes up. 
I KNOW better.  I thought I could honestly say that I didn't have any
romantic expectations. "Let's go on a picnic." 

"A picnic?" 

I could tell he was surprised by the change of topic, but I couldn't
discuss Ray anymore.  "Sure, why not.  It's a nice day.  Can you throw a
football?" 

I finally bulldozed my way into convincing him.  And it was fun, even
though I couldn't forget the thought that Turnbull felt like that about
someone else.  How could I compete with that? 

After a few hours at the park we saw a sign advertising a show at the 
museum.  Normally I don't enjoy museums all that much, but I could see the
excitement and the hesitation in his face.  Renny wanted to go, but he
didn't want to do something I didn't want to do.  I just wanted to spend
more time with him, so I added some enthusiasm to my voice when 
I asked, "Hey, Ren, wanna go?" 

"Certainly. I've always enjoyed the work of Alexander Calder.  His
creation of the mobile brought such a sense of balance to art." 

I cringed inwardly, trying to remember the way back days of an art history
course I took to impress my then girlfriend, now ex-wife Judy.  "Uh, yeah.
I've always liked Seurat and, uh, what do you call it  . . . ?" 

"Pointillism?" 

"Yeah, pointillism." 

What do you know, he even made the museum enjoyable.  I had almost as much
fun looking at the art, as I did watching him literally bounce from
painting to painting, happier than I'd ever seen him. 

It's no shock then that he was exhausted by the time we went home.  I mean
to his apartment.  It's not my home, have to remember that.  I almost had
to carry him to the bedroom and tuck him in. 

I was turning to go to the spare bedroom when he stopped me. 

"Harding?" 

"Yeah?" 

"I had a wonderful time today." 

"Me too." 

"Um, would you stay?  It's been nice having you around.  It's a big
apartment, and you-" He looked down at that floor. 
"I'm sorry.  It's okay if you don't want to live with me." 

"If you asked, I think I would do just about anything for you. Of course
I'll stay." It wasn't until he smiled that I realized I'd spoken out loud.
That little smile reached his eyes and he kissed me on the cheek.  
Dammit, I'm a hardened old cop.  I'm supposed to be tougher than this. 

"Thank you." 

"You're welcome.  But you're helping me pack." 

"I think I can handle that." 

"Good." 

  

We'd just finished moving everything a week later.  Ren and I had made a
joint message for the answering machine to celebrate going to get the
load.  When we returned, we had our first message. 

--Renfield.  This is your father.  I see that you have not followed my
instructions.  I am not pleased.  Your mother and I will be in Chicago
tomorrow afternoon.  See that you are at home.-- 

Bastard.  I could see Renny shutting down again.  "It's going to be okay,
Ren." 

He only shook his head in response.  I hated seeing him holding it all in
again.  A few more seconds and I couldn't stand it anymore.  I pulled him
down to sit on the sofa, and I looked him straight in the eye.  "It's
okay, Renny. If you need to fall apart, go ahead. Holding it in doesn't
stop the pain.  I'm right here."  I understand a lot of what he's going
through, my father was the same way, especially when he was drunk.  It was
always 'try a little harder,' or  'don't forget to win first place,' or
'for God's sake, be a man.'  "What can I do to help?"  Maybe that's why I
sounded like a therapist or something.  It was easy to say the things that
I wish someone had said to me. 

He looked up at me and blinked.  If I hadn't been watching his face, I
would have never seen his gaze fall down to where his arms were wrapped
around himself before meeting mine again.  He wanted to be held? I could
work with that, but I had to ask to make sure.  "Would you mind if I held
you?  It would make me feel better." 

"Okay." 

He moved into my arms so trustingly.  It was almost painful for me to
watch.  "Wanna leave the country before they get here?"  I retreated into
humor. 

"You want to travel?" 

I think I confused him.  "We can do whatever you want." 

"Really?" 

It was hard to watch the way he soaked up affection and love.  Aw, Renny,
if you only knew the lengths I'd go to see you smile, you'd probably laugh
at a silly old man.  Just pick a destination and I'm there. 

We fell asleep on the couch that way.  Or rather he fell asleep, and for a
while I kept thinking. 

"I was going to be strong.  I was going to be just the friend you needed. 
Whatever that was.  Then you kissed me. Now I don't know which way is up.
I should let you down easy. I should, but I don't know if I'm strong
enough to." 

  

We didn't flee the country the next day, but I baked until they got here. 
A lot.  We'd have food for a month if the thought of their arrival wasn't
making me nauseous.  If it was getting to me this badly, I knew it had to
be killing Renny.  He has this tendency to blame things on himself.  It
never occurs to him that it might be someone else. 

His parents surprised me.  They were old.  They must have been around my
age when he was born.  I tried to keep things polite, but I didn't have
any patience with the way he tore into Ren for this, that, or the other. 
Finally I just blew up and ordered him out of our apartment. 

"Well, I never!" 

"Yes indeed, you never.  And maybe that's the problem.  That you were too
busy playing head games to notice that you were missing out on knowing a
wonderful human being.  He's your son, and you know almost nothing about
him.  That's really sad.  The worst part is, you couldn't care less." 

They stormed out of the apartment in a huff and drove off.  I was grinning
like an idiot until I turned around and saw Renny's face.  "I'm sorry.  I
probably shouldn't have gotten involved." 

"No!  Thank you." 

"You're welcome.  Someone should have told him off years ago.  He needed
to hear it." 

"I think - I think I needed to hear it too." 

"Yeah well, I don't let anybody treat somebody I love like that." 

"You- you love me?" 

Oh God.  I couldn't lie to him, not when he was looking up at me with the
puppy dog eyes.  "You're easy to love."