Blair stuck the bagel in the toaster and turned on the blender to
mix the ingredients of the algae shake.  Jim had left for work already,
and Blair had just made his way downstairs, having lolled around in
bed an extra hour after Jim left, napping and relishing not having to be
at Rainier until ten-thirty.  As soon as the blender stopped, he heard the
tail end of knocking at the front door.

     "Great," he muttered, seeing that his bagel was about to pop up
nice and hot and toasted, and the shake was ready for consumption. 
The last thing he wanted at the moment was company.  He made his
way to the door and opened it.  Words and reason failed him, and he
simply gaped at the man standing across from him.

     "Surprise," Eric said simply, smiling a little.

     "Oh, man, this can't be happening."

     "That's what I said too."

     "I thought...yesterday...was it really you, yesterday, when the
car ran the stop light?"

     "It wasn't the good fairy."  Eric looked around the hallway
where he stood.  "You think I could come in?"

     "Uh, yeah, sure..."  Blair backed away and watched the other
man enter the apartment.   "Look, I...I have to know if this is some kind
of trick...you know, someone using Draven's ID."

     "I'm kind of relieved to see you."  Eric watched Blair stand
there with one hand still on the doorknob, staring.  Finally, Blair closed
the door and moved over to stand a few feet away from his guest.  "I
guess you either didn't tell Ellison how you felt about him, or all our
speculation about his Covert Ops training and how many ways he knew
of to kill you and hide the body were all for nothing and you lived
happily ever after."

     "Oh my God.  It's really you."

     "It's really me."  

     Blair moved forward without hesitation and embraced his
friend, and felt the pressure returned.  

     "It's so good to see you.  I don't understand it," he said, pulling
back, "but it's...a miracle.  How...I *saw* you...at the funeral, I went up
to your casket and you were..."

     "Dead as a doornail?"

     "I probably wouldn't have said it just that way, but yeah," Blair
responded, laughing, some of the tension broken now.

     "Your bagel's up.  Go ahead and get your breakfast."

     "Screw breakfast.  You've got to tell me everything--how this
happened!"

     "You may want to sit down for this one."  Eric sat on one corner
of the couch while Blair took the other, much the same positions they'd
occupied in the Student Union when they would stop for something to
eat after a rehearsal.  "Everything that happened last year...*happened*. 
None of it was a fake or a mistake or anything.  I really did die a year
ago Halloween."

     "What I don't understand is how you survived that fall, and
then...well, you know, with it being a homicide..."

     "You mean how is someone murdered, autopsied, buried and
then re-animated?"

     "Uh, yeah."  

     "I don't know.  I wish I understood it, but I don't.  Albrecht even
exhumed the casket after I first showed up.  It was empty."  Eric shook
his head.  "This whole thing is crazy.  It's some kind of magic...
something mystical I can't explain.  I feel like a real live person, I don't
have any physical scars of lasting damage from what happened..."

     "How did you come back?"

     "A lot of that's foggy.  I remember being on the other side." 
Eric paused, catching Blair's eyes in an intense gaze.  "You know what
I'm talking about.  You've been there too."

     "How did you know that?  Oh, man, this is weird.  Last May,
there was an incident...it's a long story, and I'll tell you all the details
sometime, but I was clinically dead for a few minutes, and in that time,
I...I saw Shelly."

     "Shelly?"  Eric's whole demeanor changed, and he became
much more focused at the mention of his dead lover's name.

     "I came to a bridge, and Shelly was there.  Right away, she told
me it wasn't my time, and that I should go back--that my purpose wasn't
over...*just like Eric*.  I didn't understand it then, but later, when I
remembered all of it, I thought it was odd I saw her and not you.  I
mean, I cared about Shelly, but I didn't have the chance to get to know
her as well as we knew each other, so I was surprised if I saw anyone,
that it wasn't you."

     "You turned back, came back here?"

     "Yeah, I did.  Shelly told me that Jim needed me, that he
wouldn't live without me.  I didn't believe it at the time--our
relationship was so fucked up right then you wouldn't have recognized
either one of us.  But that was what turned the tide, and made us face
how we felt for each other.  We've been lovers ever since.  Well, since I
recovered, anyway," Blair added, smiling.

     "I was on that same bridge, with Shelly, and then the crow
appeared.  She seemed to know it wasn't a good sign.  And all of a
sudden, she was backing away form me, telling me she'd wait for me,
and I was alone on the bridge.  The Crow flew away, in a downward
spiral from the bridge.  I followed it.  I didn't care if I fell again to my
death or if I moved to another plane.  It was obvious that I wasn't going
to be allowed to be with Shelly, so I didn't care."

     "The Crow was there to lead you back to set things right."

     "You know the legend."

     "I'm an Anthropologist.  What do you think?"  Blair asked,
smiling.

     "Oh, yeah, right--so are you Dr. Sandburg yet?"

     "No.  I hit a little snag with that plan.  I'll explain later.  Please,
tell me the rest."

     "It gets really foggy there.  I know I came back, that I landed in
the middle of some festival--there were a lot of Hispanic people there,
celebrating...  I had to do a little traveling to get back to where I
belonged, but I don't remember how I got there.  The first thing I
remember is wandering around the streets of Port Columbia wondering
what the hell happened and what I was doing there.  Then I went back
to the loft...and it all came rushing back."

     "My God...the memories must have been...unbearable."

     "Yeah, they were," Eric said, nodding sadly.  "I thought the
grief would kill me.  The anger and the pain and the frustration...the
helplessness I felt...what I had to watch them do to Shelly..."

     "You were outnumbered, man.  You know you couldn't do
anything more than what you did."

     "How would you feel?   To watch someone you love...she was
screaming my name, begging me to help her and I couldn't do
anything."

     "She loved you, Eric.  She would know that if you didn't save
her, it would only be because you couldn't."  Blair watched his friend as
he sat sideways on the cushion, one elbow on the back of the couch,
both hands fidgeting with the ring he wore on a long silver chain
around his neck.  He'd pulled it out from under his t-shirt while they
talked, unconsciously it seemed, and now he was almost mesmerized
by it. 
     
     "Shelly's ring?"  Blair asked softly.  Eric nodded, then looked
up, almost startled that he'd been fidgeting with it.

     "They stole it.  Pawned it along with my guitar.  I got them both
back."  There was an anger in Draven's eyes then that flashed like black
fire in the two large orbs.  

     "What made you come and see me today?"

     "Truthfully?"  Eric paused, then dropped the ring back so it
hung around his neck, resting on the front of his black t-shirt.  "It's just
been a lousy few days.  And this season...sucks."

     "It's a hard time of year if you've lost somebody."

     "Even harder when you lost yourself at the same time," Eric
responded, then forced a little smile.  "I don't mean to sound so grim,
it's just..."
     
     "Whatever your reason was, I'm really glad you came.  I missed
you, man.  Hanging out at Rainier--it just wasn't the same anymore."

     "How'd the play turn out anyway?"  Eric asked, smiling at the
memory of their short-lived careers as stage stars.

     "It got good reviews.  I dropped out of it, and I didn't go to it."

     "Because of me?"

     "Next to Jim, you were my best friend.  I went to the next
rehearsal, and they played the first notes of 'Hair', and I took off outta
there like a bat out of hell.  I never went back.  I couldn't handle it. 
That was *our* project.  Doing it alone...just didn't cut it."  

     "All that seems like a lifetime ago."  Eric laughed then.  "I
guess now that I mention it, it *is*."

     "You said you followed the crow and found yourself back
here...  So were you involved in what happened to the creeps Albrecht
arrested a couple months back?"

     "Intimately."  Eric paused.  "Just how much do you want to
know about me?"

     "As much as you'll tell me."

     "As I recall, you don't shock too easily."

     "Not really," Blair responded, smiling.  "Hey, can I get you
anything?  Coffee or something?"

     "No thanks.  I actually...haven't had anything like that since..."

     "Oh," Blair said, nodding.  "Albrecht--he knows too?"

     "Yeah, he knows."

     "That'll freak Jim out."  Blair laughed a little.  "He accepts it?"

     "I'm not sure how he explains it to himself," Eric said,
shrugging a little.  "He's seen proof.  There are some things you don't
know about me.  Things that might...change your mind about wanting
to keep in touch."

     "You sprout fangs and plan on draining me dry at midnight?"

     "Not exactly," Eric responded, smiling even though he really
didn't seem to feel like it.  "I'm not really sure what happens myself, but
sometimes I go through a...transformation of sorts.  Usually when I'm
angry, hurt, threatened...  My whole appearance changes."

     "How?"  Blair was fascinated with this new wrinkle, and tried
hard not to think of all the research possibilities that could sprout from
this situation. //Oh to get Eric into a lab for a couple hours...//

     "It's mostly my face."  Eric thought a moment.  "Picture Marilyn
Manson with his mascara running."

     "That was a mental picture I really didn't need before breakfast. 
So it's like make-up?"

     "It looks that way...but it isn't.  It comes from...within."  Eric
shook his head.  "I don't understand it.  I suppose it's my real nature
showing through."

     "And what role does The Crow play in all this now?  Any at
all?"

     "He's my...spirit guide."

     "Your what?"  Blair asked, his eyes widening a bit.

     "Sometimes I see through his eyes, and he leads me where I
need to go.  Like a guide."

     "Whoa."  Blair sat back in the cushions, staring straight ahead.

     "What?"

     "Mine's a wolf."

     "Your what?"

     "My spirit animal.  It's a wolf."

     "You *have* a spirit animal?"  Eric looked at his friend, a bit
disbelieving.

     "I guess that's not too common, is it?"

     "Let's just say I thought I was part of a more exclusive club."

     "When I was...on the other side?"  Blair watched as Eric
nodded, then continued.  "The wolf led me back to Jim.  And before
that, Jim had a dream about me, a dream in which he caused my death,
which is part of why things fell apart between us at the time.  And in
that dream, he shot a wolf, and the wolf transformed into me."  Blair
longed to complete the story, to explain Jim's sentinel abilities, the
important role of Jim's own spirit guide...but all that was part of Jim's
confidence, and Blair didn't feel it was his to reveal.

     "You're not messing with my head here, are you?"  Eric asked.

     "Did I ever do that before?"

     "No, but this is...surreal.  I thought you might be broad-minded
enough not to slam the door in my face and hang garlic around the
apartment to keep me away, but I didn't expect you to pull out your
spirit animal so we could compare notes."

     "There's more to my relationship with Jim than a friendship or
even our new relationship as lovers.  I just don't think I should say
anything without talking to Jim first."

     "Whatever.  Look, am I screwing up your schedule?"

     "Oh, man, I've gotta call the U."  Blair got up and headed for the
phone, and Eric stood.

     "I can go--"

     "Stay put.  This is more important.  I can get someone to stand
in for me.  All I was doing was giving an exam.  My student assistant
can handle that."

     While Blair was on the phone, the key turned in the lock, and
before either man knew it, Jim stepped through the door.  His eyes met
Draven's, and the two men stared at one another in mute shock.

     "What are you?"  Jim asked, obviously having accepted that
Draven wasn't an ordinary human being.  "You don't have a heartbeat,
you don't have a pulse.  What the hell are you?"  he demanded as Blair
hung up and placed himself between the two men.

     "Jim, come on, cool it, man.  It's Eric--"

     "I don't know what the hell it is, but it isn't Eric Draven.  I saw
what was left of Eric Draven, and believe me, that guy's not up walking
around."

     "Guess again," Draven retorted, his tone a little less than
friendly by now.

     "Look, I don't know what kind of sick game you're playing, but
it ends now."

     "You know I'm not playing any games."  Draven walked slowly
toward the detective, a cocky look in his dark eyes.  He was only
marginally shorter than Jim, and not in the least intimidated by him. 
"You of all people know that I am what I say I am."

     "I'm warning you, pal.  If walking around impersonating a dead
man is your idea of a good time, do it on your own time and leave us
out of it."

     "How would I fake not having a heartbeat?"  Draven
challenged.  

     "I don't know.  I don't know what you are but I do know that
whatever you are, you aren't Eric Draven and you're not welcome here. 
There's only one explanation for what you are, and it isn't good."

     "And what is that?"  Draven challenged with a little sneer.  "A
ghost?  A *bogeyman*?"  he added, all eyes, expression, and gestures.

     "Jim, come on, man, leave him alone.  It really *is* Eric."

     "Blair, this maniac is feeding off your delusions.  I never told
you this, but I saw Draven's corpse at the morgue.  There's no way in
hell that he's walking around anywhere except on a fluffy white cloud
in the great beyond."

     "I can't explain what this is any better than you can.  But I *am*
Draven.  That much I do know."  He stared at Jim's unyielding
expression.  "You need proof?"

     "That would be helpful," Jim shot back, and before he knew it,
two strong hands clamped on either side of his head.

     "Eric--?"  Blair shouted, his eyes turning to saucers as he
watched the horrified look on Jim's face until the other man backed
away, watching him calmly, with a little bit of satisfaction in his
expression.

     "My God...what...?"

     "You wanted proof, now you've got it."  He turned to Blair.  "I'll
get a hold of you later."

     "Stop right there.  You aren't going anywhere until this is
settled," Jim said to the other man's retreating back.  Draven stopped.

     "Look, I've got no argument with you, Ellison.  Don't start one
with me."

     "You started one with me when you came into my home and
started stalking after Blair.  I don't know what the hell you are, but
whatever it is, there's no place for it here."

     "*Your* home."  Draven turned, and both Blair and Jim took a
step back at what they saw.  The deceptively ordinary appearance of
Eric Draven had given way to a stark white face, eyes rimmed in black
with short trails reminiscent of black tears pointing downward from
each one.  The mouth was a black painted smile.  "Funny, I thought it
was Blair's home as well," he challenged, moving closer to Ellison
again.  

     "That's far enough."  Jim drew his gun.

     "For God's sake, Jim, come on!  It's Eric--"

     "Blair, give it a rest.  I know he was your friend but this isn't
him.  I don't know what this is, but it can't be Eric Draven."

     "Go ahead.  Give it your best shot, Rambo," Draven goaded,
holding out his arms and moving a bit closer.  To everyone's surprise,
including Jim's, he pulled the trigger.  Draven lurched a little, but then
looked back up at him with a devilish smile.

     "Ouch.  And this was a new t-shirt, too," Draven added, fully
expecting another shot.  Instead, Jim stared at the spot where the bullet
had entered Draven's body.  As the other man raised pale, dark-nailed
hands up to hold the material aside, the bullet hole healed over and
vanished, the flesh appearing completely unmarred.  Draven looked
back up at him with a challenging little sneer.  "You're not normal
either, Ellison.  I know what you are, too."

     "What do you think you know?"  Ellison challenged, still staring
at the healed over flesh with bugged eyes.

     "You possess powers that set you apart from other men.  Which
is why you knew I didn't have a heartbeat without ever getting within
ten feet of me."  Draven paused.  "How long should we go on with this
little dance?  I'm not here to hurt Blair.  I wouldn't have bothered
pushing him out of the path of that car if that was what I was after.  I
don't have any arguments with you either.  But if you want to start one,
I'll finish it."

     "This is ridiculous.  There's no reason for this to be a
confrontation," Blair said reasonably getting between Draven and
Ellison.  The eyes that met from either side of Blair were blue ice and
black ice, neither showing any sign of submitting to the other's will. 
Whatever transformation Eric had gone through had removed his
quieter, gentler tendencies, and seemed to thrive on aggression.  He
was cocky, confident and enjoying putting Jim through the paces.

     Jim, for his part, stood his ground commendably.  His gun was
useless, the man he faced had no heartbeat, no pulse, and had gone
through a bizarre transformation into something that looked like a
demented, evil mime.  Despite this, Ellison kept his calm.  Tucking his
weapon in its holster, he stood facing Draven, unarmed.

     "What do you want?"

     "That's a loaded question.  But for your purposes, suffice it to
say I'm just visiting a friend."  Draven paused a couple of beats.  "I'd
like to think I'm visiting two friends."

     "This is insanity.  No one can live without a heartbeat."

     "I never said I was alive.  You keep insisting on that label."

     "You want me to accept that you're back from the dead?"  Jim
asked, utterly disbelieving.

     "You're the one who keeps insisting that you saw me dead.  And
yet here I am.  You do the math.  Call Albrecht.  Maybe you'll believe
him."  Draven turned and headed for the door.

     "Hey, wait a minute," Blair spoke up, but Eric held up a
forestalling hand.  

     "I'll be in touch."  He ducked out the door and pulled it shut
behind him. 

     "I can't believe you seriously *shot* him."  Blair shook his head
and started pacing.  "What if he *had* just been some sort of psycho
who was play-acting?"

     "He wasn't, Chief.  He has no fucking *vital signs*!  How much
more do you need to see before you realize that whatever he is, it isn't
natural?"

     "No, probably not.  But it isn't evil, either."

     "So how do you explain him turning from Eric Draven into a
KISS wannabe right in front of us?"

     "It's a transformation he goes through when he feels threatened
or angry.  Jim, he's not normal.  I know that.  But he isn't some demon
from hell either."
     
     "I can't believe you're buying into this whole thing."  Jim
headed toward the telephone in the kitchen.

     "You of all people should be a little more open to something
that defies conventional explanation."

     "There's a big difference between having heightened senses and
getting up out of your grave and walking around!  Or taking bullets in
the chest at point blank range and surviving--no, *healing* right there
on the spot."

     "You know what's really bothering you about Eric?"

     "Yes, I do.  The fact I saw him dead on a coroner's slab back in
Port Columbia, and then again in his casket and he just showed up here
in my living room."

     "No."  Blair shook his head.  "You have to take him on faith. 
You can't test him.  You have to *believe*.  There's no way to gather
proof."

     "What are you driving at?"  Jim finally put down the phone he'd
picked up, exasperated and knowing Blair was going to finish his little
oration whether Jim surrendered willingly or not.

     "Since you tuned in to your abilities again, you can assess
whether someone's lying, you can know if they're for real just by
listening to their vital signs.  Eric has none.  So you have to go on faith. 
You have to believe him, or you have to trust my ability to judge him
and believe me that he's not evil, not a devil or a demon, or some kind
of imposter."

     "Blair, listen, I know Eric Draven was a friend of yours.  I also
know you've had to go through a lot of losses, and the thought of
getting one of those friends back is pretty damned attractive--"

     "Who wouldn't like to have back all their dead loved ones? 
That's not what this is about.  Jim, Incacha wasn't just talking to have
something to say when he said he passed the way of the shaman on to
me.  Part of a shaman's ability is communicating with the dead.  I
*know* that Eric's for real.  Not just because he knows some
confidences of mine that no one else on earth besides you would know,
and not just because I've missed him and I want it to be true.  But
because I can feel it.  And I was there, Jim.  I was on the other side, in
the 'place of the dead' as Eric calls it.  And Shelly tried to give me a
hint that Eric wasn't there--she said my purpose wasn't finished, *just
like Eric*.   So if you can't believe in him, believe in me.  I know what
I'm talking about."

     "I know you *believe* what you're saying--"

     "Three days before he was murdered, I told Eric how I felt
about you, and that I was afraid to tell you about it.  He thought I
should go for it, take my chances...  The point is, I never told anyone
else about that.  He was the only friend, outside of you, that I would
have trusted with a confidence that big.  And today, he referred to that
conversation in a specific way only he could."
     
     "Even if I accepted that this was some resurrected form of
Draven, how do we know the forces behind him are forces of good and
not forces of evil?  Look, Blair, my biggest problem here isn't accepting
that he's Draven, or even that he's back from the dead, though both of
those things are still sinking in at the moment.  The biggest problem is
just accepting that he's someone we want to trust and have for a best
buddy.  Even if we believe everything supernatural about this guy,
there's nothing to say that the power that's behind him isn't pure evil,
and that trusting him isn't going to mean our deaths."

     "Maybe we have to take it on faith."

     "Maybe there are evil forces that act against sentinels--did that
ever occur to you?   All I know is that every radar I've got is on full
alert with this guy, and I don't trust him."

     "Because he's not human and you're scared.   You can't give him
an on the spot lie detector test, because he doesn't have normal vital
signs for you to go by.  Jim, you have believe him.  Trust him.  You
can't bypass the option of trusting a friend to test his honesty with your
senses."  Blair paused.  "Do you trust anyone on faith anymore, or do
you always use your senses to sniff them out, so to speak?"  Blair
watched as Jim paced a little, still seemingly deep in thought over what
to do about the Draven situation.  

     "I use my senses on everyone but you."  He stopped and faced
Blair, who swallowed as he processed that thought.  He was the only
person Jim took on faith and trusted without engaging his senses to
verify everything.

     "That means a lot to me, man."  Blair moved across the room
until he was only inches from Jim. 

     "Maybe now you can understand why I don't want to take any
chances with you."  Jim framed Blair's face with both hands.  "I almost
lost you...twice in the last six months now, after what happened
yesterday.  I don't want you to get lured in by this character if he isn't
what he says he is.  I'd never be able to live with myself if I let him do
something to hurt you...or worse."

     "He isn't going to hurt me, Jim.  He saved my life yesterday, and
when he was alive, outside of you, he was my best friend.  He was the
first person I told about how I felt about you...how I felt about Borneo
and why I didn't go...  That trust doesn't die, even if one of the friends
does.  I know him, and I also know he's not evil or some kind of devil
that's trying to drag me back to the other side."  Blair paused as a look
of horror swept over Jim's features.  "Is that what you think?  That I
cheated death somehow and now he's coming to collect?"

     "It crossed my mind."

     "Oh man."  Blair moved into Jim's arms and held on tightly
while the crushing hold was returned.  "You thought he was some sort
of Angel of Death?"

     "It made sense.  You were on the other side and you got away--came back.  
I was...I thought maybe...you weren't supposed to do that."

     "Shelly wouldn't let me cross over.  The other side didn't want
me yet."

     "I'm glad to hear that."  Jim was quiet a minute, just holding
Blair. When he spoke again, his voice was strained, husky.  "Because
they can't have you unless they make room for two of us."

********

     Albrecht was about to insert the key in the car door lock when
he stopped cold.  He could sense a presence close at his back.  When he
spun around, Draven was looking back at him innocently.

     "How do you do that?"  he asked, exhaling and shaking his head
a little.

     "I thought you should know that Ellison might cause you some
problems."

     "Any special reason?"

     "I went to see Blair, because I thought Ellison was gone for the
day, and he showed up at the apartment.  We had words, and he shot
me."

     "Are you all right?"  The concern on Albrecht's face and in his
voice made Draven smile slightly.

     "Yeah, you know me.  But he knows the score now, and I got a
little pissed off and said something to the effect that he should ask you
for verification of who and what I was.  So I'm thinking he might do
that."

     "If he saw you survive being shot at point blank range, he's
probably got a lot to mull over.  Thanks for the warning anyway. 
How'd Sandburg react?"

     "He was a little freaked at first, but he was glad to see me. 
Outside of Sarah, he's the first person who has been, so I'm glad I
went."

     "He doesn't have to explain you to Vincennes," Albrecht
quipped, referring to his lieutenant.  He finished opening the car door
and got in, leaving it open a moment.  "I'll let you know if Ellison gets
in touch with me."  He cast a glance up at the sky.  "Damn.  Looks like
we're going to get that ice storm they've been warning about all day."

     "You working tonight?"

     "Yeah, I'm covering for a couple guys going on stakeout.  I was
supposed to be going home now, but I'm just running out for dinner
instead."

     "You look tired," Draven observed.

     "Yeah, well, I was on an all night stakeout last night, and I
worked a 10-hour day before I even went out on it.  I won't feel bad to
get out of here tonight."

     "Stay present," Eric warned, and Albrecht nodded, smiling.  

     "I'll do my best."  He pulled the car door shut and pulled away
from the curb, leaving Eric standing near the spot where the car had
been.

********

     A loud gust of wind robbed Port Columbia of all traces of
artificial lights.  The darkness spread over the city as rapidly as if a
large, black blanket had been thrown over the skyline.  From where he
sat perched near the shattered remains of the round window of his
home, candles flickering all around, Draven could have cared less.  He
had power in the loft apartment now, but rarely used it.  His guitar and
amplifier were the main draws on the power supply, and since all his
ties with Shelly had been shattered, there was no music in his soul
anyway.

     He straightened and stood, drawn by an almost morbid
fascination to gaze down again at the path he'd taken so violently the
night of his death.  Now he was just the black-clad figure in the
window. //The ghost in the tower,// Eric thought, smirking a little.  

     Very few people would choose the night of a major blackout
and a dangerous ice storm for a long walk in the city.  But then Draven
had nothing to fear from the elements, and the cover of darkness was
comforting. 

     There was the predictable looting going on in one of the
downtown business districts, and he felt a vague stirring of
responsibility to do something about it, and yet he kept walking. //Why
should I?  I finally set things right, evened the score with Top Dollar,
and ended up being punished for it instead of rewarded.  Let the cops
deal with the petty thieves,// he concluded. 

     //The cops...bet Albrecht's having a busy night,// he mused with
a slight smile.  He'd been trying to come up with some reason to see a
bright side to his existence since his run-in with Skull Cowboy, and his
bizarre encounter with Top Dollar.  The loneliness that had followed in
those first weeks had been so bitter as to be crippling.  He'd sat for days
on end, staring at the window of the loft, numb in one sense and yet
hurting so deeply it was impossible to make himself move or respond
or care about anything in his environment.

     Sarah had broken through that barrier first, had let him know
how important he was to her, and it had thawed a portion of his frozen
soul.  The visit from Albrecht two days later had done the rest.  He
hadn't said much, really.  Just shown up, found Eric again seated on the
floor, staring at the window.  So what had Albrecht done?  Sat on the
floor next to him and stared out the same window for close to an hour
before Eric finally gave in and spoke.  

     The conversation wasn't really profound, and Eric had no way
of expressing the misery he felt, but sharing the long, lonely hours of
that evening with a friend had eased it.  And it had also left him to deal
with a revelation that wasn't completely welcome and yet was totally
undeniable: he loved Daryl Albrecht with every fiber of his being.  This
man had defied his superiors to continue to hunt for the men who had
ended Eric's and Shelly's lives so brutally, and time after time he laid
his job and sometimes his life on the line to be Eric Draven's friend. 
To show love and allegiance to a dead man.

     Loving your friends isn't unusual, and it shouldn't even be
troubling.  But somehow, this was.  It was the power of that love that
was disturbing to the solitary figure who now found himself walking
down the sidewalk of a quiet residential neighborhood. //The angel of
death slipping through the shadowy streets of the darkened city,// Eric
thought with a little snort of a laugh.  

     In all his life, he'd only loved one other person with this degree
of devotion, and that was Shelly.  And he loved Sarah, very much. 
More than words could say.  She was like a life force...like light and
warmth in an unending icy winter.  She believed him when no one else,
including Albrecht, believed him.  She had been happy to see him from
the moment he staggered into the loft and collapsed on the floor. //Poor
kid.  If she'd been any other kid that who she is, she'd have been scared
to death.//

     All that being equal, his love for the man who had protected
him time and again, who, in his quiet way, had become his friend
despite all the odds against it, was frightening in its power.  This was
the kind of love that you built lifetimes on,  wrote songs about...  The
kind of love he thought had been ripped away forever when he'd been
ripped away from Shelly.

     So what would loving Daryl Albrecht bring him?  More pain. 
Eric sighed loudly, absently wondering what it would be like to be part
of one of the families tucked safely in one of the attractive homes he
was passing as he walked.  To be normal again.   To know where you
belonged instead of wandering the slick streets alone while liquid ice
poured out of the sky.  To be thoroughly chilled by the freezing rain
and the chill in the air.  To have someone warm to go home to instead
of an empty loft that was the site of your murder...  To trim Christmas
trees and look forward to the holiday along with the rest of the world...

     He'd never had a relationship with a man before.  He wasn't
averse to checking out a good-looking man, but whatever little leanings
he might have had in that direction, he'd never explored fully.  Maybe
because sex was at its best when it sprang from love, and he'd never
*loved* another man before.  At least not that way.  He could honestly
say that he loved Blair, but they were buddies from the start, and that
spark of romance hadn't been there for either of them.

     The band had been like a bad joke.  All his life he'd read
interviews with rock stars, hearing them tell of how they loved their
bandmates like brothers, how they were like a family...  Eric had
expected to finally find that when he put his own band together from
various struggling musicians he met and with whom he formed casual
friendships.  After being tossed around from one foster home to
another most of his childhood, he'd hoped to find that elusive dream of
"family" with his bandmates.  

     The only ways they'd been like a family is that they fought all
the time and spent way too much time together.  When he'd come back,
he'd kept the vain hope that perhaps they would be happy to see him. 
Even when he was about to challenge them over "Seven Circles", he
hoped to see that his death had caused them some pain, some sense of
loss.  Instead it had been their ticket to success, and none of them were
especially interested in entertaining the possibility that he was who he
said he was, and even if he were, it was clear they didn't care.

     He found himself standing in front of Albrecht's house.  It was
well after midnight, so the absence of any flickering candlelight wasn't
really an indicator of whether or not anyone was home.  Cordelia's car
was nowhere in sight, so if Daryl was in there, he was alone.  The glaze
of ice on the driveway showed no signs of recent tire tracks.

     //So you're just going to go up to the door and say "hi, I was just
in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop in"?// He was jarred out of his
thoughts by a pair of headlights as their beams swept over him. 
Albrecht's car stopped at the end of his driveway, and he put down the
window.

     "Draven?  What's up?"  he asked, looking concerned.  

     "Nothing.  I was just out walking..."  He let the sentence trail off
with a shrug.  "Sorry," he said with a slight smile, "I didn't mean to be
loitering out here."

     "You didn't notice the storm?"  Albrecht asked, deadpan.  Eric
simply looked up at the sky as the sleet continued to pour from it.  He
shrugged and made a dismissive face.

     "I noticed it," he responded, nodding a little as he looked back
at his friend who was still in his car.

     "You want to come in for a while?"

     //More than anything...// Eric thought.

     "It's late."

     "So?  I don't keep banker's hours.  I'll be up a while yet."

     "Yeah.  Okay."  

     "Go on up to the front door.  I'll let you in."  Daryl put up his
window and drove the rest of the way into the driveway.  Eric strolled
up to the porch and waited by the door.

     In a matter of moments, Albrecht swung open the door and
stepped aside for him to come in, shutting and locking it behind them.  

     "Except for the lack of ice, it's not much better in here," Daryl
said, leading the way upstairs.  "Cordie keeps telling me I should get a
gas furnace."  Heading into the kitchen, he started rifling through the
cupboards.  "Oh, hey, I've got some dry clothes you can borrow."

     "I guess I *am* dripping on the floors," Eric observed, snorting
a little laugh that didn't have much of a smile with it.

     "I thought you might be cold."  Daryl paused.  "Do you *feel*
the cold?"

     "More inside than outside," Eric answered honestly, his focus
fixed on the water that was dripping off his clothes onto the floor.

     "The bedroom's this way."  Daryl started up another set of stairs
with Eric following behind him.  "I've got a suit of black sweats," Daryl
offered with a little smile.  Eric actually laughed at that.

     "Sounds good."

     "Gotta keep the look intact."

     "I've been told black is a fashion statement," Eric added, almost
sadly.  His thoughts strayed back to Skull Cowboy, his dry humor and
the choice he'd offered Draven.  Donning the black clothes had been
just a part of making that choice.  

     "Something wrong?  I was just kidding about--"

     "No, I was just thinking about something else," Eric responded
quickly, forcing a slight smile as he accepted the folded clothes.  

     "I'll grab you a towel."

     "Great."  Eric started peeling off the wet clothes, and despite his
usual lack of interest in physical sensations of temperature, it felt good
to get the heavy, clammy things off his skin.  By the time Daryl came
back with a towel, that was all Eric wore...his skin.  "Thanks."  He took
the towel and started drying off, thinking that for just a split second,
Albrecht had appeared...rattled somehow.  He had to see plenty of
naked guys on a fairly regular basis--at the gym, the PD locker room... 
//Maybe it was just seeing *me* that way,// Eric thought, not sure if
that was good or bad.

     "You want some hot chocolate?"  Daryl called back, halfway
downstairs.  Then the footsteps stopped.  "Do you drink things like
that?"
     
     "Not usually," Eric responded.  

     "Okay."  The footsteps continued until he could hear Daryl
rattling around in the kitchen.

     After drying off and pulling on the sweats, Eric glanced at
himself in the mirror.  Even his socks were black.  He shook his head a
little and headed downstairs.  

     "Want me to start a fire?"  he offered, figuring that if the heat
wasn't working it would just keep getting colder.  While he didn't really
care, he knew Albrecht would be uncomfortable.

     "Uh...how do you mean?"

     "What?"  Eric looked back at him from the living room,
puzzled.  The other man was making the hot chocolate the old
fashioned way, in a pan on the stove.  

     "Starting fires...how do you do that?"

     "Well, with some wood, maybe some newspaper, a match..." 
Eric retorted, grimacing a little at the question.  Then it dawned on
him.  "I don't just point and zap, Albrecht."

     "I just wondered.  Sure.  That'd be great," Daryl added, smiling
a little.

     Eric set about his task with the fire, and soon it was starting to
crackle invitingly.  

     "Nice tree," he commented, checking out the Christmas tree
that was bedecked with everything from pine cones to glittering crystal
ornaments to satin ribbons and what looked like a myriad of lights. 
"Bet it's really something when the power's on," Eric quipped.

     "Yeah, that was Cordelia's creation.  I have a big box of
ornaments I always used to use, but she's one of these people who
wants a tree that looks like something out of 'Better Homes and
Gardens'.  Hey--grab some of those cushions and toss 'em down by the
fire, huh?"  Daryl was busily preparing some kind of food to go with
the hot chocolate, and while the thought of food didn't do much for
Eric one way or the other, there was something tremendously cozy
about the whole thing.  

     Eric followed the directive and placed a couple of big sofa
pillows and the cushions in front of the fire and sat down on one,
poking at the logs with the fireplace poker.

     "So how'd you get out of working all night during a blackout?"

     "I've been working for 48 hours straight.  Vincennes is of the
mentality that a cop who hasn't slept for 48 hours is more help off the
streets than on them.  He's probably right."  Albrecht made his way to
the living room with a tray containing two large mugs of the hot
chocolate and a plate with two large cold meat sandwiches on it.  "If
you don't want anything, you don't have to take it.  But since power's
off in my fridge, I figured I might as well make up what was there.  I'm
going to go up and grab a sweater and get out of this tie.  I'll be back."

     "I'll be here," Eric responded, still poking at the fire.

     Moments later, Daryl returned in a pair of jeans, a turtleneck
and a gray pullover sweater that looked like it had seen better days.  He
took a seat a bit closer that Eric had expected, but then Eric concluded
he was seeking out as much warmth as he could from the fire.  

     "What made you go out on a night like this?  The club's still
closed, isn't it?"

     "Yeah," Eric responded, thinking of India, and why the club
was closed.  And how he was going to pay the rent now, since dead
men couldn't collect unemployment.  "I was just...stir crazy I guess." 
He turned away from Albrecht's penetrating gaze and stared into the
fire.  "Some nights...are harder than others," he said, his voice barely
audible.

     "Still no contact with Shelly?"  Daryl asked softly.

     "None.  Not a murmur, not a feeling..."  Eric sighed, drawing
his knees up to his chest, folding his arms and resting them on top of
his knees.  "Sometimes it's like being trapped in a nightmare where
you're not allowed to wake up."
     
     "Do you ever think about leaving the loft?"

     "It's my only point of contact with Shelly.  The portal is there."

     "But staying there...can't be good for you."  Daryl joined him in
staring into the fire.  "The memories have to be...it must be hard."

     "Ah, but the good memories...  You know how it feels when
you're outside on a really cold day, and all of a sudden you step out of
the shade into the sunshine, and all the chill is just...gone?  That's how
a memory of Shelly feels."  Eric turned away from the fire to look at
his friend.  "I live for that," he said with a slight smile, which then
began to falter.  "At least, I used to.  And then I was handed the chance
to go back, and I didn't take it.  So maybe I'm being punished now for
that."  A frightening thought crept into his mind then, and the fear it
engendered must have shown in his eyes, because Albrecht's expression
changed, became intense, concerned.

     "What's wrong?"  When the other man continued to stare at him
blankly, Albrecht asked again.  "Eric," he almost-whispered, "tell me
what's wrong."

     "What if..."  The muscles of Eric's throat worked overtime as he
tried to find his voice again.  "What if she went without me--all the
way?"

     "All the way...?"

     "All the way to the light.  Across the bridge.  I was sent here to
set things right.  Before I tangled with Top Dollar again, the score was
considered settled, and it was time for me to go back to Shelly.  I had a
chance to be with her and I...I let it go.  I turned it down.  Maybe
she...isn't waiting for me anymore."

     "Shelly was a good person, Eric.  She would have understood
that you had to try to save India."

     //This wasn't about India, as much as I cared for her.  This was
about you.  The bastard hurt *you*, could have killed you.  Might have
if I had left...//

     "Your hot chocolate's getting cold," Eric noted quietly, turning
back to stare into the fire again.  Moving to take both mugs off the tray,
Albrecht held one out to him.  

     "Would it hurt anything if you...drank something?"

     "Smells good," Eric admitted with a grin.   He accepted the mug
and wrapped his hands around it.  He could vaguely remember doing
that before, long ago--holding a coffee cup or a hot chocolate cup tight
in his hands to ward off the cold.

     "Shelly wouldn't punish you for trying to save a friend's life. 
You do know that?"

     "Shelly wouldn't, but maybe she didn't have a choice.  Maybe
she was sent on to the light...to whatever lies at the end.  I didn't choose
to go, so maybe I was left behind."

     "How could things be set right if Danko was still loose, killing
innocent people?"

     "I don't know.  I feel like I don't know anything anymore.  But
then I haven't really *known* much of anything about all this to begin
with.  It's been a learn-as-you-go experience."

     "I think it was pretty amazing that you chose to stay and end
things with Top Dollar than to take what you, personally, had wanted
for so long.  That had to take a lot of selflessness."

     "Not all that much," Eric replied, looking at the hot chocolate,
and then hesitantly taking a little sip.  The flavor exploded on his
tongue, and as he swallowed it, he could feel the warmth travel through
his body just like hot drinks on a cold night always used to do.  

     "Since you've been back, have you--"

     "Not before now."  Eric smiled into the cocoa.  "It tastes like it
used to.  Well, actually better, because I always had the powdered stuff
in the little envelopes."

     "That's not real hot chocolate, man," Albrecht responded,
laughing. //God, I love his laugh, his smile, the sensitivity I see in those
deep, dark eyes of his,// Eric thought, looking away, his own smile
fading.  "Something's bothering you."

     "Nothing new."  He took another sip of the cocoa.  "Can I ask
you a question?"

     "Sure."

     "Why did you keep the murder case open so long when
everyone wanted you to close it?"

     "You know, being a cop, you see a lot of rotten things.  Being a
homicide cop, you see even rottener things than the average.  It takes a
lot to shock me--hell, to even make an *impression* on me.  This case
did."

     "Why?  I mean, a few things were happening with the band, but
nothing major.  And Shelly was a great photographer, but not too many
people had discovered that yet.  We were...we weren't important."

     "Everyone's important, Draven.  A life isn't measured by the
fame or the success of the victim.  At least not to a decent cop."

     "Your boss wanted it closed.  Why did you care?  Was it just
some compulsion to finish things up?  To get closure?"

     "Do you really want to talk about this?  I don't know how much
to say to you about what happened."

     "I lived it.  There isn't much you can tell me that I haven't
figured out."

     "It was the cruelty of it.  The needless brutality.  The utter waste
of two young lives.  When I arrived on the scene, the first thing I
saw...the first thing I saw was a yellow sheet spread out on the
sidewalk below the loft, covering..."

     "Me."
     
     "Yeah."

     "It's okay, Albrecht.  It's nothing I haven't tried to picture. 
Nothing I haven't thought of."

     "I was thinking what a horrible way that was to die.  And then I
saw the ambulance guys bringing out the second victim.  She was still
alive, but barely."  Daryl turned to look into the fire.


     "When we first met, you told me that my name was the last
thing she said.  How coherent was she?"

     "Are you sure you want to know this?"

     "Yes."

     "She was coherent enough to know what had happened.  She
had massive internal injuries.  The doctors thought they might have
done an adequate job in the emergency surgery they did when she was
brought in, but they didn't hold out much hope.  I spoke to her for a few
brief seconds in the emergency room.  All she could keep repeating
was your name, and telling me that they'd killed you.  I waited until she
came out of the anesthetic, which she did.  She never could give me
good descriptions."  Albrecht paused, looking at Draven's profile in the
firelight as the other man stared straight ahead.  "This isn't solving
anything, man.  Revisiting all this old pain."

     "I want to know.  It's the most important thing that ever
happened to me, and I want to know.  Did you go to her funeral?"

     "It was a double ceremony, and yes, I went to it.  I have to
confess I went largely for the case."

     "Because killers sometimes show up at the victims' funerals,
right?"

     "Right.  There were a lot of young people there.  Sandburg and
Ellison were there."

     "I don't have any family left, but Shelly's mom should have been
there."

     "She was.  So was Sarah.  Darla had even pulled herself
together enough to take her there.  A lot of kids...they're afraid of death. 
She wasn't.  She went right up to the caskets and-- Oh, man, you
probably really don't need to hear stuff like that."

     "No...it's okay.  I asked.  What happened?"

     "She kissed you both good-bye."

     "They could...we were...you know, presentable?"

     "Very much so.  Your cause of death was massive internal
hemorrhaging due to injuries sustained in the fall.  That doesn't always
show under those circumstances.  And Shelly's face wasn't badly
marked."

     "Thank you for taking care of Sarah.  That was a really decent
thing for you to do."

     "I had already seen two ungodly tragedies in that case.  I didn't
want to see a third.  Sarah's a bright kid...and I could tell you and
Shelly were her best adult role models at that point."  Albrecht took
another drink of his hot chocolate. 

     "You've never investigated a nasty double homicide before?"

     "Yes, a couple of them, actually.  But the reason this one got
under my skin was because of the pain you both had been through...  I
couldn't fathom the anguish it was for both of you of seeing the other
attacked that way.  She knew you were dead, and you had to have seen
at least part of her assault before..."

     "I saw plenty.  Part of their fun was holding me back so I had to
watch...listen to her screams...  Well, you saw the tape.  All of it I
assume."  Eric set the cup aside and wrapped his arms around himself,
his legs crossed Indian-style now on the floor.  "I would have so gladly
died to help her.  To save her."  He felt a tear trickle down his cheek,
and did nothing to interfere with it.  "You can't know what it's like to
watch the unspeakable pain of someone you love, and not be able to do
anything to help."

     "I think maybe I do.  I watch yours all the time," he said softly. 
Eric's head snapped up at that, and he locked gazes with Daryl.

     "What are you saying?"  Eric asked, trying to find the answers
in the dark depths of the other man's eyes.

     "Look, I just meant that--"

     "Don't dismiss it."  Eric turned until he was sitting facing Daryl. 
"Please, you have to tell me why you said that."  Just then, the
telephone rang.  

     "I...have to get that.  I'm sorry."  Daryl got up and hurried to the
phone.  "Albrecht."  

     Eric was only marginally aware of the conversation going on
behind him.  He felt desperate at the thought that maybe all Daryl
meant was friendship.  They were good friends, and they'd been
through a lot together in the short time they'd known each other.  You
can love your friends without it meaning anything else...

     "Sorry.  That was Cordelia.  She's over at her mother's place." 
Daryl came back to his seat by the fire, and near Eric.  
     
     "Look, I didn't mean to turn this into a wake...or a men's
forum," Eric added, smiling.

     "I meant what I said."

     "I should've never jumped on your words that way.  There are a
lot of different loves in the world.  Friendship is one of them."

     "It's one of them, yeah," Daryl said, nodding.  When Eric looked
back at him, he smiled.  "It's not the only one."

     "You...love me?"

     "That was my reaction to it too."  Albrecht laughed softly. 
"You're not exactly my type."

     "That way?"

     "Huh?"

     "You love me...that way?"

     "It wouldn't be much of a big deal if it was brotherly love, now
would it?"

     "No, I s'pose not."

     "I'll tell you a secret."  Daryl paused.  "It's really weird."

     "Based on our conversation so far, I wouldn't worry about that."

     "Really," Albrecht responded, shaking his head a little.  "When
I first saw you--not this time around, not during this...lifetime.  But
before.  At the scene?"  He paused until Eric nodded, encouraging him
to continue.  "I pulled the sheet back--you know, routine stuff.  I
already knew what I was gonna see--at least I knew what had happened
thanks to one of the patrolmen on the scene.  But when I saw you...I
can't explain this very well, but it was like I felt this sense of...*loss*. 
I've seen a lot of death, Eric.  A lot of young people whose lives were
snuffed out for no good reason.  But this was a personal sense of grief. 
I had no reason to know you, no reason to care personally that you were
dead.  But all through this case, I kept feeling like the killers had taken
something away from me.  Like somehow, someday, I was supposed to
meet you.  We were supposed to mean something to each other."  Daryl
rolled his eyes.  "That sounded even dumber out loud than it does in my
head.

     "No it doesn't."  Eric sipped at the cooling hot chocolate again. 
"Now it's my turn to tell you a secret."

     "Shoot."

     "When I made the choice to stay, it had very little to do with
India.  I cared very much for her, and I wanted to rescue her, but I
didn't love her the way I loved Shelly.  I don't think that, given a choice,
I'd have had the strength of character to turn my back on Shelly to save
India.  That makes me feel so guilty, you know?"  Eric shifted so he
leaned on his elbow against the front of the couch, against which Daryl
was leaning his back.  "She was there for me, one of the best friends I
ever had.  And yet, I couldn't have done it for her."

     "So why did you do it?"

     "Because of what he did to you.  Because I thought that nothing
on this earth mattered to me without Shelly until you came along. 
When I found out you were in the hospital, I realized how much...I
realized that I...that I loved you.  And I couldn't leave."

     "You stayed because of me?"  

     "Yeah, I did.  I could say it was to battle evil or to protect the
world from Top Dollar and his depravities."  Eric glanced back into the
fire.  "Shelly meant more to me than all that.  See, what's hard for me is
that I thought she meant more to me than *everything*.  I could have
walked away from all of it and never looked back."  He turned again to
look at Albrecht.  "All of it...except for you."

     A particularly loud gust and whistle of wind made Daryl start a
little.  He looked back at Eric then, and smiled self-consciously at his
reaction.  

     "Do I scare you?"  Eric asked then, wondering just why Daryl
had jumped at the sound of the howling wind.

     "A little sometimes," he answered honestly.

     "Why?"

     "I don't know what you are, how you could be here...I saw you
dead at the scene and again at your funeral.  And yet here you are."

     "Is that what you think of when you see me?  On the few times
you've touched me?"

     "You don't feel...dead.  I expected that when I touched you, I'd
feel something...cold, rigid...but you felt as alive as anyone I've ever
touched.  I don't look at you and see a dead man, Eric."

     "What do we do about this?"

     "Well, we should change the subject and forget we ever said
any of this for both our sakes."  

     "Is that what you want?" //God, please, I don't know if I have
any rights to pray to you now, but please don't let him say yes...//

     "No."

     "What do you want?"

     "What I don't want is to treat you like a lover one minute and
pretend I don't know you the next."

     "You ever been with a man before?"

     "Once, when I was in college.  It wasn't anything more than an
experiment.  That went pretty damn well."  Albrecht laughed then, and
Draven joined him, glad for the break in the tension.  "You have a
beautiful smile, man.  I wish you used it more."

     "I don't have a lot to smile about usually.  This is an exception," 
he added, still smiling.  He watched Daryl's hand move slowly up until
the palm rested gently against Draven's cheek.  Leaning into the touch,
Eric's eyes met and held Daryl's, trying to communicate to him how
much it meant.  How long it had been since he'd been touched this way. 
How desperately he wanted more...  And then a thought hit him.  

     Taking a gentle hold on his friend's hand, Eric moved it away
from his face.  Smiling, he placed both hands on Daryl's head, much as
he had soon after they'd met.  That time, he'd been sharing all his pain,
his memories of the murder--proof that he was who he said he was. 
Now, he threw all his powers of concentration into letting the other
man *feel* his love through that touch.

     In a moment or two, Albrecht lurched backward, panting a
little, staring at Draven with wide eyes.

     "My God..."  He continued to stare, dumbfounded.  "That was
for me?  We're not talking reminiscences about Shelly or--"

     "I wanted you to feel what I'm feeling right now.  I'll always
love Shelly...I can't change that and I don't want to.  But Shelly's...gone. 
What time I have here, I don't know.  I just know how I feel."

     "What do you want?"

     "I'm not sure."  Eric's eyes drifted away a moment.  "I haven't
done a whole lot with men.  The interest has always kind of been under
the surface.  I guess you're going to have to show me the ropes since
you're the one with the experience."  He looked back at Albrecht again,
and the other man chuckled a little and shook his head.

     "We're talking about a jerk-off.  That's all I did with that guy,
and that was the end of it.  We were both drunk."

     "So maybe the question is what do *you* want to do with
*me*?"

     "Touch you.  Beyond that, I don't know."

     "Maybe we could just...get close and see what happens."

     "Sounds all right," Daryl agreed, nodding.

     Eric moved closer, not sure exactly what he should do next. 
Daryl's arms opened, and suddenly it just happened.  He moved into the
opened circle and rested his head on the other man's shoulder, smiling
as he felt the arms close around him.  He locked his own powerful arms
around the solid warmth of the other man.

     Silence prevailed for a long time, until another wild howl of
wind rattled the windows.  

     "What are you thinking?"  Daryl asked in a soft tone.

     "I'm thinking that this is probably the worst mistake I could
have made.  I didn't know how much loneliness really sucked until
now."  He closed his eyes and relaxed against Albrecht, relishing the
sensation of the hand that rubbed up and down his back in a languid
rhythm.

     "Meeting you completely complicated my life, you do know
that, right?  And doing this...man, talk about *complex*."  Daryl
grinned as he heard a little snort of laughter from Eric.  

     "Yeah, well, nobody ever promised life was gonna be easy."

     "You seem tired."

     "Emotionally, yeah.  Physically, I can't seem to run myself
down enough.  I've tried.  Nothing I do matters."

     "You want to sleep?"

     "I want peace.  Just for a few hours."

     "The trick is shutting down your mind."  Daryl's hand made it
up to Eric's hair, stroking it lightly.  "You have to make yourself stop
thinking, and let your mind go."

     "Is that how you fall asleep?"

     "It's either that or great sex, and lately, the latter hasn't been
much of an option."

     "Things not going too well with Cordelia?"

     "She's a special lady.  I really do love her a lot.  It's just that we
want different things.  I just...I thought she was the one, and now I'm
not so sure."

     "What would have to change for her to be 'the one'?"  The
gentle embrace and the motion of Daryl's hand were almost hypnotic.
That elusive thing called "peace" seemed so close at hand...

     "I don't know."  Albrecht was quiet a while.  "Maybe that's a lie. 
Maybe I *do* know.  Maybe because 'the one' came in all the wrong
packages.  You know, Draven, I wouldn't be one of those people who
lived his life sneaking around back alleys and denying anything.  If
things had been different...if there was some way to...*explain* you..."

     "It's okay.  I don't expect that.  I wouldn't want to trash your life
anyway."

     "That day...on the boat?  Coming back from the island and
dealing with Kessler--you made a swim for it before we had to face the
welcoming committee on the shore?"
     
     "Yeah?"

     "If I had my way, our lives wouldn't be like that...friends until
there's someone else around.  And now, doing this, we'd be lovers only
when we could get away with it."

     "Daryl," Eric made it a point to use the other man's first name. 
"My whole existence here is borrowed time.  I always thought my soul
was spoken for.  I'm still on borrowed time, but I guess in the final
analysis, the one thing no one can take from me is my own soul, my
heart, my feelings.  My feelings are all I have.  This *thing* that
happened to me robbed me of my life.  Of all the things I would have
experienced.  Even 'Seven Circles'...that song meant the most to me
because I wrote it for Shelly.  But the band had this huge hit with it
after I was gone.  That should have been *my* success, man.  That was
*my life*!"  Draven's voice came out in an angry growl.  "They pawned
my guitar, Shelly's ring, our clothes, everything I owned...  Strangers
pawed through my life like it was just so much merchandise.  My
guitar was some kind of fucking morbid shrine for the death metal
crowd.  If you hadn't kept the loft sealed as a crime scene, I'd have had
nothing left.  A few photos, some old clothes that weren't worth much,
a stuffed animal from a carnival...things looters didn't find appealing."

     "All this time, you've been grieving for Shelly.  Did you ever
allow yourself to grieve for you?  For what *you* lost and what your
life meant?"

     "I just want it to go away for a little while," he said quietly, his
voice breaking.  "Do you know how many times that night replays in
my head?  That feeling of being so helpless and her screams and the
pain and the fear.  I was so damned scared...for both of us."

     "I know.  It's okay to let go.  You're not alone anymore, Eric." 
Albrecht tightened his hold on the man shaking in his arms.  "Oh, man,
you deserved so much better than what you got.  Your death was just as
great a loss as Shelly's."  Daryl sighed, patting the other man's back and
then resuming his rubbing motion again.  "I can't picture what it would
be like to lose your life completely and then try to come back and exist
again.  It would be like some sick joke version of reincarnation.  You
have to come back to the same place you were before and live out an
undefined lifetime after everything that mattered to you was torn away. 
You have a right to your own pain."

     "But they killed Shelly because of *me*.  It was my fault.  And
I couldn't save her that night.  What good are all the moves I've got...the
strength I have now?  When it mattered...when she screamed out my
name for help..."  Eric paused, fighting to keep his voice over the tears,
"I couldn't do it.  I failed her."

     "They beat you up and threw you out the window, Draven.  You
didn't *fail* anybody."

     "Then why is she dead?  Why am I some goddamned
*zombie*?!  What did I do that was so bad..."

     "Nothing.  It's called being a victim, man.  I happens to some of
the best people.  For no damn reason.  Senseless violence is all around
us, every day.  Children are beaten and molested--they don't *deserve*
that in retaliation for some offense they committed.  Innocent women,
like Shelly, are raped and murdered all over the world every day.  For
no other reason than, like her, they were in the wrong place at the
wrong time or maybe they trusted the wrong person."

     "Like Shelly.  She trusted me," Eric replied softly, brokenly.

     "If there had been any way possible to save her that night--if
they had given you a *choice* between being thrown out that window
to your own death but letting Shelly live and letting you live and killing
her, which would you have chosen?"

     "You know that answer.  I'd have *jumped* out the fucking
window if they would have left her alone!"  Eric shouted through his
tears.  "I would have done anything they wanted...anything at all..."

     "No one, including Shelly, could ask more of you than that. 
There were too many of them, only one of you...you didn't stand a
chance."

     "They killed her because of me."

     "If you'd known someone was after you--"

     "I'd have sent her away, even if I had to hurt her to do it--make
her think it was over.  I would have made her go somehow."

     "You weren't given choices, Draven.  You were a victim, just
like Shelly.  And the only people to blame here are Reyes, Top Dollar
and the rest of his degenerate bastards who carried out the job."

     "I see that night over and over and over again in my mind."

     "Maybe it's time to start letting it go."

     "If I do that, I let go of Shelly."

     "Maybe she let go of you so you could find some peace of mind
while you're here--did that ever occur to you?"

     "It occurred to me that she left me, because I let her
down...again."

     "Damn it, Draven!  You never let her down the first time.  And
this time, staying and trying to fight Danko, trying to save India...that
was a damn good reason to put off your reunion with her.  Shelly loved
helping others...she of all people would understand that.  But as long as
your life is about staring through the window where you died and
remembering what has to be the worst kind of agony anybody can feel,
you're never going to be happy for even a moment. You'll always be
miserable.  Is that what Shelly would want for you?  To see you
suffering?"

     "Never," Eric said through a sigh, the tears having given way to
a strange feeling of...exhaustion.

     "Maybe she's trying to let you live this life you have now, to get
what you can from it.  Maybe she's trying to set you free from being
chained to death 24 hours a day.  Part of living is loving and connecting
with the people in your life.  Maybe she wants you to have love, and
not suffer through loneliness day after day.  She can't come back across
the barrier and live with you on this plane.  And maybe she sees that
that's what you need most.  Someone to be with, someone to help you
heal..."

     "Someone like you."

     "I'm volunteering for the job, yeah," Albrecht said with a little
smile, squeezing the languid body in his arms.

     "You got it, man."  Eric's voice was almost slurred, even to his
own ears.  He felt the most delicious sense of detachment, complete
relaxation, and overpowering fatigue.

********

     Albrecht looked down at the man in his arms, speechless.  Eric
Draven was sleeping.  At least, he looked like he was sleeping. //Truth
is, he looks like he just died...he's motionless,// Albrecht thought to
himself.  Not wanting to rob Eric of what he had longed for so much,
Albrecht gave up on looking him over more closely or trying to discern
just what his state was.  He'd seen Draven floored before, and he
always came back after a fashion.

     Figuring this could be a long night, Daryl reached behind him
and stuck a sofa pillow behind his head and closed his own eyes.  For
whatever state Draven was in, he was warm, and now he occasionally
shifted a little, like any other normal human who fell asleep.  Smiling
to himself, Albrecht closed his eyes and drifted into sleep.

********

     The first thing Albrecht saw when he opened his eyes were two
large dark eyes watching him.  Draven was crouched near the fireplace,
as if he might have been stoking the fire, with those soulful eyes
riveted to Albrecht.

     "What time is it?"  Daryl shifted a little stiffly, then noticed the
blanket covering him.

     "It'll be dawn soon," Eric said, with a note of sadness in his
voice, as if the sunrise would be the end of everything.  In a way, it
would.  With daylight would come the need to hide again, the need for
Draven to slip away like the shadow he seemed to be at times.

     "How long have you been awake?"  Albrecht smiled at the little
grin and cock of the head from Draven.  "Were you sleeping?"

     "I don't know.  I don't know if I passed out or if I slept...but it
felt an awful lot like sleep to me.  I was out for a couple hours.  It's four
thirty."  Draven returned to sit on the cushion next to Albrecht's. 
"Thanks for last night," he said quietly, staring into the fire.  The
sadness was back, and that was something that tore at Albrecht's heart
almost unbearably.  

     "Until the sun comes up, it's still 'last night', and we've got some
unfinished business."  He watched as Eric turned then, and smiled a
little.

     "We do, huh?"

     "Oh yeah.  We do."  Albrecht tossed the blanket aside and knelt
on the cushion facing Draven.  As the other man looked up from where
he still sat, Albrecht smiled.  "Those eyes are going to be my downfall
yet," he said affectionately, tucking a loose strand of hair behind the
other man's ear.  

     "I was kind of hoping this would involve more than just my
eyes."  Draven moved up to kneel then, his expression still a bit cocky,
a bit challenging. //He's daring me to make the first move,// Albrecht
acknowledged to himself, laughing softly at Draven's little smile.
//Okay.  I'll give him a move.//

     Catching Draven around the middle and throwing them both
back on the cushions, Albrecht started his fingers dancing up and down
the other man's sides, slipping beneath the sweatshirt to skim the warm
flesh there.  And he got what he wanted.  For the first time since he'd
met him, he heard Eric Draven laugh.  Not smile, not grin, not snort
derisively at something.  This was laughter.

     "Damn it, Albrecht, cut it out!"  Draven tried to bat the insistent
hands away, but he wasn't using any of the arsenal of defense moves he
knew to protect himself.

     "Don't look now, man, but you're laughing," Daryl teased,
renewing his efforts as he laughed along with his captive.  

     "I'm gonna get you for this," Draven vowed between laughs and
gyrations.

     "I'm counting on it."  Albrecht pulled his hands back and then
rested the palms on the floor on either side of Draven's prone body.  In
some part of his mind, it occurred to Daryl that his intended lover
wasn't even breathing hard.  He wondered if he actually breathed *at
all*.

     "You can't tire me out, Albrecht," Draven said suddenly, as if
he'd read the other man's mind.  He was still smiling widely though, so
apparently Daryl's little hesitation hadn't upset him.

     "Really?  Well, I could be in trouble then."

     "Yeah, you could be.  Still want to take the ride?"

     "Yeah.  More than anything," he responded honestly, finally
moving slowly downward until he touched his lips tentatively against
Draven's.  The response was almost nonexistent at first, and then,
without warning, powerful arms closed around Albrecht and pulled
him down to lie atop his lover, whose mouth began to respond
hungrily, opening to him, kissing back as if he'd never shared a kiss
with anyone before.  

     "Last chance to turn back," Draven said, his voice hushed.

     "I passed on that a long time ago, Eric," Daryl replied softly,
smiling as he was pulled in for another kiss.  Draven arched, bringing
his arousal into contact with Albrecht's, making the other man pull
back and gasp a little, then look down at him with something like
surprise on his face.

     "Just what were you thinking was gonna happen when we did
it?"  Draven asked, smiling widely enough that his teeth showed. 
Albrecht smiled back.

     "I love seeing you smile."

     "You give me a reason to smile."  Eric reached up and stroked
Albrecht's cheek lightly with his fingertips.  "Just getting used to this
stuff," he commented, running his fingers over the neatly trimmed
beard and mustache.  

     "Not too used to your lovers having beards, huh?"

     "Generally, no," Eric responded, still smiling softly.

     "Does it bother you?"

     "Not really.  If I can survive bullet holes, I'll probably live
through whisker burn."

     "You're a real smart ass, you know that?"  Albrecht was stunned
to find their positions reversed, and Draven lying atop him now,
grinning down at him.  "How the hell'd you do that?"

     "Trade secret," Draven responded, flexing his eyebrows.  "Do
you always have sex with all your clothes on?"  He rose up, still
straddling Albrecht's hips and pulled the sweatshirt over his head,
tossing it aside.  Silky black hair fell on smooth, broad shoulders, the
firelight casting its own pattern of shadows and light on the sculpted
body of the man who watched Daryl with what was turning into an
almost feral hunger.  Without breaking eye contact, Draven moved
forward and grasped the bottom of Albrecht's sweater, moving back so
the other man could sit up and cooperate.  It soon flew up in the air and
landed on top of the discarded sweatshirt.  "Oh, great.  Is this like one
of those trick boxes you keep opening and finding more boxes inside? 
How many layers have you got on?"

     "It was cold in here."

     "You mere mortals and your temperature sensitivity," Draven
teased, pulling the turtleneck over Albrecht's head and throwing it
away.  He just laughed and shook his head when faced with the t-shirt
that lay beneath it.   Undaunted, he peeled that off too, until the two
men were naked from the waist up.  

     "Moving right along," Daryl said, smiling and unbuckling
Draven's belt.  A hand covered his, stopping him.

     "That only works in the movies, man.  In real life, the shoes
have to come off first, remember?"

     "I was planning that when I got your pants around your ankles, I
could worry about it then.  You mind letting me do something here
without giving me directions?  I *have* taken someone's pants off
before."

     "Besides your own?"  Draven asked, biting his lip to keep from
grinning at Albrecht's annoyed expression.  

     "You know, that mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble."

     "Really?"  Eric inched over until their noses touched as they
knelt on the floor.  "Guess you better figure out a way to shut me up
then."

     "Guess I better."  The two men kissed again, finally tumbling
back on the cushions until they broke apart, Daryl gasping for air.  

     "I bet I can hold my breath longer than you can," Draven
waggled his eyebrows and Albrecht laughed out loud.

     "I bet you can."  Daryl kissed Eric's cheek then, lightly,
surprising the other man with the tenderness of the gesture.  "You don't
have to joke about it."

     "It's not bothering you?"  Eric's eyes moved from Albrecht's face
to some point in the middle of his chest.  "I don't want it to make you
sick."

     "Why would it?"  Albrecht asked gently, guiding Eric's chin
back up so their eyes met.  
     
     "You know what I am.  You know I'm not normal. 
You...exhumed my grave and--" A gentle hand went over Eric's mouth
before he could say more.

     "Look at me.  And listen to me.  I don't look at you and see
caskets and tombstones and death.  I see life.  I see the best friend I
ever had--someone who was willing to give up his life for me if need
be.  The person I could sit and share confidences with for hours.  The
person I'd turn my whole life upside down for if I just knew how to
make things work for us."

     "I love you," Eric said quietly from under the hand that still
rested lightly on his mouth.  Daryl moved his hand and was rewarded
with a soft smile.  He let himself sink into the depths of the eyes that
drew him in every time.  

     "I love you too."

     The two men wrestled passionately with each other, loosening
and finally discarding their remaining clothing until they were skin on
skin, writhing together in the little oasis of warmth by the fireplace.  

     Draven pulled back a bit, then slid down to start kissing his way
across the dark expanse of chest beneath him.  Albrecht's hands tangled
in the younger man's hair, fingers flexing among the strands as the
traveling lips found his left nipple and began teasing it, the tongue
finally flicking out over it before the hot mouth claimed it in earnest.

     "Oh, God...yeah," Daryl groaned, arching into the stimulation. 
The tortured nipple was released from its hot prison as Draven traveled
to its mate, giving it the same treatment.  

     Albrecht flipped their positions again, knowing fully that
anytime he got an upper hand in this passionate wrestling match, it was
granted to him.   The power that lurked beneath the quiet, gentle
surface of the man beneath him was never far from his thoughts.  

     He kissed his way down Draven's neck, relieved to find that the
flesh there was warm with their passion.   Eric had been granted a
second life, and though its term was unknown, it was obvious that he
was fully alive in every important sense of the term.  

     He found his way down Eric's smooth chest to a nipple that was
already taut with arousal.  If his mouth hadn't been too busy, he'd have
smiled at the surprised little jerk and then groan of pleasure from his
lover.  Two strong hands came up on either side of his head and pulled
him up, Draven locking their mouths together, dragging them into a
fiercely passionate kiss as strong arms moved to pull Albrecht in,
trapping him against the other man's body.  He responded in kind,
winding his arms possessively around this lover that was forbidden to
him by every rule in the book and yet desired more than any other he'd
ever had.

     Knowing Draven's capacity to kiss literally unendingly,
Albrecht finally broke the kiss, scattering smaller ones over the other
man's face, feeling a surge of desire to obliterate somehow the pain and
sorrow that always seemed so present there.

     Seemingly unable to ignore their aroused state any longer, Eric
thrust up against Daryl, dragging the first of many hoarse cries from his
throat as they began a rhythm that was torturous in its pleasurable
intensity.  

     The cry that tore loose from Eric's throat was loud, deep, primal
and resounded in the silent house.  Daryl felt his own climax building
just before it tore through him like lightning, and he called out Eric's
name as their seed spilled and mingled between them.

     Albrecht groped for the discarded blanket and pulled it over
them both, knowing he should worry about the sticky mess they were
in, but not really caring.  The sun was rising now, and he didn't care
about that either.  

     Eric was sprawled across him, head on his shoulder, dark silky
hair hiding his face, arm draped over Albrecht's chest ending with a
hand that curled somewhat possessively over Daryl's other shoulder.

     "You still with me?"  he asked gently, pulling a few wisps of
hair back from the serene face.

     "Always will be," Eric responded, finally opening those
incomparable eyes and smiling.  "It's getting light."

     "I know you probably can't sleep, but do you mind resting here
with me a while?  We mere mortals get a little tuckered out after sex."

     "Don't you want me to leave in case--"

     "I don't have to be in until noon, and with the power outage,
Cordelia's probably going to stick around and help her mom out--she
hasn't been very well and her father's on a skiing trip with his brothers
right now, so the whole power outage thing will be hard on her."

     "Ah."  Eric nodded a little.  There was a moment or two of
silence.  "That was pretty amazing."

     "Yeah, it went pretty well, didn't it?"  Daryl asked in response,
smiling.

     "Better get some sleep before you go to work."

     "You're right.  You're not going to take off on me while I'm
asleep are you?"

     "Not unless you want me to."

     "I want you right here."  There was a long pause.  "If you could
stay right here with me always, it would be fine by me."

     "Me too.  But we'll take what we can get, huh?"  Eric pushed
himself up on one elbow and smiled down at his lover.  

     "Sounds like a lot of stolen moments."  Daryl sighed, then
smiled a little sadly at Eric.  

     "Technically speaking," Eric began in that light-hearted, casual
manner that always made Albrecht smile in the worst possible
moments, "my whole life is one big stolen moment.  So I can deal.  Can
you?"  he asked, his expression turning serious.

     "Yeah, I can deal."

     "Then we're okay."  Draven settled back into position, head
back on Albrecht's shoulder.

     "This isn't exactly sexy pillow talk, but there's something I've
been meaning to ask you.  Since the club closed down, what are you
going to do about a job?"

     "I don't know," Eric responded.  "India did some real creative
bookkeeping to pay me in cash.  It's sort of hard to deal with the IRS
when you're dead."

     "Oh, I don't know.  If you can find a way for them to tax the
dead, I'm sure they'd be delighted to work with you."  That brought a
laugh from Draven.

     "They say the only two sure things are death and taxes.  Now
that I know one of them's iffy, I guess I don't feel much like worrying
about the other."

     "Landlord been on your back yet?"

     "I paid him last month's rent.  Good thing I don't eat."

     "We'll figure something out.  Don't worry about it."

     "We, huh?"

     "Yeah, *we*.  Sounds kind of nice, doesn't it?"

     "Real nice.  I haven't been part of a 'we' in a long time."

     "You're part of one now.  Get used to it."

     "Shh."  Draven moved up on his elbow again.  

     "What?"

     "I heard something."  Draven was sitting up, his whole body on
alert.  Even then, the warning was too late.  The front door opened, and
there were footsteps on the stairs.  Distinctly *female* footsteps, high
heels echoing on the hardwood floor.

     "Shit," Albrecht muttered, just as Cordelia came into view.

     "Dar--" The name she had begun to call out died in her throat as
she took in the scene in front of her.   "What are you doing?"  She
looked puzzled.  

     "There's probably not much point in saying 'this isn't what it
looks like', is there?"  Daryl asked, defeated.  He glanced over to see
Draven's reaction, his eyes widening when he saw that he was alone on
the floor by the fireplace.  

     "Maybe you could tell me what it's supposed to look like?"  She
crossed her arms and stared at her significant other as he sat amidst
scattered pillows and sofa cushions, naked except for a blanket draped
over his lap.  "Let's take a look at the evidence."  She walked over to
the area.  "I see two cups, I see your black sweats but I also see your
jeans, your sweater, your turtleneck--so where is she, huh?"  Cordelia
shot a look at Daryl that was pure daggers.  "I don't believe you."  She
turned on her heel and strode toward the door.

     "Cordelia, wait!"  Daryl jumped up and grabbed the black
sweatpants, yanking them on even as he tried to hobble after his
departing girlfriend.  After shoving his feet into some old sneakers, he
chased her out to her car in the driveway, barely keeping his balance on
the icy pavement.

     "Oh, for God's sake, Daryl, go back inside and put on some
clothes."  She spared him only a brief glance as she made it to her car
and unlocked the door.

     "Cordie, please, let me explain--"

     "Explain what?  You obviously found a way to keep yourself
entertained last night.  This is really special.  I spend the night at my
mother's house, and in that one night I'm not right around the corner or
likely to show up, you pull a stunt like this.  I know we're not married
yet but I thought we had an understanding."

     "We did...  I mean we do.  Look, can't we go back inside and
talk about this?"

     "There's nothing to talk about, Daryl.  Are you going to stand
there and tell me you were alone last night?"

     "No," he said softly, the defeat clear in his voice.  "But I'd like a
chance to explain--"

     "You did have sex with another woman, right?"

     "No."

     "Oh, right.  You just fell asleep naked after having a long talk."

     "It wasn't a woman."

     "Wait a minute.  Are you telling me...you were with a *man*?"

     "Look, the only reason I'm telling you is that I want you to
understand that it wasn't any reflection on you--"

     "You're gay," she said, deadpan, the disbelief clear in her voice. 
"I'm Mother Teresa.  Give me some credit here, Daryl.  We've been
sleeping together close to a year, and now you're going to tell me you're
gay."

     "I didn't say that.  I said I was with a man last night."

     "Okay, and the difference between those two conclusions
is...??"

     "If we could go inside, talk--"

     "No thanks.  I've heard all I need to.  I'll pick up the rest of my
things while you're at work and leave my keys on the kitchen table." 
She got into the car but Daryl grabbed the edge of the door before she
could close it.

     "Cordelia, please, don't leave like this.  Let me explain.  I love
you--"

     "Maybe you do, but all along you've been unwilling to make any
kind of commitment to me, and now I know why.  I won't live out the
rest of my life being your cover story so you can have your male lovers
without the PD finding out.  Now please let go of the door."

     "That isn't how it is, baby.  Please listen to me."

     "Don't 'baby' me.  Go cry on your boyfriend's shoulder and let
me get on with my life."  She yanked the door shut and started up the
engine, speeding backwards out of the driveway and leaving in a squeal
of tires.  Daryl sighed, watching the car disappear down the street,
catching the inquisitive glance from his neighbor across the street as
she picked up her morning paper from the porch.  Shaking his head, he
walked back up the front steps and into the house.  

     Entering the living room, he was surprised to see Draven sitting
on the edge of a chair, clad in the black clothes he arrived in the night
before.

     "Where'd you go, man?"  Daryl asked, picking up the sweat
shirt and putting it on before moving closer to Draven.

     "Sorry about the cups and clothes.  I can make myself scarce
occasionally, but I haven't figured out how to take a bunch of other
stuff with me yet."

     "Oh, man."  Daryl dropped into the couch, leaning his head
back.  "This is a disaster."

     "Could've been worse--she could have seen who you were
with."

     "I told her it was a man."

     "Why?"

     "I thought maybe if she thought I wasn't with another woman...I
don't know.  She asked me point blank if I'd had sex with another
woman last night, and I don't ever lie to her.  I just told the truth before
I knew what I was doing."

     "I'm really sorry about this.  I knew it was a mistake coming
over here last night.  I have no right to show up in your world and
screw things up this way."  Draven was up and pacing now, his words
hitting Albrecht like a ton of bricks, making it hard to gather his
thoughts.

     "It wasn't a mistake."  Albrecht stood and moved over to
intercept the pacing man with his hands on Draven's shoulders.  "It isn't
your fault that Cordelia found out.  You offered to leave several times. 
I wanted you to stay, and I didn't think she'd come here this morning."

     "Shelly's dead...gone.  On the other side. Cordelia isn't.  Just
because I'm alone isn't a reason for me to ruin your chances with the
woman you love."

     "I love Cordelia, that's true."  Albrecht caught Draven's face in
his hands gently.  "But I love you too.  Right now, that feeling is
running deeper than any of the others.  I don't know why.  I can't
explain it."

     "I feel the same way," Eric said quietly, smiling softly, bringing
his hands up to hold onto Daryl's wrists.  "Last night was a fantasy.  I
just don't see how it could work in reality."  

     "We'll figure something out.  We have to," Daryl said solemnly,
pulling the other man into his arms.  "I'm not letting you go."

     "I'm not going anywhere.  As long as I have control over it." 
Eric held on tightly, as if by doing so he could keep himself grounded
and alive on the earthly side of the barrier.  He finally moved back,
smiling slightly.  "I *am* sorry about what happened this morning
though."

     "Yeah, well, thanks for trying to make a fast getaway.  At least
she won't start looking too hard into your life and activities.  I think you
could have looked forward to some scrutiny if she thought it was you."

     "Oh, you mean 'The Wacko Who Claims to be Draven'?"  Eric
snickered a little.  "Hey, if Prince can be 'The Artist Formerly Known
as Prince', maybe this title'll work for me."  Albrecht smirked despite
his best efforts not to let Eric's humor lift his spirits.  "Why don't you
go buy your lady some flowers and do some groveling.  It might work."

     "On Cordelia?  Not likely."  Albrecht frowned.  "Why do you
want me to try so hard to get back with her?"

     "You love her, right?"  Draven sat against the back of the couch
and then looked up at Albrecht, a couple stray wisps of hair hanging in
his eyes.  "You know this can't work--it can't be more than...something
on the side.  We can exactly start going steady here."

     "I know this is a challenge.  I thought we agreed we were up to
it."

     "Up to the lovemaking and the feelings...sure, I'm up for that. 
But I guess in the cold reality of dawn..."  Draven shrugged.  "I know I
don't have a right to anything like this.  Not here, not on this plane."

     "Yeah, well, you had a right to not be brutally murdered, too,
and no one respected that one.  Why don't you have a right to find love
in this lifetime?"

     "I don't know.  I was sent here to set things right.  Maybe I'm
just afraid of my coach turning into a pumpkin at midnight, so to
speak."

     "You think some cosmic power is going to haul you back across
the divide if you fall in love on this side of it?"

     "Maybe.  I don't *know* any of the answers here!"  Draven was
up and pacing again.

     "Love was ripped away from you the last time around.  Maybe
finding it again is part of setting things right.  Did that ever occur to
you?"

     "You sure you're not the lawyer instead of Cordelia?  You're
awfully damned good at arguing a point."  

     "I just don't see why you're so set against this all of a sudden. 
What happened with Cordelia was bound to happen.  Maybe not this
way, but we haven't been perfect with each other for a long time. 
Maybe never.  There was going to come a break.  It was a matter of
how and when.  And yes, when I have time to think about it, it's gonna
hurt like hell.  But changes do.  You of all people know that."

     "I should probably go.  You have to get some rest before work-"

     "Yeah, sure.  I'm going to sleep between now and noon." 
Albrecht sighed with a slight degree of exasperation.   "I thought
something special happened here last night.  And all you're doing this
morning is shooting it down."

     "I can't take it again."

     "Take what?"

     "Losing someone.  I can't love someone like that and then...live
through it being taken away.  Not ever again."  Draven's head was bent,
his hair curtaining his face from Albrecht's view.  

     "You're scared," he said quietly.  There was a tight nod.  "That's
understandable, man.  But if you live your life that way, you lose the
chance to ever feel anything again.  To love again."  Albrecht moved
closer to the dejected-looking soul still leaning against the back of the
couch.  "Look at me, Eric."  He waited what seemed an eternity until
the other man followed the soft command.  "I'm healthy, I'm alive, I'm
here...and when I say I love you, it's the truth.  I'm not going to leave
you."  He held Draven's gaze a for long seconds before Eric turned
away again.  

     "What if I have to leave you?"

     "You were able to choose to stay here.  I think that's
significant."
     
     "But I may not always have a choice."

     "None of us do, man.  I don't have a choice when I'm going to
the other side.  Neither does Cordelia, or Sarah, or Darla, or Mrs.
Hooper across the street or you.  Nobody gets to pick that out.  If we
give up love because we might get called to the other side, nobody'd
ever love anybody.  We *all* get called over there eventually.  I could
get it tomorrow or when I'm ninety.  You could get it tomorrow or 100
years from now."

     "In one night, I screwed up your whole life.  Not only is
Cordelia history, but she knows you were with a man last night."

     "Cordelia knows what I told her.  That wasn't your fault.  As for
it ruining my life--she's not a vindictive person.  I don't think she'll
make it a point to harass me or expose my sexual orientation or choices
at the PD.  You pulled your Houdini routine when she was coming in,
remember?"

     "For all the good it did."  Eric pushed himself away from the
couch and headed for the door.

     "Hey, where do you think you're going?"

     "I need to think."

     "Hey."

     "What?"  Draven turned around, and watched Albrecht as he
crossed the room until the two men were standing almost nose to nose.  

     "I'll probably get off work about ten or so tonight.  You
planning on being home?"

     "I hadn't thought that far ahead.  I can be."

     "Maybe we can get together then."

     "Okay.  You want to come to my place?"

     "If that's all right."

     "Sure."  Eric nodded.  Daryl leaned forward and caught his lips
by surprise, winding his arms around Draven's unresisting body.  They
kissed long and deep, until Albrecht pulled back, reaching up with both
hands to smooth the fly-away hair out of Eric's face and letting a hand
rest on each cheek.  

     "Don't be afraid of what you're feeling.  I'm not going to hurt
you."

     "I know.  We'll talk tonight, huh?"  Eric forced a little smile and
moved away, heading for the door.  When he was at the foot of the
stairs, his hand on the doorknob, he turned to look back up at Daryl.  "I
love you, Albrecht.  Remember that."

     "Ditto, Draven.  You remember that too."  Albrecht smiled as
Draven nodded and then walked through the door, pulling it shut
behind him.

********

     "Now I know what going home for lunch really means," Blair
said, grinning up at Jim.  As he lay on his back in the bed, Jim
straddled him, their fingers laced together as the larger man lovingly
held Blair's arms back over his head against the mattress.  With free
access to Blair's body, Jim was nibbling his way down soft skin of
Blair's throat.

     "Beats the hell out of WonderBurger," Jim quipped, nipping at
Blair's collarbone.  

     "Think Simon'll mind if we're a little late getting back?"  Blair
asked, wrapping strong legs around Jim's hips.

     "Is this your way of telling me to get on with it, baby?"  Jim
pulled back to look Blair in the eyes, smiling affectionately.  Blair
nodded.  "Sorry, sweetheart.  We're taking it slow and easy this time."

     Jim wound his arms tightly around Blair, continuing the trail of
kisses and licks down Blair's throat, over his shoulders, and finally
moving down to take a taut nipple into his mouth.  The man beneath
him groaned and arched into the stimulation, which prompted Jim to
move from the first nipple to the second, repeating the process there.  

     With his hands freed up now, Blair slid his fingers into Jim's
hair and tried to keep him centered over the tight bud of flesh that was
being tormented into hardness.  In spite of Blair's best efforts, Jim
moved away from the spot and moved up to kiss Blair's mouth
thoroughly.  

     "I love you," he breathed against Blair's lips, then kissed him
again.

     "Love you too," Blair sighed, smiling up at his lover.  

     Jim slid back down in the bed until he was in the right position
to continue kissing and licking at the soft skin of Blair's stomach,
loving the little spasms of arousal combined with laughter that just the
right flick of the tongue could bring.  The large erection was poking
against Jim's chin as he nibbled at the area around Blair's navel.

     "You ready for me, baby?"  Jim asked teasingly.  

     "Oh, man, *so* ready," Blair panted, drawing up his knees.

     "Shh.  Not so fast," Jim admonished, ignoring the offered
opening to Blair's body and instead, taking the straining erection into
his mouth.  Blair cried out then, his legs resting on Jim's shoulders.  
     
     "Jim...oh, yeah...like that..."  Blair muttered somewhat
incoherently.  Jim just smiled around his mouthful and kept working,
swirling his tongue around the firm flesh in all the ways he knew drove
Blair crazy.   When he saw that the younger man had thrown his arms
back over his head against the bed, his head was back, exposing the
long, passion-marked throat, and he moaned incoherently and
continuously, he released the hard, wet organ from his mouth.  Blair
whimpered with need and finally rallied to open his eyes.

     "Want you to come while I'm inside you, baby," Jim said softly,
reaching under Blair's thighs to push the sturdy legs back again,
exposing Blair's center.  

     "Oh, yeah," Blair groaned in agreement, helpfully finding the
lube where it had been discarded on the bed and handing it to Jim.  

     "Love watching my fingers moving in and out of you...getting
you ready for me," Jim whispered.  "When you push down like that, I
know you want it.  I know it's time."

     "Please," Blair groaned, bearing down on Jim's fingers again.

     "Please what, angel?  This?"  Jim found Blair's prostate and
rubbed one insistent finger firmly over it.  Blair let out a scream and his
entire body stiffened.  

     "Want...your cock...doing that..."  Blair gasped.

     "You and me both, sweetheart."  Jim withdrew his fingers and
coated himself with the lube.  He slid carefully into Blair's passage
until he was fully sheathed.  "Love you, baby," Jim sighed, starting to
move slowly, tuning all his senses into Blair's heartbeat and respiration,
monitoring his responses to be sure he was comfortable and ready to
enjoy himself.

     "Harder," Blair pleaded, thrusting up to meet Jim's strokes. 
Obliging happily, Jim angled his movements to nail Blair's prostate
over and over, and before long, he had his lover emitting one long, low,
primal groan of pleasure that never really ended, but just changed pitch
and volume depending on the force of the stroke.

     "So good...God, Chief...so perfect..."  Jim grunted, wanting to
say something more to Blair but not having the power over his speech
or his thought processes at the moment.

     "Closer," Blair managed, shifting his legs to wrap around Jim's
body as the larger man lowered himself, understanding the command
and taking Blair in his arms until they were completely and literally
wrapped up in each other.  "Love you...inside me," he muttered into
Jim's ear. 

     "My life," Jim whispered back, and from the tightening of
Blair's grip, his foggy brain knew it had been understood as an
endearment.  Blair was his life, his heart and his soul, and never did he
feel that as acutely as he did when they made love, and were physically
one.  They were one in so many other ways.

     Blair let out a couple of strained little groans, and Jim felt the
beginnings of the spasms of his lover's climax.  The intensified
stimulation of his heated cock brought Jim to the edge, and they came
together with a symphony of groans and cries of each other's names.

     Jim carefully eased his softened organ out of his lover, then
gathered him close again, turning them on their sides, still facing each
other.  

     "Wish we didn't have to go back in today," Blair said, just
before his mouth was captured and put to better use.  When Jim pulled
back, he smiled softly at his lover.

     "Just a good incentive for us to get everything wrapped up so
we can come home."

     "Yeah, I wouldn't wanna miss meeting with Bradley Morgan
this afternoon."

     "We knew we were going to deal with a lot of shit arresting his
kid.  People like them...they think they're above the law.  And what was
Sheila Foster anyway--just a waitress in a bar."

     "Yeah, people like that measure the value of a life in dollars
and cents."

     "And social clout.  Snot-nosed little shit never expected the
murder of a bar maid to be sufficient reason for the cops to take on
Daddy and his lawyers."

     "He could still get off."

     "Not as long as we've got that bloody washcloth you found
behind his washing machine.  That was a hell of a piece of police work,
Chief."  Jim looked down into Blair's eyes.  "I can't even tell you how
proud of you I am for that."

     "I just looked behind a washer, Jim.  It was dumb luck."

     "No one else, including me, had looked behind it."

     "You would have.  You'd have smelled it if it hadn't been for all
the cigarette smoke."  Blair referred to the fact that the suspect, Charles
Morgan, was a heavy smoker, and was present and smoking when the
police searched the house.

     "Either way, the point is, you found it, and it's the key to this
whole case."

     "It's almost one."

     "Yeah.  We better go grab a shower or we're never going to get
back there by two."

     "We were supposed to be back by one-fifteen."
     
     "Truck stalled?"  Jim offered, sitting up.

     "We almost flooded the engine trying to get it started..."

     "So we had to just sit it out a few minutes, and then tried it
again..."

     "And it took off.  You really should get that old truck replaced,
or at least serviced," Blair teased, following Jim downstairs to the
bathroom, where they both looked forward to one more diversion
before getting back to work.

********