Title: A Trout In The Milk

Author: Tray

Disclaimer: I don’t own them or the concepts. I’m not making any money.

Challenge Response to "A Stranger In Our House"

Rating: Adult/R, this has m/m relationships and implied torture

Author's notes below, which may be construed as spoilers, so proceed with caution.

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Author’s Notes: The title comes from a Henry David Thoreau quote: "Some circumstantial evidence is very

strong, as when you find a trout in the milk." From the Journal (c. November 11-14, 1850)

GSR stands for Gun Shot Residue and includes several different forensic tests. Burnt and unburnt particles

may be looked for microscopically and by SEM. They come from the powder that is used to propel a projectile. The presence of such particles will usually indicate that the shooter was close to the target.

The reasonable man standard is a legal yardstick that is used when gauging a situation or assessing circumstances and evidence. The question to ask: What would a reasonable man believe? This standard of

proof is below that of probable cause.

Circumstantial evidence is evidence where a fact is inferred from the circumstances. It is not direct in

nature.

Prima facie evidence is something that looks good on its face, such that unless something contradicts it,

the evidence is sufficient.

Disclaimer: I don’t own them or the concepts. I’m not making any money.

A Trout In The Milk

by Tray

Monday Night/Tuesday Morning:

Walter came gradually awake, feeling as if something weren’t quite right, but unable to determine exactly

what was wrong. He strained his senses, tracking through the room by memory. Nothing seemed out of

place; there weren’t any invaders in the bedroom.

He finally opened his eyes, coming fully alert, and scanned the room. Empty, just as he had known it

would be.

He turned to his companion, reaching out a hand, and realized what had woken him.

Adam was pale and sweating, trembling in a tightly controlled way.

Damn, Walter thought, things had been getting better. And he felt his heart ache. It was at these darkest

times of night, when nightmares and shadow couldn’t be overwhelmed by the simple normalcy of everyday life, that Adam suffered the most.

He reached out a hand and shook Adam’s shoulder gently. "Hey, Adam," he called softly. "Come on now,

wake up." It took a few seconds of shaking gently and speaking smoothly, but soon Adam opened his eyes.

"Walt?" he asked, looking about the room, unsure if the dream or the bedroom was actual reality.

Walter gathered the other man into his arms, pressing his cheek into the soft hair. "You were dreaming," he

said, keeping his voice as bland as possible.

Adam stroked down Walter’s arm, as if to ground himself in the realness of where he was. He was quiet

and the trembling had ceased a few moments after he had woken.

Walter held him for another long minute then released him. "Adam, I know that the middle of the night isn’t the best time to discuss this…."

"Then, let’s not," Adam interrupted.

Walter shook his head. "It’s been several months now. I want you to accept counseling. Something, Adam.

Please. It isn’t getting any better."

"I can’t," Adam said adamantly. "No counseling. No doctors." Adam took a deep breath. "I’ll be fine. I

just need a little time."

"Then, something," Walter implored. "Talk to me. Talk to someone. You can’t keep holding this in."

Adam seemed to consider this. Shortly, he gave a small nod. "All right, then." He looked over to the

clock, which blinked out that it was just after one in the morning. He reached over to the desk for the

phone handset, crawling out of bed.

Walter watched him. Just like that? Adam had been plagued by bad dreams and memories for months now,

absolutely refusing any kind of help or treatment, and now he’d agreed in the middle of the night. Walter

considered for a moment. Well, he hadn’t mentioned what he’d agreed on.

Adam held the phone loosely in one hand, pausing at the door. "Don’t wait up. I shouldn’t be long,

though." The way he said it implied strongly that he expected complete privacy for his conversation.

Walter nodded. He wondered who Adam was calling. It was practically the middle of the night. Who did Adam know that would be up at this hour?

Walter leaned back, determined to stay awake until Adam returned to bed. He had known there were bound

to be rough spots, and when he thought about it, he was actually amazed at Adam’s resiliency. He wondered if he pushed at Adam because deep within himself, it was his own feelings of being an inadequate protector that were assaulted.

Gradually, he realized that Adam’s voice had risen and that the door hadn’t clicked shut fully. He could

hear Adam’s side of the conversation. Uneasy over the eavesdropping, but unable to resist in case he heard

something, anything, that might be used to help, he started to pay attention.

The conversation started off with the regular exchanged pleasantries and Adam apologizing, barely, for the interruption.

"I just wanted to touch base," Adam said. The other person on the line seemed to take a long time to say

something.

"I know you’re sorry and I don’t care, Joe." A long pause. "Yeah, I know they’re there. Two of them."

Another pause. "A blind man could pick them out." Another pause. "I’m not exactly happy about it, but

unless they go breaking oaths like their associate, then there won’t be a problem."

Walter frowned. That did not sound like the conversation that he had been expecting. What oaths?

Two of what? Who was this Joe? He leaned forward, uneasy.

The conversation changed pitch, Adam changing from agitated to weary. "I’ve been better. I’ve certainly

been worse."

Walter’s chest constricted at those last words, remembering what had constituted the worse.

"No, don’t bother. I’m fine here. I’ll call if I need to. Yeah, tell him whatever you want. Tell him

I’m in Bangladesh for all I care."

Walter started to get out of the bed, but then he heard Adam end the call. He leaned back.

Adam came into the room, absently playing with the phone, and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Adam?" Walter asked, unsure what to do next. It hadn’t sounded as though Adam had called someone who had given him much comfort, or anyone even remotely like a counselor. "Who?"

Adam turned back to him and a mischievous glint was in his eyes. "Just a friend who knows who I am and likes me anyway. Well, most of the time." Adam grinned and licked his lips. He pounced forward, catching

Walter’s arms and pulling himself up so they were face to face.

Walter groaned, half in expectant pleasure and half in certitude that he was going to be tired at work again

tomorrow.

*****

Tuesday:

Walter Skinner rubbed at his eyes as he tried to focus once more on the report in front of him. It wasn’t

doing any good. It was a solid report, but about as interesting as peeling paint. He stood and stretched,

popping a few disks, before he wandered over to his window. He was lucky and had a window that faced out onto the street, where things bustled, instead of onto the courtyard in the middle of the building. Nothing much ever happened in the courtyard.

He pressed his fingers against the glass, pleased at the coolness. The office did seem a little warm and dry.

As usual, when he wasn’t focused solely on paperwork, his thoughts drifted back to Adam. There was a long road ahead of them, that was for certain. Sometimes he wondered at his lack of reservations at getting

into this relationship. It certainly shouldn’t have ever happened. Except that Adam had that mixture of hardness and vulnerability about him that just called to him.

An image of how he had first seen Adam flitted through his mind and he shuddered involuntarily. No, he

wouldn’t think about it. He would put it out of his mind.

He found himself drawn to his filing cabinet, though. He put his hand on the top drawer, where the file sat

inside, all the papers safely tucked away inside the waxy envelope with bland little stickers on the outside that catalogued both the crime and filing areas. One bit of information was so very innocuous and the other so full of everything else.

The case wasn’t over yet. Evidence was still making the rounds in the lab, agents were still conducting follow-up interviews, lawyers were busy preparing writs and killing chickens in the middle of the night, or whatever it was that lawyers did.

He remembered the beginning of that case. If it hadn’t been for that one agent....

Walter felt his throat catch and he tried the thought out again. If it hadn’t been for one bored Special Agent who had been so frustrated by his going nowhere surveillance on a suspect that he had become curious about the purchases of a repeat customer, then it could still be going on. Or worse, Skinner thought, Adam would be dead now and no one would have ever known.

Skinner picked up the placard with his name embossed on it. How had it started?

Oh, yes. Agent Andy Cyman had come into the office.

"Sir, I know this is going to sound a bit unusual," Cyman had said. "I don’t have enough yet for a warrant and this isn’t even a case, but I know there’s something wrong. This subject is buying the oddest items."

"Like what?" He remembered responding, somewhat absentmindedly, if he were to be truthful. There was

a long weekend ahead and fall was in full swing. He was considering a trip to the Shenandoah Valley.

Perhaps some hiking.

"Straps and buckles. Leather. Things you would use for binding."

"He’s not purchasing anything illegal, is he?"

"No, Sir." Agent Cyman held his ground. "But it is suspicious. He’s been in repeatedly. A few times he’s come in with bruises. A black eye."

"How long have you been watching this store?"

"Three weeks, sir. My main subject works there. That’s where we think he sells his drugs, under cover of the legitimate operations of the farming store." Cyman then added, "I thought that this customer might be purchasing drugs from the subject, but I haven’t been able to nail it down."

Walter had considered and then said a quiet good-bye to his dreams of hiking for the weekend. They’d

contacted the local police department and the state police about the subject. The man was known to be

some kind of peeping tom, always found hanging about in alleys and such. He’d never done anything illegal, never had any weapons on him, but it seemed he spent a lot of his time hanging out in public places.

Restaurant owners recognized him and said the man could nurse a latte for hours, doing nothing more than

staring out into the street and scribbling in what appeared to be a diary. Beat cops had noted him in public areas and were always on the verge of citing him for loitering, except that he didn’t appear homeless or hostile. The local police and state police had gotten the warrant, the FBI had rendered assistance, and they’d gone into the house.

A buzzer sounded. Walter broke from his ruminations and answered the phone. When he was done, he noticed that it was time to go home. Quickly, he cleaned off his desk and left, locking the office behind him.

When he arrived home, Adam was already there and halfway through with making dinner. Walter took a sniff of the aroma scenting the air. Adam was a good cook, if a bit eccentric. Where he ever came up with

the odd notions that he did was well beyond the reasoning of any sane man.

Today’s dinner was something more ordinary. Adam had mixed together a stir fry, although some of the ingredients looked suspiciously like squid.

Adam stopped stirring for a moment, dashing over and kissing Walter soundly on the lips. Then he was gone, keeping the vegetables from burning.

Walter noticed that the television was turned on to some shopping network, with pretty women hawking gold and diamond necklaces, and that the radio in the kitchen was also on, calmly going over the weather in

the entire region in painstaking detail.

Walter grimaced. He turned the radio off and turned the television down, but not off. "Bad day?" he

asked.

Adam shrugged, turning the radio back on. "Not half so bad as most."

Walter put his hand back on the radio. "Please?"

Adam paused in his cooking. He shook his head. "You can lower it, but leave it on. It was too quiet today."

Walter nodded, running his hand down Adam’s shoulder and to his back. "As you wish." He left the volume where it was. It was too small a thing not to grant. Although, it did represent a set back. Until last

night’s nightmare, he hadn’t come home to a sonic wall of infomercials and weather reports in over a week.

After dinner, Adam retired to his small study. Walter stood in the doorway, watching him for a long moment. The radio in the corner murmured in tenor tones.

Adam glanced back. "Going to watch me all night?"

"I was hoping we could talk."

Adam rolled his eyes. "Oh. I see."

Walter shook his head and went into the room. "No, I don’t think you do." He caught Adam’s hands in his own. "Adam, it isn’t going to fix itself. Talk to me, talk to a counselor, talk to someone."

"I did?"

"No. Whoever you talked to last night, they might have helped you last night, but it isn’t a long term solution."

Adam pulled his hands away, disgust on his face. "I’m fine. I’ll be fine. I am peachy keen, jellybean."

Walter grabbed the errant hands again, prepared to be patient and calm and understanding. He couldn’t get

angry. "You aren’t," he insisted. "You haven’t dealt with it yet. You’re repressing it all, keeping it all under lock and key. If you don’t let it out now, it’s going to build until it blows."

Adam gave him a smirk. Then he leaned in, catching Walter in an open mouthed kiss.

"We’re supposed to be talking. You’re trying to distract me," Walter complained.

"No," Adam breathed against the skin on his neck. "Not trying. I am distracting you."

Walter let himself be distracted.

*****

Wednesday:

At lunchtime the next day, Walter decided to skip lunch and run instead. He could catch a snack later if he was hungry. He needed to exercise a bit, keep himself in shape if he was going to try and keep up with his much younger lover. He smiled to himself. The talk hadn’t been much of a success, but then sometimes talk was overrated.

He left the building and headed for the Mall, carefully jogging around the pedestrians on the sidewalks. Even after all this time and with all the development that had occurred it was amazing that the National Mall was still grass and not covered by more buildings.

He almost ran through the Sculpture Garden without noticing Adam.

Adam? He stopped running, letting the flow of people wash around him. Sometimes he and Adam met here to have lunch. Adam worked not much further away at one of the think tanks. Lunches together tended to go long, so neither man was inclined to meet for lunch unless they were assured of being able to take extra

time without trouble from work.

But Adam was here with someone else.

Walter looked around. Adam and his friend were sitting on the curved stone bench around the center pool, which was concrete now since it was too late for the ice skating rink and too early to be filled with water for the summer fountain.

He studied them for a moment. Everything in their postures indicated aloofness from each other, although

they were sitting so very close together. It’s probably just someone from work, Walter tried to convince himself.

But a younger someone. This man wasn’t somewhere in his early fifties like Walter was. This man was in the prime of his life. He looked strong and well built.

They look good together, he thought before he realized it. Nonsense. He was getting carried away. This was

just a lunch with a friend. He should either continue with his run or he should go over there and introduce

himself.

Then he saw the strange man lift a hand and caress Adam’s cheek.

Walter stepped back. A moment later he’d made a decision.

There. He could edge over there into that scrub, behind those odd little figure sculptures, and he’d never be seen. He squashed the knowledge that what he was doing was rude at the very least.

"…why Joe told you where I was, I will never fathom."

"Because he’s worried about you. Because one of his own did this."

"Fine, then. You’ve come and checked up on me, now go report home like a good boy scout."

The other man just laughed. Then he said, "Come back with me. We can go to the island. Rest until you’re

stronger, recovered."

"Holy Ground isn’t the answer, MacLeod. I could have been in bloody Notre Dame and it wouldn’t have changed a thing."

Walter frowned. He felt the prickle of jealousy flare. This MacLeod was obviously a close friend at the very least. Adam was talking about the incident, something he almost never did.

"No, I guess it wouldn’t have," MacLeod agreed regretfully. He reached his hand up again and cupped

the back of Adam’s head. The movement was less that of a lover and more like a fatherly movement. "You’re getting thin again. Have you been training?"

Adam brushed him off. "I’ll survive."

"I’ve no doubt." MacLeod smiled lightly. "So, tell me what you’ve been up to. You’ve gone from researching yourself to researching other people for once?"

Adam laughed. "It’s a think tank, Highlander. People come to us with problems, we research it, come up with solutions. And get paid a lot of money."

"Sounds like a good job for you."

"I seem to do reasonably well. I suppose it helps to have a wide range of experience to draw upon."

MacLeod laughed again. "Oh, I bet."

Walter wondered what had been so amusing.

"I’ve met someone," Adam said suddenly.

MacLeod stilled. "Joe said you had."

"He’s a good man."

Walter felt frozen over. Not, I love him, but he’s a good man? Walter felt jealousy flood through him

again, along with a sense of apprehension. This MacLeod was obviously a previous lover, come to try

and claim Adam again. And Adam didn’t seem disinclined. No, Walter wanted to shout. Where the

hell were you when Adam needed you six months ago? Where the hell were you before, when your presence could have prevented everything that happened?

Suddenly, both men stiffened. MacLeod stood up, looking around, one hand straying to his side.

Walter tensed. Did MacLeod have a gun? It could be legitimate. He might be a law enforcement agent of

some kind.

"Someone you know?" MacLeod asked, voice hard.

"No," Adam replied sarcastically. "This is D.C. Lots of people. Bound to be a couple of us about, you

know. Look, he’s gone. I need to go too. Lunch is over."

"I’ll come by tonight."

"No." Adam shook his head. "I don’t want Walter to see you. It’ll just raise too many questions."

"But?"

"No. Stay away." Adam turned and started to walk away, then stopped.

MacLeod walked over to him and placed one strong hand on Adam’s shoulder. Walter couldn’t hear this final exchange; they had walked too far away. He waited until they broke apart and left the garden.

Walter didn’t feel like running anymore. He needed to get back to the office.

Thursday Evening:

Things were quiet the next day. Walter resisted the almost overpowering urge to skulk around the Sculpture
Garden, looking to see if Adam had another rendezvous. It wasn’t until that evening that something happened.

It was after dinner, while they both drowsed on the couch with the television on, that Adam suddenly lifted his head. He looked around, as if expecting someone to come crashing into the room. When nothing happened, he put his head down again.

"You okay?" Walter had asked, sleepily stroking Adam’s soft hair. It had been almost easy to forget the overheard conversation in the Sculpture Garden from yesterday. Adam had actually seemed much better in
the last day. He’d slept soundly through the night. The radios and the television had remained firmly off all day. Walter had almost convinced himself that the mysterious MacLeod was just a very concerned friend, and finally someone that Adam felt comfortable talking to about his experience. Walter skittered away from that a little bit. He wanted Adam to recover, to be happy and healthy and whole. But, if this MacLeod
were the reason for that conversion, then he worried that perhaps he would lose Adam to the man. And it did bother him, when he dared admit it to himself, that Adam didn’t feel that he could talk about it with
him. They were lovers, which should imply closeness. But instead of closeness, a hard shelled barrier was
there.

"Yeah," Adam mumbled, burrowing in closer, tangling their legs and arms together. "I’m fine."

Walter hadn’t realized that he’d fallen asleep until he heard the door latch snick closed.

"Adam?" But Adam was gone, which was very unusual. Adam just didn’t go out in the dark.

Walter got to his feet, hurrying over to the windows that showed the parking area. A strange car was in
front of the townhouse. He was pretty sure he could see MacLeod seated at the wheel. Adam had just gotten into the passenger side, closing the door.

Walter wondered if he would have time to get to his own car and follow them before they pulled out of the
lot. Oh, how low he had fallen. From eavesdropping to following his lover around.

But they didn’t pull away. The car just sat there. He could see that they were talking; often MacLeod
would gesticulate wildly, pointing and waving. Adam was more reserved. He seemed to hunch into his coat, as if trying to disappear.

They sat out there for a full hour. Then both men got out of the car. Walter could see Adam head straight
for the door. He started to pull back, wondering if he should confront Adam or not.

But MacLeod came with him to the door. He grabbed Adam by both his shoulders and gave him a slight
shake.

Adam made a motion to get something from his inside coat pocket and MacLeod pulled his hands away and up into the international gesture of giving up. Both smiled at each other. Then MacLeod turned away and drove off.

Walter barely made it to the couch in time. He felt Adam sweep his gaze over him and continue away, into
the rest of the house. A moment later, he heard the shower running.


Friday:

The next day he’d come home from work and neither the television nor the radio were on.

Walter walked into the kitchen where Adam was busy pounding tenderness into some steaks.

"Hey," Adam said, stopping the mallet’s beating frenzy. "You’re home on time for once. Dinner’ll be late, then." He dropped the mallet in the sink and came forward to capture Walter’s mouth.

Walter pulled out of the kiss, the taste of beer still lingering on his tongue. "You’ve been drinking."

Adam flushed. "Just half a beer. I had to open it to make the marinade. I didn’t want the rest to go to waste."

Walter leaned forward, rekindling the kiss. His heart was lighter than it had been in weeks. This was some
small progress. No radio, no television, and something akin to actual relaxation had been going on.

Adam broke the kiss and began nuzzling down his neck. Walter wrapped his arms around the man’s waist and started pulling him towards the bedroom. Dinner would be very late, indeed.

Saturday:

Walter drowsed sleepily the next morning. This was one of those rare Saturdays that he didn’t have to go
into work at all and it wasn’t even his turn to be on pager for any emergencies. Chances were very good
that he would have the whole weekend entirely free.

He reached over an arm to the other side of the bed, still thinking about all the free time that he had on
hands, and discovered that the bed was empty and cold.

He sat up. The clock read 7:03.

Where had Adam gone? He wasn’t usually an early riser, especially on the weekend when there was no
reason to get up.

The townhouse seemed unnaturally still and quiet. It didn’t feel like there was anyone else about.

Walter pushed the covers away and stood. He crossed to the second bedroom, the one they called a guest
bedroom but which actually held any number of odds, ends, and boxes never opened from previous lifetimes. This bedroom had windows that looked out upon the front area where the parking was.

Walter skimmed his fingers over the curtain and looked outside.

Adam was sitting on the front steps with his friend, MacLeod.

Walter let out a breath of relief. At least he was safe. Then other emotions started to slink past his eyes, brandishing their tawny colors. Annoyance first, because he had been worried and once worry passes, the vacuum must feed upon itself. He felt a flush of anger and jealousy. Walter tamped down the emotions but found that he couldn’t quite get rid of the fear. Who was this MacLeod and why wouldn’t Adam have even mentioned him? An old lover? A newer lover? At the very least, this was someone Adam could talk to. And Adam had been acting differently lately. Better, sounder.

Skinner felt a prickle along his skin.

He’s going to leave me, he thought. This was it.

Time to get this over with. I think it is time I had a little chat with Mr. MacLeod, Walter decided.

Walter dressed quickly in jeans and a sweatshirt. Then he went downstairs.

He leaned against the doorframe for a moment, hearing the muffled conversation from outside. Then he pulled the door open and stood in the frame, staring out.

Outside, Adam and MacLeod sat huddled next to each other on the steps. They both leapt to their feet as
the door opened.

Adam recovered first, looking first at Walter then the ground and then MacLeod. He finally settled on
looking off into the distance a ways, not really saying anything.

Walter watched as MacLeod threw a glance at Adam, as if gauging something. Then his focus came to rest
solely on him.

"Walter Skinner?" MacLeod asked.

"Yes. Who are you? What’s going on?"

MacLeod offered his hand. "I’m Duncan MacLeod. I’m a friend of Adam’s."

Walter shook the offered hand. "Adam has never mentioned you before."

MacLeod shrugged, dismissing the half accusation. He looked at Adam, who was still studying the horizon
with vapid interest. "Perhaps we should go inside and have some coffee?"

Walter acquiesced. "Not a bad idea. Come inside, then."

A few minutes later the coffee pot was dripping water through some Ethiopian beans. Adam was aloofly
sitting on the couch, flicking through television stations.

Walter started to go over to him, when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Let him be," Duncan MacLeod said. "He’s giving us time to talk."

Walter leaned back against the counter. "What’s going on?" He felt a rush of anger. "If you’re his friend where the hell were you when we hauled him out of that house? He had no one. No one to go to. No family.
No friends. Where the hell were you then?"

MacLeod had the good grace to look slightly embarrassed. "If I had known, I would have been here," he said, each word reverberating with clear conscience. "I didn’t know until much later. He never told me. I don’t live here. I live in Seacouver."

"Seacouver?" Hell, Walter thought. That was clear on the other side of the country. Only a very good, close kind of friend would travel all that way.

"Yes, Seacouver," MacLeod said. He poured two cups of coffee and started fixing each of them differently.

Skinner watched warily.

"I’m a business owner there," MacLeod told him. Then he picked up the creamed and sugared coffee and delivered it to Adam, who accepted it with a smile and a tilt of the head.

He knows how Adam likes his coffee, Walter thought. He felt the fear in him grow just a fraction greater.

MacLeod returned to the kitchen. He spoke in a very low voice. "I know some of what happened last year. I’m planning on being in town for a while. Spend some time with Adam." MacLeod’s voice made it clear that he understood Walter’s position in Adam’s life, but that he just didn’t care. He was here and he was going to spend time with Adam.

"I see," Walter replied, clenching his jaw.

"Good. Then we understand each other." MacLeod stared at him, assessing for another moment and then
stepped away. "Thank you for the coffee. I’m sure we’ll see each other again." He put down his mug of
untouched coffee.

MacLeod stepped across the room to where Adam was.

Adam stopped fidgeting with the remote and looked up.

"Breakfast tomorrow?"

Adam glanced quickly at Walter, then to MacLeod. "Yes."

MacLeod smiled tightly. "Watch your head till then." One last nod and the man was gone.

Walter waited until he heard the car turn out of the drive. Then he went and sat on the couch next to
Adam.

Adam watched him with half closed eyes.

Walter waited, but it didn’t seem that Adam wanted to start the conversation. Finally, he said, "So, this is one of your friends. I hadn’t met any before. He seems very," Walter paused, searching for a word.

"Pushy?" Adam supplied.

Walter smiled. "I was looking for a nicer way to say it, but yes. He seemed very pushy. I take it you didn’t expect him here?"

"No," Adam mumbled.

Walter played dumb. "But you called him the other night, right?"

Adam snorted. "No. I called someone else. And he told MacLeod." He grimaced and fell back on a cliché.
"With friends like these, who needs enemies?"

Walter thought about what Adam had said for a moment. He wondered if in the privacy of the car if Adam had called the man Duncan. He himself used agents’ last names all the time, almost as if that were their only name, but it had always seemed something suited to the military or to a law organization. It just felt
strange somehow to hear Adam only call someone by their last name.

Adam spoke again. "MacLeod means well. It’s his goal in life to help everyone."

Walter raised an eyebrow at that.

Adam pushed off the couch and disappeared into the rest of the condo.

Skinner watched him go and wondered how long he had left.

Monday:

Walter stared at the menu board. He’d been trying to read it for the past five minutes, but every time he’d
gotten to the daily soup his mind had drifted off to think about Adam.

Adam had gone out to breakfast with his friend Duncan MacLeod yesterday morning and had vanished for most of the day. Walter had been a little disappointed. This was his free weekend for the month, after all. It
would be several more weekends before he could turn his pager off again.

When Adam had come back, it had been like a different person had been returned to him. Adam was flushed, somehow looking as if he’d just gotten off the tennis courts after a rousing match. He was garrulous and teasing, even as MacLeod had left him on the steps.

"Don’t forget to wear your seatbelt, MacLeod. Wouldn’t want you to get into an accident and have something terrible happen to you."

Walter wondered how Adam could twist such good advice into something so mocking.

MacLeod seemed to take it in stride. He’d made a great show of buckling himself in before waving a final farewell.

Walter blinked and tried to read the menu board again. He really needed to get something for lunch.

Someone touched at his elbow.

Walter turned and saw that Duncan MacLeod was standing next to him. "MacLeod," he acknowledged.

"Agent Skinner," Duncan returned. He motioned to the service counter. "Perhaps we could talk over lunch?"

Walter frowned but nodded assent. He followed MacLeod up to the counter and ordered the soup of the day, whatever it turned out to be.

They settled in the far corner of the sandwich shop.

Walter noticed that the soup seemed to be some kind of vegetable affair. "What did you want to talk about?"

"Adam, of course," MacLeod replied smoothly.

"Don’t you think you should be talking to Adam and not me?" Walter tried to keep the bitterness from his
voice but only partially succeeded.

MacLeod had the grace to look slightly ill at ease. "I have. I wanted to speak to you, also." He picked up his sandwich but then put it down without taking a bite. He lowered his voice. "I know about what happened last year."

Walter couldn’t stop his reply. "You said that before. He told you?" Adam almost never spoke of his ordeal. He didn’t even talk about it with Walter, who knew or guessed at the worst of what had happened.

MacLeod looked slightly discomfited. "A little." He waved a hand, dismissing the hedging answer. "I know. Getting him to talk seriously sometimes is like pulling teeth. But I am concerned about him. I understand that your relationship is recent." The slightest hesitation had occurred just before the last
word.

"A few months." This was it, Walter thought. MacLeod wanted Adam back and was going to.... What, Walter thought? This wasn’t some high school romance. MacLeod couldn’t just waltz in and demand Adam back or threaten Walter off. Only Adam could make those decisions.

MacLeod nodded. "Adam is...special. He’s not always easy to get along with."

Walter frowned.

MacLeod continued, "And I know that your organization is pursuing his case. I hope that there is no
conflict of interest here for you." He leveled his gaze directly at Walter.

Walter felt a flush begin at the base of his neck and start to rise. He spoke coldly. "There is no conflict of interest. At best I am tangential to his case, which I will not discuss with you." Walter picked up his uneaten soup and chucked it into a nearby trash barrel. "Good bye, Mr. MacLeod."

He left MacLeod behind him and headed back to his office. What little hunger he had felt was gone. Some other, more primal feeling had replaced it.

In his office, he pulled out the case file from his filing cabinet and placed it on his desk. There was no conflict of interest, he told himself. His only connection to the case had been to authorize the initial inquiry and to review the different investigation reports. He hadn’t even been there the day that.... Walter forced himself to take a deep breath. He hadn’t been there the day that they had rescued Adam.

He had only met Adam months later, a chance encounter in an ADA’s office.

He’d just passed the assistant and entered the ADA’s office, prepared for a pre-trial meeting on a completely different case, when Adam and the ADA had emerged from the conference room.

"Agent Skinner," the ADA had apologized. "I’m so very sorry, but I’ve got to go. One of the judges for a
case just passed a motion by the defense to halt all exhaustive forensic testing and it’s got the entire lab in an uproar. Please, call my secretary and reschedule."

"Of course," Walter had replied, although he was feeling put out. This happened all the time with lawyers. They were always rushing around, changing appointments at the last moment.

The ADA already had her briefcase with her and she vanished out the door a moment later.

Walter finally registered that someone was softly laughing. He turned to face the person that had come out of the office with the ADA. It was a man with dark hair and oddly colored eyes, who somehow looked
vaguely familiar.

"Oh, the look on your face," the man told him. "I thought the lawyer was going to turn to stone right in
front of me."

Walter caught the biting remark on the tip of his tongue. He smiled. "I only wish I had that ability."

The man nodded. "Me too. The phone call interrupted our conference. Now I have to slog down here again
some other day and lose a whole other day of work."

Walter nodded in agreement. "Lawyers. They think they’re the only ones with things to do."

The man held out his hand. "I’m Adam."

"Walter."

They had gone to lunch then, and it had been a very pleasant afternoon. By the end of it, Walter had
noticed Adam flagging a bit, but he’d dismissed it. They’d agreed to meet for lunch again and were happy
to discover that they both worked in downtown D.C.

It hadn’t been for a few more weeks, and after they’d starting seeing each other in earnest, that Walter had
discovered exactly why Adam had seemed so familiar to him at the time.

Walter skimmed his fingers over the file before undoing the string and pulling the papers out. He set aside the reports and pulled the sheaf of photos in front of him.

Crime scene photos.

They started with the exterior of the house, every angle conceivable, and then moved inside. It was standard procedure. It gave Walter a good idea of the state of the house. The outside was well kept. The
house was a ranch style with a basement. The first floor was practically immaculate. The carpets were a
plush cream and the sofas had the pillows adjusted just so. Dainty porcelain figures perched on a few
surfaces.

The basement told a different story.

Walter closed his eyes before looking. The first time he had seen the photos he had been mostly curious,
slightly disturbed, and detached. He’d felt pity and disgust. Now, the photos brought on revulsion and a
sense of horror.

Walter opened his eyes.

The basement was filthy. Trash was everywhere and piles of newspapers loomed like miniature Everests. A
workbench area had been set up on one side, tools arranged in an orderly fashion. A small cage was lodged in one corner, filled with dirty and torn blankets.

Walter studied the cage for a moment. It had been barely large enough to contain a man. It certainly wasn’t large enough for a man to stretch out in.

Adam had spent two months in that cage, curled in on himself. Half rotted blankets had been his only warmth and comfort. Trays of fetid food were placed just out of reach.

The only thing missing from the photos of the scene was Adam himself.

The agents had entered the house, secured it, discovered Adam in the basement, and arrested the subject.

Adam had been barely conscious and no where near coherent. He’d immediately been taken to the hospital.

Walter skimmed past the dozens of house photos to the hospital photos.

A grimy, exhausted, malnourished, and dehydrated Adam lay before him. The doctors were amazed that he was even alive. No one knew who he was; no one called to claim this lost man. No reports had ever been filed. No one had ever missed him.

Walter thought of MacLeod and wondered.

The phone on his desk buzzed. Walter scooped up the photos and reports and stuffed them back in the file.

"Yes?" he answered the phone.

"This is Audrey in DNA. You’d requested to be notified when we had the items out from the Pierson case?" a female voice said, politely referring to the case by its victim rather than its subject. Some of the newer employees did that, preferring to remember the victims rather than give any kind of acknowledgement, even in the depths of the lab, to the perpetrators.

"You have it out?"

"Yes. I have it on the bench now, if you’d like to come down. I’ll be working it all week, so you can come down anytime," she offered.

"I’ll be right there," Walter told her and disconnected. He took a deep breath. It wasn’t as if seeing the evidence would change anything, but somehow he felt that he needed to. It was as if, by doing this thing, he could somehow understand what had happened.

It took only a few minutes to enter the laboratory area. He found Audrey standing in one of the back areas. She had on a white lab coat and nitrile gloves.

She didn’t smile when she saw him. Instead she pointed at an extra lab coat and a box of gloves.

Walter took a moment to don the garments. He turned back to see the items out on the table.

Audrey was prodding at them with a pair of tweezers. "You know this isn’t all the evidence, right? I mean,
there are about a thousand items in all that they collected from the scene. This is just the victim’s clothing."

Walter nodded. "You’ve examined it already?"

"For the most part," Audrey said with a slight frown on her face. "There isn’t much to examine, really. The items are completely saturated. I couldn’t even find a negative area. Blood. There you go."

Walter took a moment and looked at the items. One item was a pair of jeans the color of diesel fumes, dried now, but obviously soaked through with blood at some point. They were so stiff that part of the fabric actually stood straight up, defying gravity. The other item was a tee shirt of an indeterminate color that had so many cuts and tears and holes that it was a wonder it was even recognizable. Both were exuding an incredible stench. It smelled of intense sweat overlaid with decomposition. The bitter, pungent aroma of vomit punched through the heavy, earthy, rotting odor.

"Doesn’t this seem like a lot of blood?"

Audrey glanced at the clothes again. "Maybe. Not really. It’s hard to say. I’d expect this amount from exsanguination. But it could have been caused by multiple," she paused and searched for a word,
"applications. Not just one source incident."

"What about blood spatter?"

Audrey shook her head. "I’ve looked. There are no distinct patterns because of the saturation. I’m sorry. I can only work with what I’ve got." She thought for a moment. "Some of the other items had some spatter on them. Looked to be apparent medium velocity to me."

Walter felt his chest constrict. Medium velocity was consistent with a lot of things, but given all the other information, it was most likely that Adam had been beaten.

Walter decided he didn’t want to think about that. He concentrated on the shirt again and pointed to one hole among many. "This looks like a bullet hole. Has this been to Firearms?" Adam had no gunshot wounds when he had been admitted to the hospital. What would it mean if these items had bullet wounds? Had the subject taken the clothes and shot them before returning them to Adam as some form of psychological
torture?

"Yes," Audrey said, obviously resentful that the question had to even be asked. "First Trace, then Firearms, then us. As per SOP." She softened a little. "I bet they haven’t turned in their report yet. I’m not a Firearms Examiner, so don’t take this as the answer, but they told me that the clothes had small amounts of burnt and unburnt particles. No chemical tests could be done."

"GSR?" Walter said softly.

Audrey shrugged. "You’d have to ask them. They said the item was too saturated to do anything more than
speculate. I doubt you’ll get anything more informative in the report."

Walter looked the clothes over again. "How long till the DNA is done?"

Audrey gave a short laugh. "A while. I’ve still got about five hundred items left to go. We’re running a few samples, but the bulk of the work won’t be done until I get through everything here." She frowned. "It was my understanding that the subject didn’t have any injuries. These are the victim’s clothes. It’s going to be the victim’s blood."

"Thank you," he said, his voice dropping into its lowest range. He shed the gloves and lab coat and headed back to his office.

He put his head in his hands and waited until the nausea passed.

Monday, evening:

Walter pulled into the visitor parking three doors down from where he lived. It had been a bad day all around and now even his reserved parking spot had been taken by one of the neighbors.

He wearily trudged to the door. Adam was going to be very upset with him. Before he’d even realized it, the day was gone and it was late. He’d been ensnarled in bad beltway traffic, which wasn’t really a good excuse, but it was the truth.

He noticed MacLeod’s car in the parking lot and felt a rush of jealousy and anger. It couldn’t be disputed that MacLeod’s presence had been good for Adam. Adam seemed very happy and much more relaxed than ever before. And after seeing those clothes today, after really starting to comprehend what Adam had gone through, Walter wasn’t sure that he should even spend the energy to try and convince him to stay. He should probably push Adam straight into MacLeod’s arms and watch the healing begin.

Walter rested his hand on the doorknob and opened the door. When he did he heard the shouting. He peered around the entryway and into the kitchen.

Adam was there and MacLeod was with him. Neither had seemed to notice that someone else had come into the condo.

MacLeod was seething in fury. "He tried to kill you."

Adam was somewhat calmer, but plainly upset. "And he’s being dealt with by the proper authorities. It isn’t for us."

"He needs to be dealt with by his own."

"He is being dealt with by his own," Adam insisted. "I’m making sure of it."

MacLeod’s fury dimmed slightly. "And when are you going to take care of yourself?" He tapped the side of his head. "Your body is healed, but what about in here. Come with me to the island. You’ll be safe there."

"I’ve been taking care of myself long before you were born, MacLeod."

"Past success does not mean future survival," MacLeod warned. "I don’t want anything to happen to you."

Adam scowled.

MacLeod grinned and pulled Adam into an embrace, one hand rising to stroke his cheek. "You’re too important to lose."

Something about those words seemed to undue all the tension in Adam.

"At least now I know you’re listening when I tell you things," Adam said.

Walter leaned back against the door. He beat down the urge to draw his weapon and shoot MacLeod dead in the kitchen.

Instead, he closed the door again with a thump and called out past the entryway. "Adam! I’m home." Walter grimaced. That had not come out the way he wanted it to.

He rounded the corner and stopped.

Adam and MacLeod had separated, but MacLeod still had one meaty paw on Adam’s upper arm.

"Excuse me," Adam said and practically fled the room.

Walter and MacLeod stared at each other for a long moment.

Then Walter gave a long sigh and stepped into the kitchen. He was too tired to fight. And what was there to fight? Adam’s friend and probable lover had come from practically nowhere months after the fact and Adam was actually talking to him.

And here he was, worrying that Adam was going to leave him. If leaving him was what Adam had to do, then so be it.

Walter suppressed a shudder and tried not to remember the bloody clothing and the revealing photographs.

MacLeod regarded him with unease.

Walter opened the refrigerator door. "Does scrambled eggs for dinner sound good?" He didn’t bother to wait for a response. He pulled the eggs, cheese, and milk out and started to prepare the dinner.

"He doesn’t talk to me about it," Walter said, finally. "I wish he would. I can tell it still hurts him. He wouldn’t talk about it to anyone." Walter cast a sideways glance. "He talks about it to you, though. What does that mean?"

"Walter...." MacLeod began.

Walter cut in. "No. Don’t bother. I don’t need a flashing sign." He slapped down the fork he’d been using to stir the eggs.

MacLeod frowned. "It’s not like that."

"You must have mistaken me for someone stupid, MacLeod," Walter said, abandoning the cooking utensils. "Make yourself at home." He left the room and went upstairs. He could tell that Adam had gone into his study. This way they each had a little privacy.

Walter settled down on the bed. It was really happening. MacLeod was going to take Adam away. Walter flashed on the filthy clothes again, the image of the cage, and he just felt so inadequate. MacLeod had done for Adam what he hadn’t been able to do since they’d met.

About an hour later, he realized that he’d fallen asleep. Considering the events of the evening he was a little surprised.

Walter yawned and his ears popped. He could hear the murmur of low talking going on. Ah, well. He’d been doing this all week. Why stop now?

He cracked the bedroom door open.

"Joe is worried about you. He blames himself."

"It’s not his fault. The guy was a crackpot to begin with. He was in research, not the field. He thought I was young, that you’d been my teacher and I was just out on my own. He thought he could mold me into something. Something. I don’t know what." Adam’s
voice cracked a little. "He thought that he could train me. Like a dog. He’d keep me there, wait for the Gathering to play out, and then unveil me."

MacLeod sounded disgusted. "Control you, control the winner of the Game, and control the Prize."

"Something like that," Adam agreed, his voice sour. "He wasn’t expecting what he got, though. I think I surprised him."

"I’ll bet." MacLeod’s voice held just a hint of mirth. "Walter said you won’t talk to him about it."

"How can I, Mac? How can I? He knew what I was. He used it against me." Adam’s voice started to tremble. "It took me a week to recover. Everyone was amazed. And barely a scratch on me. Just half starving to death. Dying of thirst. Cramped in that space. And I can talk about all that. But the rest of it? The drugs he shot me up with? The beatings. The…other things. Nothing to show for those things." Adam paused, then went on. "It was the complete silence that I hated most, though. Nothing to read, nothing to see, no one to talk to. Just waiting for him to come back and start his misguided little plan."

Walter realized he’d been holding his breath. He’d never heard Adam speak so plainly about what had occurred and he wondered at the things that Adam still couldn’t mention. He closed his eyes for a moment, thinking that Adam didn’t have to explain anything. Adam’s clothes spoke for him.

"Oh?" MacLeod began.

"Stop." Adam sounded harsh. "Maybe it was just penance, anyway."

"It’s not."

There came the rustle and creak of the couch cushions being moved over.

"You need to leave, you know. I need to finish this out on my own. I just need some time, not any bloody counseling. And I’ve got Walter. I don’t know why, but he seems to think I’m not completely ruined."

"Ruined? Not likely," MacLeod rejoined. "We only get better with age."

Walter felt his chest constrict. Adam was asking MacLeod to leave? What did that mean?

Adam laughed, "Like a fine wine, Mac? I think I’d have turned to vinegar by now."

MacLeod’s laughter rumbled softly. "Well, I’ll go then. Try not to make me wait more than fifty years for you. Amanda might start to look like a good permanent prospect again."

Walter perked up. Amanda? MacLeod had a lady friend? He didn’t quite understand what MacLeod had meant by fifty years. Come to think of it, Adam and MacLeod seemed to speak in their own lexicon. Children’s games and prizes and churchyards and such. It seemed very obvious that they must have been lovers at some point, although something had split them up. But they didn’t seem to be at odds with one another. If anything, they seemed to still be close.

Adam snorted. "That skinny vixen? If you keep her around you’ll be lucky to make the next century."

There was the sound of sudden movement and all talking stopped. Walter closed his eyes, pretty sure what was going on.

"Hmm, Mac," Adam said. "Is that a promise?"

"Yes. Fifty years and I want you back. And I don’t know how I’ll wait that long."

"It could be sooner, you never know." Adam’s voice was very sad.

"I know," MacLeod said and something in his voice made Walter sure that he’d suffered a loss. "You haven’t told him yet." It was a statement and not a question.

"This is," Adam paused, "new." There came the sound of movement and then Adam was speaking again. "Very new. There’s so little time." Adam sounded very sad now.

"I know." MacLeod said, and again there was the sound of movement.

Walter closed his eyes. He was supposed to leave, damn it. Why the Hell couldn’t MacLeod just leave? Because he’s still trying to convince Adam to go with him, the unwelcome thought popped in. And Adam doesn’t want to see him go.

"Come visit. Even for us, we never know if there’s a tomorrow. And call Joe more regularly. He worries." MacLeod’s voice was full of empathy.

"Yeah. I will."

"And call me, too. I like to hear your voice sometimes." MacLeod paused before continuing. "And we can talk some more. Talk as much as you need to."

"Thanks, Mac."

The voices grew fainter and Walter could tell they had moved to the door.

"Watch your head," MacLeod said.

"I always do. You watch yours," Adam said.

Walter could hear the door close and then a minute later a car start up and drive away.

A moment later, Adam appeared at the doorway. He was smiling, but it was a strange knowing kind of smile.

He leaned in close, running his hands down the sides of Walter’s neck and across his shoulders. Walter felt dizzy for a moment, Adam’s unusual eyes taking up his entire vision. Adam leaned in and nibbled at the corner of his mouth.

"You know," Adam began, "you really shouldn’t listen at doorways. It’s rude, sometimes illegal, and it tends to lead you to think circumstantial evidence is relevant."

Walter found his voice. "I thought that you?"

Adam interrupted him. "I’m not going to leave you for MacLeod. He can wait. You can’t."

And with that Adam pulled him back into the bedroom, where Walter, being a reasonable man, decided that from now on he wasn’t going to worry about prima facie evidence.

~end~