Title: Caught On Fire

Author/pseudonym: Karen

Fandom: Mighty Morphin Power Rangers

Paring: Billy/Jason

Rating: PG13

Status: repost, complete

Archive: Yes, please archive this.

Series/Sequel: No

Disclaimers: Saban owns them; no copyright infringement is intended.

Notes: Continuity: up to early Zeo or thereabouts... no trip to Aquitar. Set post-graduation.

Summary: Jason faces facts when Billy leaves for MIT

Warnings: AU (mild - see notes); first time

Caught On Fire
by Karen

Love is like friendship caught on fire.
—Bruce Lee


Jason was enjoying his time off, an unusual three days in a row, especially with the good news that his partner had given him two nights before. Fred Hanson had told him he'd heard from his contacts in the personnel office that Jason had gotten all-around good marks. "Passed your probation with flying colors," Hanson had said as they unwound over beers Hanson figured him old enough to drink even if he was still three months shy of being able to buy his own, "they'll be asking you to make it permanent." And even though Hanson, who'd be getting a new rookie as a matter of course, had spent half an hour coming up with unbearably bad suggestions as to who Jason was going to end up with, he was going to miss the older man.

Hanson's parting words had been serious, though: "You ought to start taking some night courses, Scott. You're a sure bet for a gold shield one of these days, and a bachelor's will make it that much sooner." Jason wasn't at all sure he wanted to go back to school, but a class a semester? He could probably handle that. And it wasn't like his dad hadn't told him the same thing. Repeatedly.

For some reason, it sounded more reasonable coming from Sgt. Hanson than from Det. Frank Scott, though. Go figure, Jason thought, rolling over to pick up his watch from the bedside table.

He had slept in. Nearly noon. He stretched and contemplated what he was going to do with the afternoon. Maybe stop by the dojo and work out with Rocky. Maybe find a movie matinee. Maybe sit around in front of the TV.

Maybe, remembering his conversation last summer with his dad, go apartment hunting.

He and Emily had been looking, but of course he didn't need anything that big now. And he'd been letting it slide. He didn't mind living at home; he really didn't want to live by himself. But, now that he was nearly twenty-one and gainfully employed, he supposed he ought to move out. More to the point, his dad did. He guessed he could look around for a roommate. Or get a dog.

"Jason?" His mom rapped on his door. "You have a phone call, honey."

"Thanks," he answered. "I'll be right there." Maybe the afternoon was arranging itself.

He pulled on a pair of jeans and an Angels teeshirt and went into the kitchen.

"Jason, hi. It's Kim."

"Kim? Hey, how you doin'?" He asked, pushing himself up onto the counter. "Where are you?"

"Actually," she said, "I'm in Angel Grove. There's a competition in L.A., and I came up to visit my mom and Ron. I'd really like to get together with you if you have some free time?"

"Great," he said. "Timing couldn't be better. I'm off today and tomorrow. Dinner or something?"

"I'd like that. Maybe we could start with lunch? I haven't been to Ernie's in forever, I'm dying for one of his papaya smoothies."

"You're on," he grinned. "Meet you there in, say, twenty minutes?"

"I always liked Kim," his mom said after he hung up.

Okay, he thought as he went back to his bedroom, moving out will have some advantages.

Kim hadn't changed much; she was still chestnut-haired and the cheerleader's three P's: pretty, petite, and perky. Jason always forgot how much of each when she was gone, and he and she hadn't seen much of each other in the past three and half years. Usually what stayed in his mind was her heart and her spirit; there had never been any spark between them (it would almost have been incestuous, he thought), but he could certainly understand why it had depressed Tommy Oliver when he'd lost her. She flung herself at him with her customary enthusiasm as soon as he walked into the Juice Bar.

"Jason! You look so good!" She hugged him and kissed his cheek.

"You, too," he said.

She pulled him over to a table where smoothies and sandwiches were already waiting. "I have been dreaming about this place," she confided.

"Ouch," he said. "That's a sad commentary on your fantasy life... or maybe I don't want to know."

She snickered. "I wish it was hot sex on the counters, but it's just been nostalgia." She looked around the room. "Sometimes it seems like I have more memories of Ernie's than anything else in town."

"I know what you mean," he nodded. "It feels like coming home every time I come in here. And yet, somehow, that just doesn't happen very often."

"How are you doing with it?" she said, suddenly serious.

"With what?"

"Emily," she said. "I heard you two broke up."

"Emily... yes, we did. But Emily didn't have anything do with Ernie's. I mean, she didn't come here, but I did. With the guys. How did you hear about Emily and me breaking up, anyway?"

"The guys," she said, laughing. "Well, Billy."

"You two still talk?"

"Of course," she said. "Billy was my first boy pause friend, and vice versa. And just because you never called him when you were in Switzerland—"

"Hey," he defended himself, "in the first place, guys don't do that. Talk on the telephone. And in the second place, Switzerland was an expensive phone call."

"And in the third place?"

"What third place?" She raised an expressive eyebrow and he capitulated. "And we wrote, anyway. Look, you know Billy and me—"

"Yes, I do." She sat back, nibbling on her sandwich with a mysteriously pleased air. "So, you aren't exactly broken-hearted, are you?"

"Over Emily?" Jason started to reflexively deny it, then remembered who he was talking to and that she wouldn't let him get away with being glib. So he gave her the same honesty that they'd always given each other, ever since when. "No. It's funny, really, Kim; I mean, one day we're together and having these little half-conversations about moving in together and whatever, and the next she's telling me she's had it, fed to the eyeteeth with me and everything, and she never wants to see me again. And I'm..." he shrugged, spreading his hands in front of him, "I'm okay. I really am. It's exactly like nothing happened. Like the last year was just... a movie I was watching."

"Really?" Her eyes were wide, but somehow she didn't seem disbelieving.

"Really." He shrugged. "Obviously she was right when she said we weren't right for each other."

"Apparently," she said. She seemed to make her mind up about something and bounced to her feet. "You done? Walk with me."

"Say what?"

She giggled. "It's what Coach says when he wants to chew you out in private."

"Oh? So what have I done?"

"No; it's what I'm going to do. Come on," she tugged at his arm. "We have to go somewhere private."

"Kim—" he started.

She snickered. "Not hardly, Jason. It'd be like with my brother... well, you're cuter than him, but you know what I mean. I have something to tell you."

"Am I going to want to hear it?" She was seven inches shorter than he was and weighed half what he did, but when she wanted him to move she always won.

"I think so," she said, serious again. "I really do."

They walked past the parking lot towards the picnic grounds at the north end of Angel Grove's main park. For a nice Wednesday in the middle of August there weren't many people there and they were able to find an empty table far enough from anybody else for a conversation to go unheard.

"This takes me back, too," said Jason, sitting the wrong way on the bench and leaning back against the table. "We just need Zack and Trini and Billy." He'd deliberately not mentioned Tommy, nor, for that matter, any of their later friends, Rocky, Adam, Tanya... he was evoking the earliest days of his and Kim's friendship, when it had just been the five of them, an unlikely group but one so tight he'd once thought nothing, not any amount of distance or time, could ever break them up.

Kim's dark brown eyes were soft. "Those were good times," she said. "A lot's happened since then. If somebody had told us half of it, would we have believed them?"

"Not me," Jason shook his head. "Not the weird stuff for sure, and probably not the more prosaic, either. Switzerland, you actually joining a national team—"

"Hey," she slapped at him playfully.

"I didn't say making the team," he said. "I always knew you were that good. But back then, we were all going to stay here, forever. Weren't we?"

"We were," she nodded. "Except maybe Billy."

Jason looked away, over the park. "Yeah. Except him."

Billy Cranston was not quite his oldest friend, he'd known Zack a year longer, like Billy had met Kim first, since she'd lived on the same street when his family first moved to Angel Grove. But Billy was his best friend, closer than Rocky or Tommy, with whom he'd had more in common, closer than Zack, even. He'd always thought of him as a brother—a much brainier younger brother, even though Billy was actually six weeks older. He engaged Jason's caretaker instincts like no one else he'd ever known, maybe because he had such a talent for attracting guys who wanted to beat him up for being so intransigently unconforming—and, frankly, for screwing up the grading curve so completely. That kind of thing happened when you were as smart as Billy, especially when you honestly couldn't comprehend slacking off just enough to get As but were almost hard-wired to do the best you could. And when you coupled that with really bad eyes and an almost total lack of coordination, well, Jason had gotten a heckuva lot of martial arts practice outside of the dojo even before Zordon had recruited them to defend the world.

Oddly, though when Jason had let Zack talk him into going to Switzerland three years ago he hadn't given much thought to missing anyone at home, once overseas he'd found he missed having Billy to talk to more than anyone or anything else from home. When he'd finally admitted to himself that he was wasting his time at the peace conference he'd come home, and though by then Kim was in Florida training for international gymnastics competitions, and Zack and Trini still in Europe, he'd been happy to be home. Been happy to be back in little, weird, sleepy except when something was destroying downtown again Angel Grove.

But now Billy was going to MIT. In a couple of weeks. And for some reason Jason really couldn't put a finger on, he wished like hell he wasn't.

Of course, as Kim had remarked, that Billy wasn't going to go to college in Angel Grove had always been a given. If his dad hadn't been sure that it would be better for him to be with people his own age, he'd probably have been in grad school by fourteen... Jason had to admit, Mr. Cranston had almost certainly been right. Billy had taken forever to acquire social skills as it was. But when he hadn't left after he'd graduated a year early, when he'd stayed on to work with Zordon, somehow Jason had let himself get suckered into thinking he'd never go.

But now he was.

Jason realized that he'd been quiet a long time, and that Kim was just sitting there watching him. What was the last thing anybody said? he thought frantically. Oh, yeah. "Sure, he was always going to take off into academia, even before anything else. Stanford, MIT, hell, maybe wherever that is in England Steven Hawking is."

"Yes." Kim put her hand on his knee. "Jason, I'm going to tell you something I promised I'd never tell you. I'm going to tell you because I think you should know it, because I think it's the best thing, and because I'm tired of watching two of my best friends in the whole world screw up their lives. I've thought about telling you for a couple of years now, and I haven't 'cause it's not my secret, but ever since you and Emily broke up I've been thinking about it really, really a lot, it's even messed up my training, and then last week I decided I should have said something already, so I'm telling you."

Jason looked at her, feeling an odd combination of alarm and amusement. "Kim, that made absolutely no sense to me at all."

"Oh, it wasn't supposed to," she said. "That was my emotional prologue, so you'd understand the purity of my motives."

He laughed.

"Okay. Do you remember when we were fifteen?"

"Sure." He'd never forget that year. Way too much had happened.

"Well, do you remember when Billy and I, you know," she made a circular motion with her hands, "with the switching bodies?"

"Sure," he nodded. That hadn't been the weirdest thing that had happened that year, but it ranked up there.

"Well," she said, "those two days made me kind of think that what we are, I mean as who we are, is made up of three things. There's like your brain, what you know and so on, because I didn't know anything Billy knew, or him me. And there's your, I guess, soul, or personality, or whatever you want to call it." She paused; he waited. He had no idea where she was going with this. "And then there's your body. And your body can do things kind of all on its own."

"Oh, yeah," he agreed.

She giggled. "Omigosh," she agreed. "Did I discover boys have it tough!"

"I hope you learned to make allowances..."

"I learned why Billy wore those baggy overalls."

"Is there a point to this?" Jason asked, but lightly. He really didn't want to hear that Billy had been nursing a crush on Emily since freshman year. For one thing, Emily would eat Billy alive, if she paid him any attention at all, and for another, he was going to feel really bad if he hadn't noticed that.

"Of course there is," she said. "Billy's gay."

Jason just stared at her. His mind had locked up, he couldn't think of anything to say. Finally, "You're sure it wasn't you?"

"It wasn't me," she said calmly. "In the first place, it wasn't me, my taste in boys, I mean. And I asked him."

"You asked him?"

"Jason," she said reasonably, "I didn't want to get him in trouble. I had to know if it was, you know, normal or if somebody might beat him up over it. I had to know how much I had to hide."

"Oh," he thought about that. "Yeah, I guess you pretty much had to ask him... What did he say?"

"After he apologized? He confirmed it. And then we talked. I mean, really talked. It was like pulling teeth at first, you know him, but after a while he was kind of glad to have someone to talk to, if you know what I mean."

Jason had always thought of himself as filling that role in Billy's life, but... well, okay, at fifteen he probably would not have wanted to hear this. Okay, no probably about it. "I'm glad you did," he said, meaning it. He wished Billy had said something since then, explained why he didn't want to double with him and Emily and one of her friends, wished Billy hadn't felt like he still couldn't say it. Wished he hadn't repeated some of those station-house jokes. Wished he'd been a bit more trustable... "Kim, why are you telling me now?"

"Because it was you," she said simply. "Is you. Billy's been in love with you since you guys were fifteen, and he still is."

He'd known that was coming. There really couldn't have been any other reason for this conversation, this way of doing it. Just telling him that Billy was gay, that could have been done oh-so-simply, just dropping it into conversation. Hell, just making some remark that implied he'd already known. So, on some level, he'd known it was coming.

But hearing her say it out loud was devastating in a way he'd never expected. How could I not have known that? How could I not have seen? Funny, he'd have thought he'd have been angry to be told somebody, some guy, felt like that about him. He remembered conversations at the station, in the locker room, in the squad car with Hanson... he'd always half-way felt like he was going through the motions there, and maybe it was because he'd sort of, a little bit, suspected... And being angry at Billy, for anything, somehow that seemed so wrong...

"Jason." Kim turned to straddle the bench and put her hand on his arm. "Jason, I'm not done yet."

"Jeeze, Kim, what else could there be?" He could think of a few things, mainly dealing with Billy meeting somebody at one of those seminars he went to, and he really didn't want to hear that. Jason Lee Scott, what kind of a friend are you? he jerked himself out of that line of thought. You should be happy for him.

"Are you listening to me?" she asked.

He forced his attention back to her. "Yes."

"Okay. This is the hard part, because I could be wrong about this, and if I am then I had no business at all telling you anything. Billy asked me not to, trusted me with his secret, and the only reason I'm telling you is because I think I'm right. I think this is the best thing... Jason, why do you think he's going to MIT?"

"Because he thinks it's the best school," Jason said, a little surprised at the question. "He always has, you must remember that. I mean, every now and then he'd sort of consider Stanford, because it's closer, but that was always like flirting with a false religion or something. He always went back to MIT."

"I know, but I meant, why now. Why go, instead of keep on like he has been?"

"I don't know." And he didn't. Billy had made his decision and announced it, and then been singularly unwilling to discuss it.

"It's because you broke up with Emily," Kim said. "Because you're suddenly available again. Because if he stays, it will hurt too much. So he's running away. Just like you did."

Jason had been going to say something but that last sentence stopped him cold. "What do you mean?"

"When you went to Switzerland," she said. "You broke up with whatever her name was and then you went to Switzerland, when you had absolutely no interest in peace conferences." She paused, but he had nothing to say yet, so she continued. "Why do all your relationships work out the same way, Jason? You meet someone, you get all intense and start talking about forever, you do all the right things, and ... you fail." She squeezed his arm as if to take the sting out of it.

He wasn't angry with her. He'd wondered the same thing himself, why he had such spectacularly bad luck in picking girlfriends, what the fatal flaw was... He stiffened and looked at Kim with
incredulity. "Are you saying—?"

"Yes," she said flatly. "I am. I think you're gay."

"My girlfriends haven't complained about that," he said.

"Oh, please," was her rejoinder. "Jason, hardly any guy in the world is so gay he can't manage to have sex with someone who wants to. Gay guys have been getting married and having children for centuries, millennias even; they just haven't been real happy while they did. Now, maybe I'm wrong, maybe you just aren't any good at being a boyfriend. But you're such a nice guy, I can't believe that. And certainly not over and over; you're too smart not to figure out your mistakes. If you want to."

He couldn't think of anything to say to her.

"Look, Jason, I'm sorry if you're angry or insulted—"

Now that he could answer. "Kim, no. I'm not, not either. I know you mean well... I just don't think you're right."

"But you haven't yet. Thought, I mean. You're just reacting to what I said, like, well, like a jock-cop. There's a lot more to you than that."

"There's nothing wrong with being a cop," he said quietly. "Or a jock."

"No," she agreed instantly. "There's nothing at all wrong with being a man who's a cop, or a man who's a jock, or even a man who's a cop and a jock at the same time. But you have to be a man first, Jason. You have to be a person. You have to look at yourself and realize who you are and what you want to be in the future, where you're going, and," she shrugged and made a little moue, "all that pop-psych stuff." She squeezed his arm again. "Please promise me you'll do that. You'll think about what I said, not just dismiss it out of hand and jump back into your roles and never look outside their proscriptions. Promise me, please?"

"Is that what I've been doing?" he heard himself ask instead of 'what you think I've been doing'.

"Yes, I think so," she said. "I really do. I know it's easier, it's certainly safer, and I know it's hard to stop. We usually can't until someone makes us... I couldn't. And I know it can hurt like hell to
become who we really are. But I know you're one of the strongest, bravest people I've ever known. And I know Billy loves you so much it's... well, it's almost scary. Maybe you don't love him. But I'll bet you never even thought about it. That's all I'm asking you to do, Jason. Just think about it, okay? Because I really hate seeing both of you hurt so much."

"Kim—"

"You do," she interrupted him. "You hate being alone, Jason. You surround yourself with people and you kill yourself taking care of them, because you need to be loved. But you're like that song, you're looking in the wrong place when you look at somebody like Anna or Emily."

Once again, he didn't know what to say.

She squeezed his arm one more time, then looked at her watch. "I fibbed," she admitted. "I ran up here today just to talk to you, and I have to get back for the meet. I can't stay any longer or I'll miss it... Walk to my car with me?"

"Sure," he got to his feet automatically.

They walked back to the parking lot in silence. She opened the door then stood there beside it and looked around. "It's a nice little nest. But if you don't leave eventually you get too big and you suffocate. Or become stunted. I met a man in Arizona who told me, eagles have to fly farther than sparrows, and higher. But they live longer, and they see more. Promise me you'll think about it?"

Jason leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. "How could I not?" he asked. "Thanks, Kim. Whatever decision I come to, I'll never forget how much courage it took for you to come to me and say what you did."

She smiled at him and hugged him. "You've always been such a class act, Jason. I love you."

"Yeah, that's what they all say while their cars warm up." He grinned. "You take care of yourself. Don't be such a stranger."

"You, too. Keep in touch." She held his eyes for a minute, then slid behind the wheel and shut the door. "You know my email address, Jason. Use it."

"Yes, ma'am." He stood and watched her drive away, and then began walking, with absolutely no idea of his destination.

Part Two:

After a while, he didn't know how long, he found himself back in the park. Looking around, he found a tree to put his back against and lowered himself to the ground, feeling like he really, really needed the support. Like the world might not stay put underneath him.

It hadn't been that hard to believe Kim about Billy. He'd never have thought it on his own—he was going to have to think about that, he knew—but once it was put to him, it was almost obvious. Man, he found himself thinking, how could I have done that to him? How could I not have noticed? He shook his head sharply and ran his hand through his short black hair. He needed to think about what he was going to do now, not what he had, or hadn't done, in the past.

But at least he understood something now he'd never really grasped before: why Billy did things with him that he didn't really like doing... Jason found himself remembering the past spring... Opening Day, Anaheim. Good seats, good hotel, birthday present from his grandparents. And Billy sitting next to him, instead of Emily. Because she didn't like baseball, didn't like sports at all, and
although she'd have liked a weekend in L.A., and he could probably have managed to get her to go to the game with him, the begging and grovelling and paying-back was all just... really not worth it. But Billy would come on the invitation, though he wasn't crazy about L.A., and only had any interest at all in sports where someone he knew was playing—Jason himself, Rocky, Zack, Kat's summer softball league—and the only payback he seemed to want was Jason's killing a Saturday following him around some techno-geek exposition up in San Jose, which Jason would probably have done anyway just because Billy so rarely asked anything...

Jason remembered the game, sitting next to his friend and glancing sideways at him, seeing him leaning back in his seat and looking in the general direction of the field though his eyes were unfocussed and he was probably thinking about something entirely unrelated to baseball. But he'd felt Jason's glance, or caught the movement of his head; anyway, he'd looked at him with warm green eyes and a slight smile and said, "Having a good time?"

"If they win, it'll be perfect," said Jason.

And Billy had smiled, really smiled. "Then they will. It's your birthday... well, your birthday present at least."

And it hadn't been until later that the thought had crossed Jason's mind: what was the difference between love and friendship, if your best friend's the one who gives you the perfect day... And now he knew, in this case there was no difference. He turned to Billy because Billy offered him love just like Emily did.

No. Better than Emily's. Selfless. Jason-centric.

Kind of scary, that thought. But warm...

That was hardly the only memory he had of spending time with Billy, but it was one of the strongest. He found himself looking at it, feeling it, and remembering all the little things he hadn't noticed himself memorizing. The way the sun turned Billy's hair into several hundred different shades of gold and topaz and amber. The hearthfire warmth of his eyes, and the long lashes that shaded them. The strength of the shoulder only a couple of inches away from his own. The drops of water that had fallen from the cup onto the hollow of his throat, just barely revealed by the dark blue polo shirt, one button undone. The shadows that collar cast on his throat. The fine hair on his forearms, bleached almost invisible by the sun. The worn brown leather watchband high on his left wrist and the elegance of the hand holding the paper cup. The way his jeans fit his hips, with the belt almost as worn as the watchband and the end of it not quite long enough for the next loop and dangling. The length of his legs, the way one foot was under the seat in front. The touch of his knee through those jeans and his own khakis.

Jason surfaced out of that memory like a diver off the rocks in Acapulco. Quite suddenly he wished it weren't August, so he'd have a jacket or something to toss across his lap. He settled for pulling his knees up and wrapping his arms around them. Wow. Had that been there all that time? Because it was certainly there now.

He looked out at the joggers and saw the truth. One of the reasons he'd broken up with Emily—well, he'd broken up with Emily because she'd dumped him. But one of the reasons she'd dumped him, why none of his other girlfriends had ever stayed for long, was that they'd always accused him of a certain lack of interest, even though they'd never been able to accuse of him being interested in anyone else. Emily had called him 'immature', 'spoiled', 'more interested in hanging out with his friends than building a real relationship'. Fair enough. Now he knew why. The women running past him, most were pretty, some were beautiful. But abstractly so. The guys...

Boy, did he wish Billy weren't in Massachusetts.

But he was. And actually it was probably a good thing, since he probably couldn't just walk in and... well, what? Ask him to marry you?

Yes.

Exactly.

Jason sat there in the hot August sun and knew that was definitely, absolutely, no more nor less than what he wanted.

And how weird was that? This morning, he didn't even know he liked guys that way. Now he wanted to spend the rest of his life with one. No. He smiled. With Billy. That was the thing. That was why it was so, so easy to accept it. Like those 3D pictures where you stared and stared and then suddenly saw the dolphins leaping, or whatever, and then you couldn't see anything else and couldn't understand how you'd missed it before. It's Billy... and I've always known I loved Billy.
Now it's just a different way of loving him.

He leaned back against the tree and thought about that. Not that he had much to go on... but he could imagine. Some things, anyway...

Get yourself back in hand, Scott. Oh, that was a bad choice of words... Jason shook his head again and tried to reestablish a measure of control over his body. He hadn't been taken like this,
just by thinking about someone, since... well, since ever. God, he wished Billy wasn't in Massachusetts...

That was a suddenly sobering thought. Billy was in Massachusetts. And when he came back next week, it would only be for a few days, maybe a bit longer. And then he was going back to Massachusetts. To Cambridge. For years. Maybe forever.

Jason hugged his knees to his chest with a different emotion than before. MIT. Billy had always wanted to go to MIT. Back in fifth grade, that first national science fair... sure, he'd talked about
Stanford every now and then, but his only reason for thinking about that school—well, Jason had to consider what Kim had said—his main reason for thinking about a California school was his dad. And his dad wouldn't hear of it. And there was no other reason. No other reason that was a reason.

Billy was going to go to MIT. He was already enrolled, for crying out loud. He'd done so much by correspondence and AP already, he'd have his bachelor's by Christmas. And then grad school, and a doctorate or maybe two, probably in, Jason didn't know, three years? Four? He probably had a dissertation half-written in his head already... And then what? Teaching at Angel Grove University? Oh, yeah. That was likely. And even if likely, it was wrong.

Zordon had snared Billy, kept him here three years longer than he'd have otherwise stayed, maybe four... he could probably have graduated even earlier than he actually did. But now it was time for him to leave, be who he was supposed to be. Jason couldn't possibly ask him to stay here. Not even "here" as in Stanford. Even though he'd probably do it, if Kim was right... especially since he'd probably do it.

Jason-centric... he'd thought that earlier. It had warmed him. Now he realized what a seductive trap it was, what he'd been doing for the last, well three years, maybe more. It's not like you're anything special, Jason Lee Scott. You'll never steal fire from the gods. You're just gonna be another working cop... He turned that thought over in his mind. Then he smiled. Sure. Cambridge was in Boston. And the last time he'd looked at an atlas, Boston was a big city. And big cities always needed cops.

Part Three:

Jason stood away from the wall where he'd been leaning while the passengers filed through the arrivals lounge when the one he'd been waiting for finally showed up. "Hey, Billy," he said, stepping up beside him and taking the carry-on bag away from him.

Billy turned, startled, then smiled, relief washing over his beautiful eyes—for the first time Jason understood that idiom, and what wouldn't I do for the sake of his beautiful eyes—and
disappearing almost as quickly. But Jason hadn't missed it this time. "Jase," he said, "what are you doing here?"

"Your dad said you'd be home today, and since I didn't have anything better to do—" he let the end of the sentence drop. He'd gone by the Cranstons' to see just when Billy would be back and caught Mr. Cranston on his way to Nevada. He'd told him his son would be back Tuesday, and 'I'm sure he'd appreciate a ride home if you've nothing better to do...' Jason had managed not to say the truth, which was that he sincerely doubted he'd ever have anything better to do than
bring Billy home; it wasn't the time to say that to Billy's dad, not when he hadn't even said it to Billy yet. But he was here. And so was Billy. He smiled and asked, "How was the flight?"

"Long. And I was seated next to an aliterate—no, actively antiliterate—eleven-year-old who could give you a run for your money on sports trivia."

"Poor guy," Jason commiserated.

"Me or the child?"

Jason snickered. "I bet he was more bored."

"Infanticide was never more tempting." Billy's tone was dry but his eyes were laughing.

"Watch it—my dad's a cop and I think he's mentioned that's illegal."

"No jury would have convicted."

Jason laughed. "It's your own fault for insisting on straying outside cultural paradigms." He laughed again at Billy's expression. "See? Sometimes I listen... Any other luggage?"

"No. Just these." Billy tapped the carry-on Jason was holding with the laptop in his own hand. It had been closer to Jason when he'd snuck up, but he'd known better than to reach for it: that might have cost him a hand.

"Didn't do any dressing up while you were there, did you?" Jason teased.

"I was apartment hunting, not interviewing," was the calm reply.

"Find one?" Jason gestured him through the automatic door first, consciously appreciating the rear view for the first time. The blond had outgrown his adolescent awkwardness a long time ago; his walk was a pretty thing. And those old jeans clung to his hips in a very nice way.

Billy turned around to answer, and that view was just as nice. Better. Jason almost missed the actual response. "Yes. A rather large one on the river."

"The Charles?" Pricey.

"The Mystic, actually."

Jason summoned up the maps he'd been looking at. "Isn't that on the wrong side of Cambridge?"

Billy shrugged. "Where's your car?" Then, catching up to Jason as he started toward the parking lot, he said, "It's not even five miles from the Institute."

"I forgot. The East Coast is sort of like Europe. Everything's closer together," he added in explanation.

Billy nodded. They walked the rest of the way to the car in companionable silence. Jason wondered what Billy was thinking. Himself, he was having trouble thinking about anything, including what on earth he was going to do to move this relationship past where it was to where he—and, if Kim was right, Billy—wanted it to go. Without Billy's help. Since Billy's idea of what to do now was run off to Massachusetts...

Of course, he'd run off, too, to Switzerland. Maybe he had, anyway; he still wasn't sure why he'd suddenly decided he needed to be part of that conference, when he didn't really believe it was going to accomplish one single thing. He'd told himself it was a good way to get a vacation in Switzerland at government expense, and a better way to get out from under the increasingly heavy burden of being the Ranger leader... something Tommy would do well and eagerly. But maybe Kim's suggestion had been right, maybe he'd just finally clued in on the look in his best friend's eyes and, at seventeen, not been ready to deal with that at all. In a way, though, it really didn't matter why he'd gone. He'd come back.

Zack and Trini had stayed in Switzerland and he'd come back. Slipped right back into his life almost as though he'd never left, school, football, martial arts, friendships...even the Rangers. Unlike Billy, who was working with the Rangers, but not as one of them, Jason had regained Powers and even eventually his position as leader. Which, he guessed, meant he'd missed that, hadn't really wanted to give it up, and that had been just part of the excuse. Or, maybe, it just meant he was too bossy to follow. Jason realized he'd laughed out loud when he heard Billy's voice.

"What's so funny?" Billy was looking at him over the roof of the car.

Jason just shook his head. "A stray thought," he said. "Nothing, really. You want to stop somewhere and eat, or get takeout, or call for pizza?" Stay at home alone to unwind after your trip? That option he wasn't offering. They didn't have that much time. And Billy might run off to Massachusetts but he wouldn't kick Jason out of his house. Not ever, and certainly not after Emily...

"Pizza's fine," said Billy. "Ground beef and onion."

"On your half," Jason agreed equably. "On mine—"

"I don't even want to hear."

It was an old joke, the best kind. Sharing the laughter they got into the car and Jason headed back to Angel Grove. Billy leaned back against the seat, tugged at the seat belt, and closed his eyes.

"Good to be back here? Or can't wait to get back there?" Jason asked.

Billy shook his head. "Just be glad to stop running back and forth."

Running. Interesting choice of words, Jason thought. No more running. For either of us. He looked in his rear-view mirror and merged with the traffic. At least, I hope so.

Billy lapsed back into silence and Jason let him, glancing over at him occasionally and thinking. He'd slipped right back into his life, all right, to the point that it had never occurred to him to wonder why Billy was still around. Even after Zordon had replaced them all after graduation, and Adam and Kat and Tanya had enrolled at AGU, and Rocky had started a dojo, and Tommy had gone off to the car racing circuit, and Jason himself had gone up to the police academy and
started his year's probation with the AGPD, Billy was still here. And sure, he was working on college courses and recovering from his illness, but... He should have wondered about it, not just taken it for granted that Billy would always be around.

And Jason's life had included Emily. Like Adam's had included Tanya (and hers him), and Kat's that guy Eric, and Rocky's Maria... and Billy's nobody. As usual. Billy had been around, supportive though Emily hadn't cared much for him... well, actually, there'd been a lot Emily hadn't cared much for and in the end that had included Jason. And then, three weeks after Emily had dumped him, Billy had leaned back oh-so-casually in his chair over lunch at Ernie's and said he was going to MIT at the end of the month...

And it was right and it was inevitable and it had been one helluva surprise. And now he knew why.

Why then. Why there. Why a surprise. And why an unexpected feeling of betrayal.

Which it had been, though he'd done his damnedest to stomp that into nonexistence as soon as he became aware of it.

And, just maybe, why Billy had kept it secret until it was a done deal.

And why he was going to have to be careful. Or determined. Or both.

Because he really wanted to go to Massachusetts with Billy, not after him.

Jason realized, suddenly, that he was on Billy's street. Good thing there hadn't been any weird traffic crisis. He pulled into the driveway—Billy's VW was parked on the street, as usual, and Mr.
Cranston was out of the state... and nobody had actually put a car in their garage since half a year after they'd moved in, not since they'd agreed to put in a lab for Billy... a lab which had started as
a corner of the garage and expanded to fill the entire thing. It was a good thing it didn't snow in Angel Grove.

"Do you miss snow?" he asked.

"Where did that come from?" Billy said, stopping reaching for the laptop and peering at Jason.

"I was just thinking about your garage."

Billy smiled and picked up the laptop. "Yes. Of course, I haven't actually seen snow since I was eight, so my memories are probably very romanticized. As an adult, I may well hate it." He chuckled and shut the rear door. "Dad says my first winter in Boston I will definitely wish I had gone to Stanford."

"After spending all summer arguing for MIT? Hah. Still..." Jason's voice trailed away and he frowned.

"What?"

"Maybe you should have gotten an apartment closer to the school."

"Why?"

"I just hate to think of you driving five miles in a snowstorm."

Billy's expression was unreadable. "Jason," he said, "I'm sure I can learn to drive in snow."

"Oh—yeah, I'm sure you can. I mean, I did..."

"Nice to know somebody worries, though," Billy relaxed suddenly. "Are you getting that?"

Jason grabbed the carry-on bag he'd tossed on his side of the car. "Coming." But damnit, he was suddenly picturing Billy driving through a blizzard at some ungodly hour...

"Jase." Billy's soft tenor cut through the image.

He looked at him, standing there all safe and sunlit, and blinked.

"I probably won't even have a car. I won't really need one." He smiled, a slightly lost, slightly sad smile. "Okay?"

Jason's breath caught in his throat. Had Billy been looking at him like that for the past three, four years? "I'm sorry," he started, not really sure what he was apologizing for.

"It's all right," Billy said. "It's who you are: you watch out for your friends." He turned and unlocked the door and went inside.

Jason gave himself a mental slap and followed. Sure, he did that. Everyone told him so. Usually like it was some amusing character trait, or excusing his words into something they didn't really have to listen to. Which just made him worry more, of course. He couldn't see not doing it, actually; what, you let your friends get into trouble? But this wasn't just him watching out for a friend; this had damn near been a panic attack. Over something that was pure speculation. This was love.

And the look in Billy's eyes: though he wanted it to be more than 'just Jason', he'd given up hoping for it, that was apparent. On the other hand, Jason thought as he shut the door behind him, he still wants it. Which was the best news Jason had had all summer.

"Where do you want this?" He hefted the bag. "Your room?"

Billy looked up from where he was plugging in the laptop. He had his eyes under control again; they were their usual cool green. "No," he shook his head. "I'll just dump it in the washing machine."

"So I'll stick it in the laundry room," Jason nodded and walked down the hall, figuring his next move.

But Billy inadvertently preempted him by walking down the hall after him to say, "So, did you hear from the department?"

Jason looked at him. "About what?"

"Your probation," Billy said. "It's over this month, right? You're a real cop now?"

"Hey, for your information, I was a real cop anyway. Just a rookie."

Billy smiled. "Sorry. But you made it, right?"

"You had doubts?" Jason said, hoping it sounded light.

"Of course not." That was genuine. "I'm hoping I can take you out for a celebratory dinner before I leave."

"You can if you want," Jason said. "But I'm not staying with the department."

Billy stared at him in what looked like shock. "What? Why not? I thought you were happy being a police officer..."

"Oh, I am." He spoke quickly, hoping to dispel any guilt Billy might suddenly have over not noticing or not being there or whatever he could come up with. "I'm still gonna be a cop. Just not in Angel
Grove."

"Oh." Billy leaned against the hallway wall, considering that. "You've transferred somewhere? Stone Canyon?"

"Might as well stay here as go there," Jason said. This was perfect.

"Is it Twenty Questions or Three Guesses?"

"Three Guesses."

"Okay..." Billy thought for a moment. "L.A.?"

"Nope. One more."

"What do I get if I win?"

"Something you really want." Jason stepped out into the hall and leaned against the wall opposite him. "So take your time."

"Is Anaheim in L.A.?"

"For this purpose, yeah. Burbank, Long Beach, Azusa, all those places. In fact, I'll give you all Southern California."

"All of it?"

"Everything from, oh, here to Mexico."

"Then I have no idea."

"Giving up?"

"San Francisco."

"You win."

"San Francisco? I didn't think—"

"Nope. Not San Francisco."

"Okay," Billy said, willing to play along. "Now I'm confused."

"Boston."

Billy became entirely still. Jason couldn't remember how long it had been since he'd seen that, the first line of Billy's defenses. After a long moment he swallowed and said, "Boston?", his tone expressing complete incomprehension.

"Boston," Jason repeated. "I already heard back from them. They're very supportive, I was surprised." And he had been, surprised and pleased to discover just how good the Boston department's domestic partnership policies were, and how willingly they took on someone whose partner was coming to school in the area. It had made things a lot easier, logistically.

"Boston." Billy echoed the word, and this time his voice was flat, giving nothing away.

"Boston," Jason affirmed, straightening. "What I tell you three times is true—"

"So how is it I win?" The voice was still guarded, but the eyes...

Jason took two steps, closing the distance between them. Moving deliberately, he put his hands on the wall on either side of Billy's head. There was a flaring emotion in those green eyes, one he'd seen before and disregarded, not understood, ignored. Not any more. Not ever again.

"Jason—" Billy said, his voice uncertain.

"No," Jason said softly. "Don't speak." He leaned in and, very gently, kissed him.

Billy didn't move; he was barely breathing, in fact. He wasn't kissing back, but, Jason was heartened to note, he wasn't pulling away, either. He just stood there and let himself be kissed, his
green eyes wide and his lips warm. After a few moments Jason let his mouth drift along Billy's jaw towards his throat. God, the skin of his throat was soft, and the pulse beating under Jason's lips was as fast as his own.

"Jason..."

Jason moved from Billy's throat back to his mouth, covering it and swallowing the words, whatever they'd been. This time Billy's mouth stayed open, and Jason's tongue accepted the invitation.

Billy tasted, not surprisingly, of coffee... I could get to like coffee, Jason thought, a giddy, almost drunken thought. God, is this what it's supposed to be like? He had never felt so, so concentrated
in his entire life. Sensation ran along his nerves like the morphin power; he felt almost overwhelmed. And nothing had happened yet, just kisses. Just... He closed his eyes and gave himself up to the feeling.

Eventually he needed to breathe. As he pulled away only as far as he needed to Billy made a soft sound, not quite a moan, but a definite protest that he was being left. Jason shivered to hear it and became aware of a hand resting on his chest, not pushing him away but rather making a connection, warmth travelling both ways through the thin jersey material, enough pressure that he could feel his own heart beating against Billy's palm. Fingertips dug into him as leaned back and resumed the kiss, his tongue memorizing the taste he'd need for the rest of his life.

After another eternity Jason kissed the corner of Billy's mouth, moving his head upwards until he, unexpectedly, collided with Billy's glasses. After a startled second, he carefully took his right hand off the wall and very gently pulled them off. The blond closed his eyes momentarily, reflexively, when he did so, and another soft sound escaped him. One-handedly, Jason folded them and tucked them neatly into the left pocket of Billy's chambray shirt, feeling the rapid breathing under his hand as he did so. Then, still moving slowly, he replaced his hand on the wall and leaned in to kiss Billy's eyes, one and then the other, tenderly. Then he drifted his mouth along the angled cheekbone and slid his tongue into Billy's ear.

Billy's hand fisted in his shirt, pulling him close. "Jase," he said, so softly it was almost inaudible. "Jase..." He turned his head away, affording Jason full access to his throat. Jason took advantage of that offer, nuzzling, licking, nibbling. Billy's other hand slid through his short black hair, pulling his head closer. "Jase," he said again, louder; Jason could feel his own name in Billy's throat and it drove him crazy with desire. He took an abrupt step back from the wall; Billy's hold on him brought the blond away with the taller man and Jason wrapped his arms around him, one hand tangling itself in the thick amber hair and the other clawing the chambray shirt out of the jeans to push under it and the teeshirt beneath to find the bare skin he wanted so much it was all he could think of.

When he touched Billy's back it was like nothing he'd ever felt before. Just from skin, he thought somewhat incoherently, and pulled Billy even closer. But just before he lost it completely, he felt the tension come back to the body in his eager hands. He almost let go, gentling his hold instantly, rubbing his right hand over a shoulder blade and cupping Billy's cheek with the other. "Sorry, sorry," he murmured, "I'll slow down... or I'll stop..."

Billy was quiet for a moment while Jason soothed him, then turned his head to kiss the hand on his cheek. "A little slower," he said, his voice rough with what Jason joyfully recognized as desire. "Just a little, Jase." He reached back up and pulled Jason's head down for a kiss.

"As slow as you want," Jason said when he could.

They stood in the hallway, simply kissing, though Jason was finding it hard to apply adverbs like simply, just, or merely to this experience. It was better than going all the way had ever been. He
spared a moment to wish Kim had spoken up years ago, and then lost himself in the sensations evoked by Billy's mouth against his throat. And shoulders... Billy, he realized, had an unfair advantage. The unbuttoned flannel shirt he had been wearing had been easily shoved out of the way, Jason letting it drop unheeded to the floor unnoticed at some point, and his tank-top offered Billy almost unlimited access to his shoulders, collar bones... he shivered with delight as Billy's teeth gently, maybe accidentally, grazed the side of his neck. His fingers clenched in the front of the chambray shirt and he thought, buttons are going to go any minute now.

Then he felt Billy tugging at his tank-top, pulling it away from his khakis, sliding his hands along Jason's back and ribs. When he could breathe again, he took that as permission and began unbuttoning. The dove-grey teeshirt was hardly an obstacle compared to a bra but sliding his fingertips over one nipple hardening even through the thin cotton made him realize all over again how much he wanted bare skin against his. Needed it.

He distanced himself slightly from that need, from once again moving too fast, by wondering what exactly was under that shirt. It was a fair question, one he'd been tantalizing himself with for the past few days, because he'd never so far as he could remember seen Billy shirtless. He even wore a tank-top when he went swimming. He said it was because he burned, and, fair enough, he was fair-skinned. But that wasn't the whole story. Shirts against skins, even inside, if Billy was on your team you were shirts, that was a given. He was aware that he and Zack had saved Billy a lot of grief in junior high, and although he could take care of himself by high school, Tommy's
hair-trigger presence had probably kept a lot of people from having to find that out when Jason and Zack went to Switzerland... He'd wondered, everything from excessive self-consciousness (which was the best bet) to outrageous X Files alien-ness. At least, he thought now, enough in control of himself to slide a hand underneath the shirt, Billy felt normal.

Not, he smiled to himself, that he'd actually felt any other guy before, not like this. He dropped his head and tongued the nipple he'd been caressing with his fingers. Billy convulsed in his grasp;
one arm wrapped around his head, holding him closer, and the other raked fingernails down his back while a wordless cry of desire left his throat. Passion makes him inarticulate? I like that. He sucked through the now-damp cotton and Billy shuddered, making that sound again.

He wanted to let Billy set the pace, but the other seemed a reactor... he wasn't passive, God no, but everything he'd done Jason had done first. Suddenly it occurred to Jason that Billy might just
not have a clue. That realization ignited him like a spark on gasoline. He grabbed the hems of both Billy's shirts and pulled, dragging them over the blond head, intending to throw them to the floor. But he was balked by the cuffs, too tight to slide over Billy's hands. Growling, Jason yanked, but the buttons stubbornly refused to pop off.

There was a moment's awkwardness that turned into laughter as Billy, chuckling, leaned against him and unbuttoned the cuffs himself with hands lost inside the inverted tangle of shirt. "Remind me," he said, his voice smoky under the laugh, "to take my shoes off first."

Jason looked down at those shoes, white Reeboks with the laces sensibly double-knotted. "God," he said, leaning his forehead against Billy's, "you're wrapped up like a Christmas present."

Billy shook his hands free of the constricting sleeves and kicked the shirts away. "Having to work too hard?" he asked, almost seriously.

"You'd be worth it if I was," Jason replied, entirely seriously. "I love you."

Billy held his gaze for a long moment, then touched his face gently. "Yes," he said. "Later."

Jason blinked.

Billy shook his head. "Talk later." Jason smiled, and reached for him. Billy shook his head again, stepping back. "You, too," he said, tugging at Jason's tank-top.

Jason reached down and stripped his shirt off with one fluid movement. As he dropped the clothing to the floor he saw the expression on Billy's face. He'd never seen anyone want him so
much... it was impossibly aphrodisiacal. He wanted to kick Billy's feet out from underneath him, drop that lean, runner's body to the floor, and... and... he wasn't entirely sure what he wanted, but he wanted it. He wanted it a lot. But Billy's eyes were holding him unmoving, because now there was no possible mistaking the emotion manifest in their clear green depths.

Jason wasn't sure how long they stood there, staring, drinking the sight of each other, before Billy broke the tableau. He reached out and placed his hand, trembling slightly, on Jason's chest. "I can't believe I can do this," he said softly. Jason pulled him into an embrace and Billy's lips kissed the hollow of his throat while his hand slid up to brush against Jason's nipple. Words came soft against his skin: "If I wake up on that airplane, I may just kill myself."

"Not a dream," Jason said, tightening his hold. "Not a dream."

Billy raised his face for a kiss, and this time his tongue delved into Jason's mouth. His fingers had tightened on Jason's nipple and his skin burned against Jason's. Jason's knees trembled, and he felt Billy's erection, though confined by the worn denim, pressing against his thigh and his own nudging Billy's stomach. Gotta get horizontal, he thought with some effort through the sensations crashing against his mind, gotta lose this height difference... He heard moaning and realized it was him.

This time it was Billy pulling away and Jason protesting, but Billy caught his hand. "Bedroom," he said, back to single words.

Bedroom. Yes. Good idea. Jason followed him down the hallway, hands joined. It was a very good idea; he really didn't want the first time to be in the hallway next to the laundry room, with the sharp tang of detergent fighting the spicy, coffee, musky scent of Billy and the floor, or wall, hard against them. Maybe he was a closet romantic on top of everything else, but he wanted it to be perfect.

Billy pushed the door open and backed through it, his eyes never leaving Jason. Jason crowded against him a little, kissing him, hands roving, and Billy kept backing, drawing Jason with him, until he bumped into the bed. They stood there for a long moment before Jason leaned forward, deliberately overbalancing them onto the bed. It wasn't made, he noticed, and with the last of his rational mind he hoped that Billy's only objection was to making beds, not having them made, since Jason always did...

Part Four:

Jason woke up to darkness and a warm and welcome weight in his arms. Sprawled across him, more like, he thought, smiling to himself. He ran his hand gently down the back and hip of the body covering his and smiled again when Billy moved a little closer.

Oh, God, he thought, this is how it's supposed to be, isn't it? He rubbed his cheek against Billy's hair. Awkward, over way too soon, neither of us knew what the hell we were doing... and it was the best sex of my life.

Of course, standing in the hallway and kissing him had been the best sex of his life up to that point, so, with any luck, it would just keep getting better. It'll kill me, but I won't mind. I won't mind at all. He laughed to himself, but it turned audible in a minute, and he felt Billy stir against him.

"Morning..." Billy said, raising his head to look at him. "Or, sorry, night."

"What time is it?"

Billy put his head back down and said drowsily against his shoulder, "Later."

"Later?" Jason turned to look at his lover—lover—and asked, "Later? Not, oh, 8:32 or whatever?"

Billy smiled at him, waking up. "It might be. But I can't see the clock. It's not ten yet; there're only three digits."

Jason turned over reluctantly and looked. The clock beside the bed read 9:23 in large red LED figures. "It's nine thirty," he informed Billy. "What do you mean, you can't see it—oh. Your glasses," he realized.

"Yes," said Billy. "In my shirt pocket. In the hall. I don't need them," he added as Jason started to get up and fetch them. "Not now, at any rate."

Jason resettled himself, and threaded his fingers through Billy's now-tangled blond hair. "I want to wake up like this for the rest of my life."

Billy moved his head unconsciously under Jason's hand. He was a snuggler, Jason had been delighted to discover. It surprised him, considering that he wasn't much of a toucher in the general run of day-to-day life and never had been; it wasn't the Cranston way, he'd said once, lightly. Jason remembered worriedly asking his parents, years ago, if Billy's father didn't love him and being told that he loved his son very much, he just didn't hug him often. At all, Jason thought. But if Billy wanted hugging, Jason would be more than happy to provide it. His stomach growled softly and he remembered that he hadn't had lunch. "Are you hungry?"

"No."

"Well, I am."

"Call for pizza," Billy suggested, not moving. "Phone's by the clock. Speed dial 2."

"What's 1," Jason asked as he reached for the phone, "the Chinese place? Or the Colonel?"

"You."

Jason dropped the phone on the bed and propped himself up on one elbow so that he could lean over and kiss him. Billy cooperated in the plan, taking Jason's head in his hands and allowing himself to be rolled over onto his back. But when he ran one of his hands down Jason's back, Jason grabbed it and pushed himself up on his elbows, holding Billy's hands between them. "You're gonna kill me, aren't you, Cranston?" he said.

"That wasn't my intention." Billy's lips quirked into a smile despite his efforts to sound serious.

"Well, you will if you keep this up."

"Then perhaps you'd better call for pizza and get some sustenance inside you."

"Perhaps." Jason kissed him again, lightly, and rolled over to sit up and find the phone.

Billy waited until he'd called in the order, then sat up too. "I'm going to shower," he said, "and while we wait for the pizza, we can talk."

"Talk?" Jason looked at him; he sounded serious. Maybe he should have gone along.

"Talk." Billy repeated. "As I said, it's later."

Jason remembered him saying "talk later" in the hallway, after Jason had said "I love you." After the past four hours he couldn't be too worried, but... Billy had already gotten out of bed. Jason thought about joining him in the shower, but too many girlfriends had made talk a bad word in his vocabulary. So while he waited for the shower to be freed up he stripped the bed and remade it with fresh linen from the hall closet.

Billy didn't take any extra time in the shower. When he came out, his hair still damp and a towel around his neck, he was wearing a fairly ratty teeshirt and old sweatpants. He looked adorable. This could pose problems in the mornings, Jason realized.

"I'm going to do laundry," Billy said. "If you'll toss me your things, you can borrow some sweats..." He paused suddenly, biting his lip momentarily. "You are staying the night?"

Any nebulous worries Jason had disappeared. "At least," he answered, throwing the sheets along with his khakis and boxers across the room. "Bottom drawer still?"

Billy smiled and nodded. "You want beer with your pizza?"

"That'd be good."

"I'll see if we have any."

"Good host," Jason teased.

"You consider yourself company after that?" Billy raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, you have a point... Don't step on your glasses out there," he called as Billy laughed and left the room. Then he pulled a pair of black sweatpants and a faded blue sleeveless sweatshirt out of the bottom drawer and headed for the bathroom.

He had a choice of some generic dandruff shampoo or an herbal that had to be what Billy used. Their hair was completely different, but for tonight it would do. He'd have to buy some of his brand... He poured the green liquid into his hands, smelling the tang that was part of the overall scent that said Billy, and stood under the hot water wondering how anyone could feel as good as he did. The rap on the bathroom door made him jump.

"Hey. Did you drown?"

"What?" he stuck his head out around the curtain.

"Pizza's here." Billy's voice sounded amused. "Shall I stick it in the oven or are you coming out in the foreseeable future?"

"Can't be."

"It is. It's ten fifteen."

"Cripes. I'll be right out."

"Don't hurry. It's not like I'm eating any of your half." The door shut. He could tell Billy was laughing.

Laughter was fine. He wanted to hear laughter every day from now on.

He toweled off, got dressed, and went into the kitchen. Billy was sitting at the old table the Cranstons had, a genuine antique, or at least a really old piece of furniture, scarred and comfortable. The pizza box was in the middle of the table, with paper plates and two bottles of beer keeping it company. He sat down and pulled a piece of the pizza out of the box.

Billy took a pull from his beer and said, "You left your wallet in your trousers." He pointed the bottle at the counter. "Jason—"

Jason took a drink himself to wash down some pizza and looked at him. "Yes?"

"Don't misunderstand me: I have absolutely no complaints about what happened here today. On the contrary, I'm... happy."

Jason grinned involuntarily. "That was the plan."

"But why? How? I mean, I never..." he didn't seem to know how to finish that.

Well, if this was what he wanted to talk about, there was no problem. Jason took another drink and another bite and said, "I got my eyes opened. You shouldn't get angry—"

"Angry? Jason, even if you called the psychic tarot hotline, I wouldn't be angry with you." Which was a huge concession, Jason knew, because Billy had no patience with those things and less of a sense of humor about them. "But what happened? I would have sworn when I left you were, well..."

"Straight?" Jason shrugged. "I'd have sworn it, too."

"Then, what?"

"Kim was in town."

"I'm sorry I—missed her," he finished. It was clear he understood.

Well, his IQ did start with 2, Jason reflected. It was hard to keep him from figuring things out when the evidence was available. "Don't get annoyed with her. She kept the secret for five years, after all, and she only told me to, so to speak, knock some sense into me."

"I can hardly quarrel with the results," Billy admitted.

Jason smiled, and got a brilliant smile in return. "All I had to do was realize I love you. The rest just sort of fell into place."

"Including your job?"

Whoops. "What do you mean?" he tried to buy a bit of time.

"I mean, you said you already had a job in Boston. Based on what Kim told you you were going to move across the country?"

"Well, you're going to MIT. It's a bit hard to live with someone who's in Boston if you're in California. These bicoastal things usually don't work out... Okay." He capitulated. "I wasn't going to give up. If I had pay for all those years of not noticing you, I was going to. As much time as it took."

Billy's expression was an unfamiliar one. When he spoke, his tone was odd. "You were going to follow me to Cambridge based on nothing more than what Kim said? Regardless of what happened today, what I might say? You wouldn't even talk about moving to L.A. for Emily—"

Oh. He'd actually forgotten that, another of his differences with his ex-almost-fiancée.

"—but you were going all the way across the country for a chance at me?"

"Sounds reasonable to me," Jason said.

"Oh." Billy swallowed. "Oh, god. Jason."

"All that," he agreed. "And then some."

Suddenly his arms were full of a trembling lover, holding on like a drowning man. "I love you, Jason," Billy said against his neck. "I love you. Did I say that? Because it's true."

"I know. Believe me, I know."

They didn't finish the pizza.

Part Five:

The phone was ringing. Jason lunged for it, missed it, swore as his head connected with something hard, and then remembered that (a) he wasn't employed by the AGPD any more, and (b) he was at Billy's. But he was definitely awake, so he answered the phone, wondering as he did where Billy had gotten to. "Hello?"

"William Cranston?"

"Umm, no." He looked at the clock. Who the hell called at seven a.m.? "May I tell him who's calling?"

"Jeffrey Daniels." Clearly that was supposed to mean something.

"Well, I'll see if he's around, Mr. Dan—"

"Doctor Daniels."

Jason refrained from saying anything, just got out of bed and pulled on the discarded sweatpants, then went to look for Billy.

He found him almost by accident, catching a glimpse through the living room window of him standing outside on the porch steps, reading something in the middle of the second section of the morning paper. He'd obviously been running; he was wearing shorts and a sweat-soaked teeshirt, and he looked as though he'd drifted to a stop halfway to the house after collecting the paper from the sidewalk. Jason shook his head; how could anybody be that eager to find out what was going wrong in the world today? "Hey, you," he opened the door.

"Hmm? Oh. Good morning." That sweet, abstracted smile made Jason's breath catch for a minute.

"Somebody named Daniels is on the phone for you."

"Oh. Thanks. I didn't hear it ring," Billy said, still somewhat distracted by the paper. "Daniel? I don't think I know a Daniel."

"Danielsss," said Jason. "Doctor Jeffrey Daniels."

"Oh. Him." Billy suddenly came back to the world. "What does he want—? Here." He handed Jason the paper and headed for the phone in the kitchen.

Jason extracted the sports section and went inside. There was one Coke in the refrigerator, two eggs, no bacon... he realized they'd have to go shopping today. Opening the Coke, he leaned against the counter, listening to Billy on the phone with half an ear and thinking about names. Specifically, Billy's name. Hearing this Daniels guy on the phone asking for "William" had triggered something he'd been apparently mulling over in the back of his brain for a while.

'Billy' was a kid's name. And Billy was no kid any more. He hadn't been for a while, but... somehow that nickname had stuck. He'd always been the only one of them with that kind of nickname. Zachary had been Zack, and Kimberly Kim, not Kimmy and whatever you'd do to
Zachary... Zackie? Jason winced at the thought and didn't even want to picture Zack's reaction. Then later, when they'd got to high school, there'd been Rocky and Tommy, but Rocky was a tough name, a fighter's name, and Tommy was a jock's name. Like Bobby Gordon, or Ricky Rudd, Randy LaJoie, or Bobby Hamilton... all those racing guys. And anyway, Tommy had always been big and mean, at least to look at. 'Billy' belonged to that young kid from junior high, the kid who'd been clumsy, shy, a bit of a geek—Jason had to admit it—, and painfully vulnerable, things this man Jason was looking at wasn't. This man was confident, quiet, intellectual, and very competent. This man was a 'Bill' at least, if not a full-fledged 'William'. And, Jason remembered, his dad's been calling him 'Bill' for a couple of years now...

"Dr. Daniels," Billy's voice was raised enough to really catch Jason's attention. "No, I don't. That position is indefensible." Jason listened unabashedly. "No. I can't put my name to a paper that
pretends otherwise. ... Well, of course you can quote anything I've published, but if you attempt to cast my position as one that in any way supports yours, I shall have to challenge you. ... Yes, in
print. ... No, I'll be at MIT next week. I'll get it from you then. ... Yes. Permanently. At least for the foreseeable future. ... Yes. Thank you, and the same to you."

Oh, yeah, Jason thought. That was a William. "Bill?" he said experimentally.

"Yes?"

"Phone's off the hook in the bedroom."

"Oh. Okay." Bill went off in that direction, then came into the kitchen.

Of course, Jason realized, wandering around the kitchen looking for coffee, in a crumpled, wet teeshirt stuck to his body with his hair in his eyes, he did look more like a Billy...

"Did that idiot wake you up?" Bill sat down catty-cornered from him, a mug of coffee clutched in grateful hands. "There is voice mail."

"I'm hard-wired not to let the phone ring," Jason said, shaking his head. "You'll have to let me know when you don't want to be in. Or for who, maybe. Or, I guess we could get two lines."

"Three," said Bill. "The computer gets one. But if I'm on the phone with Germany or Cambridge or Christchurch or somewhere, I'm not likely to pick up on the call waiting, so a line for you might be a very good idea."

"Okay," Jason agreed. Something else to make a note of. "Do you prefer William?" he asked as Bill drained his coffee.

"What? Oh, Daniels," Bill realized. He went to refill his cup, shaking his head. "No. I don't think I've ever signed a paper anything but William M. Cranston in my life, but if anybody calls me
that I know I'm in serious trouble." He sat down and smiled briefly. "Or that they don't know me. Like Daniels." He reached for the paper in front of Jason.

"You should change," Jason pointed out a trifle reluctantly. "You'll get pneumonia."

"I haven't yet." He unfolded it to the story he'd been reading earlier.

"There is nothing in this house for breakfast."

"Oh," Bill looked up. "I forgot. On the porch."

Jason grinned and went outside. A Dunkin' Donuts bag was on the railing next to a plastic newspaper wrapper. Jason brought them both in, putting the one on the table and throwing away the other. "I can't believe I'm eating donuts for breakfast," he said as he got plates out of the cabinet. Bill was too involved with the newspaper to answer. Jason shook his head, slid a plate under the donut in Bill's hand, and sat down to read the sports.

Part Six:

"Here." Bill pulled a soft blue plaid shirt off a hanger and tossed it to Jason. "This should fit you."

"I can't believe you forgot to wash my shirt," Jason said, catching the shirt and putting on the bed next to him.

"Yes, it was undoubtedly Freudian of me." Bill checked another shirt against the navy teeshirt he had already put on and pulled it off its hanger.

"You don't believe in Freud." Jason tied his shoe and looked at Bill. He had already discovered he liked watching him get dressed almost as much as he liked watching him get undressed. He was definitely going to be in trouble in the mornings.

"The man had some genuine insights," Bill conceded. "Much of the corpus of his work is seriously flawed, however, though some is unavoidable due to the faulty nature of his time's understanding of the physical structure of the brain... but I was using the term in its vernacular meaning."

"I'm not going anywhere," Jason acknowledged.

"And I may get used to that in time." Bill tucked the shirt into his jeans and zipped them up. "You're sure you want to talk to your parents this afternoon?"

Jason shrugged. "I don't think I should wait." He picked up the shirt and held it without moving to put it on.

Bill paused with his belt in one hand. "Jase, love—" the word brought a quick smile to Jason's face "—why the hurry?"

"I'm not ashamed of you," Jason said. "I don't see any reason to hide anything."

"Did you rush off and tell them the day after you first slept with ... what was her name again?"

Jason laughed. "No. No, I didn't. But I'm moving to Massachusetts next week. I kinda think they have a right to hear about that before it happens."

"Yes, that's a valid point." Bill began threading the belt through the loops.

Jason bit back the urge to ask if he could do that and said instead, "Besides, my sleeping with Emily wasn't a surprise to them. You know what I mean," he added to Bill's quirked eyebrow. "They didn't have to make any adjustments to their expectations."

Bill just nodded.

"What about your dad, as far as that goes?"

Bill shrugged slightly. "My father doesn't have any expectations."

"Come on."

"He says he doesn't understand me well enough to know what to expect from me. Which," he smiled, apparently at a memory, "isn't true. He also says that he doesn't have the right to expect anything of me. Which may be. He's certainly never given me to understand that he has expectations."

"Maybe you're meeting them all," suggested Jason, "without him saying anything."

Bill considered that, then shook his head. "I've never felt there were any expectations, any pressures on me to do anything in particular. He has wants," he offered.

"Such as? A Nobel? Or will he be content with tenured professorship?"

"He wants me to be happy."

"Really?" As soon as he'd said it he wished he hadn't. It sounded like he thought Mr. Cranston might want his son not to be happy, and all he meant was—

"Pretty much that's all he wants," Bill said, understanding perfectly. He half-smiled, adding, "It hasn't been the easiest thing to give him until now. Of course, I doubt he'd object to a Nobel. So,
are you going to be pressuring me, now?"

"I just think you should work up to your potential, young man," Jason said.

Bill sat down on the bed next to Jason. "I'll remind you of that when you come around looking for a vacation." He pulled on one of his shoes and tightened the laces. Double-knotted them. Wrapping himself up again.

So I can unwrap him again.... "That reminds me, I think we should go to Vermont before MIT starts its fall semester," Jason said.

"Vermont?" Bill looked at him puzzledly. "What's in Vermont in August?"

"Civil unions."

"Come again?"

"Didn't I tell you I wanted forever?"

"You mentioned something like that." Bill cocked his head to one side. "Is this a proposal?"

"If you need one, yes. If you want, I'll get on my knees."

"That won't be necessary... but, this week?"

"What?"

"It's just... you seem to be in a blinding hurry, Jason. What's up?"

Jason hesitated.

Bill looked at him. "Come on, Jase. Talk to me. What's up?"

"Just making up for lost time," he said, and heard it sound like an offering rather than an answer.

"No." Bill rejected it. "I don't know what it is, but it's not that." Jason looked away and Bill caught his chin in his hand and turned his head back until their eyes met. "It's not that. And it's not like you to rush into something without a thorough reconnaissance. What is it, love? Tell me."

Jason stared into the green eyes, knowing he was close enough to be easily read, trying to think of the right words.

After a moment, Bill's grip softened into a caress. "Oh, Jase," he said. "Aren't you sure of me? Be sure of me. I'm sure."

"I don't want you going to MIT, meeting somebody smarter than me," Jason admitted.

Bill smiled at him, not laughing, just smiling so lovingly that Jason felt his heart actually turn over, at least that's how it felt. "Jason," he said, "I've loved you half my life and been in love with you almost that long. Meeting people smarter than you hasn't stopped me yet."

Jason thought about that and realized he felt safe enough right now to make a joke about it. "I halfway think maybe I should smack you for that."

"And the other half?"

"Kiss you."

"Tie-breaker?" Bill offered.

Jason accepted, but when he tried to deepen it Bill pulled away.

"Not now. You're the one who wants to go to your parents' house this afternoon."

"Oh. Right."

"We can wait." Bill suggested, a gleam in his eyes.

"No. I may be acting on my insecurities, but you know me. Action is my middle name."

"Inarguable," Bill conceded. "Jason, I want to say something."

"Okay." Jason said, agreeably.

Bill sighed. "Pay attention, Jason. I mean it."

"I'm paying attention."

"You are not." Bill suddenly shoved Jason down on the bed, putting his hands on his shoulders and sitting back on his stomach. "If your parents don't want to accept me—"

"Then we walk."

"No." Bill shook his head. "I walk."

"Are you insane?" he demanded

"No, listen to me." Bill leaned into his hold.

Jason impatiently tried to dislodge him and discovered the intoxicating sensation of a masculine strength that was too much for him to break free of. He shook it off. Now was not the time to
explore that sort of thing. Now was definitely not the time... not before those words were dealt with. "I can't believe you said that. There's no way I'm leaving you just because my parents don't accept it. If. You know what I mean. I'm not."

"Jason!" Bill cut him off. He took a deep breath. "I don't mean, leave me. There is no way you get to do that, let alone have me suggest it to you. Clear?"

Jason nodded, calmer. "Okay. What did you mean?"

"I mean, you're making this binary: either they accept us as a couple with open arms and joyful hearts, or they forbid us to darken their door again. There is actually a whole range of potential reactions, and we should at least look at what we're going to do if one of them turns out to be the chosen one."

"Like what, exactly? I mean, that makes us breaking up acceptable?"

"I'm sorry. That was a bad choice of words on my part. I meant only that if, for argument's sake, your parents are still willing to have a relationship with you if they can pretend I don't exist, you should try to sustain that relationship."

Jason looked at him in wonder. "And you wouldn't mind?"

"Of course I'd mind," Bill snapped, which show of temper made Jason feel better. "But they're your parents, damnit, Jason. You don't want to lose them if you don't have to!"

Oh, damn. This was more about Bill than him, he realized. It was possible to assume—and many people did—that Bill didn't miss his mother, since he never mentioned her, but Jason had long ago realized that exactly the opposite was true. Bill missed her so deeply that he couldn't deal with the pain talking about her caused. Of course, if Jason's parents cut him off it wouldn't be the same, but he figured now was not the time to discuss the difference between watching your mom bleed to death while you and she were pinned in the twisted wreckage of a car when you were nine and having your parents tell you they didn't want you around any more when you were twenty. Instead, he nodded and said, his voice as serious as he could make it, "You're right. If there's any way at all to keep us talking, I'll take it. I won't leave you, but if they want to pretend things, okay. I'll try to live it."

Bill relaxed. "Good. I love your parents, you know that, but I don't think they ever thought of me as son-in-law material."

Part Seven:

Jason opened the front door and went in, followed by Bill, who lingered in the hallway while Jason shut the door and looked around. "Mom?" he called.

"I'm in the kitchen, honey," she answered.

They went into the kitchen, which was filled with the scent of roast beef. Jason was reminded of all the times in junior high he had dragged his friend over to make sure he got a good, home-cooked meal.

"Are you staying for dinner, Billy?" his mom asked, closing her crossword puzzle book.

They exchanged glances, and then Jason looked at her. "Where's Dad?" he asked, ignoring her question for the moment.

"Out back," Linda said. "He's working on the hedge. He'll be in—Jason?"

He paused on his way to the back door, glancing a little nervously between her and Bill, who was standing near the doorway to the hall almost as if he hadn't run tame in this house since he was ten. Then Jason said, "I'm going to get him. There's something I need to talk to you both about."

He walked quickly to the hedge where his dad was working, feeling oddly reluctant about leaving Bill in the kitchen with his mom. She'd always liked Bill, ever since the first time she'd met him, but he had no idea how she'd react to losing her chance at grandchildren, or him moving away... or you being gay, stop beating around the bush. Still, he thought she'd take it better than his dad would, remembering this and that over the years, not to mention how well his dad fit in at the station.

"Dad?"

Frank Scott looked up. "Jason," he said.

Great, something's already got him annoyed. "Can you come inside for a minute? There's something I need to tell you and Mom."

"Would it be about your job, by any chance?"

"What?"

"When were planning on telling us that you're unemployed? That you quit?"

"Where did you hear that?"

"Where do you think? I do have friends in the personnel office."

"Dad, please, I don't want to go over this twice. Come inside."

Frank gave him a surprisingly bitter look and headed for the house, dropping the clippers on the barbecue pit as he passed it. This is not beginning well, Jason thought, following him inside.

Bill and his mom had obviously gotten over his nervousness, Jason was glad to see. They were sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and talking. Jason sat down around the corner from Bill, leaving his father the chair between him and Linda. Neither he nor Frank got anything to drink, and Linda, looking back and forth between her son and her husband, clearly understood the subtext Jason was missing.

She spoke first. "What do you want to tell us, Jason?"

"Possibly something about his job, honey," Frank said.

"Your job?" she said to Jason, startled. "Did it fall through?"

"No," said Frank. "When were you planning on telling us that you're unemployed? That you quit?"

Jason really wished his dad hadn't heard that; it obviously bothered him. A lot. "I'm not unemployed. I've got a perfectly good job, starting next Monday."

Frank lost some of his belligerence, but still seemed annoyed. "What is it?"

"Patrolman," Jason answered. "With the Boston Police Department."

"Patrolman? But—Boston?" Frank asked, clearly startled. "Massachusetts?"

"Yes," Jason said, glancing at his mom and noticing she didn't look surprised at all. "I'm moving to Massachusetts. With Bill."

There was a long pause. Then Frank said, "Why?"

For just a minute, Jason wanted to say, 'pay, benefits, always wanted to live in a big city, can't stand seeing Emily every day', anything but the truth. But only for a minute. "Because we're in love," he said, reaching across the corner of the table and putting his hand on Bill's. "We're going to be married—well, civilly united. Legal, though."

"What?" Frank hadn't shouted, but his voice was cold.

"I said, because we're in love—"

"I heard what you said. I want you to explain it to me."

"Explain it?" Jason demanded. "What do you mean, explain it? I love Bill. He loves me. He's going to MIT. I'm going with him. We're going to be married. They're simple concepts. What's so hard to understand about them?"

"What's hard to understand is how my son can suddenly go from wanting to marry a woman to being—" he stopped, flushed. "What's hard to understand is how someone I've welcomed in my house can do this to my son."

"Watch it," Jason had never felt so cold with anger.

Linda intervened, looking frightened. "Frank, we've known Billy since he was a child."

"I thought so."

"I mean it," Jason said. "Watch what you say."

"You watch your tone," Frank said warningly. "I'm still your father."

Bill stood up, the sudden motion breaking the tension at least for the moment. "Look," he said carefully to Jason, "I'm getting in the way. I'll wait outside."

"Bill—" He was so not being chased out of this house. Not by himself.

"Jason," Bill cut him off. "I'll wait outside. Remember what I said." He stared at Jason across the table, holding his eyes with his own and they so filled with love and warning that Jason almost couldn't stand it.

"Okay," Jason agreed, reluctantly. "I won't be too long."

"Take your time," Bill said. He went the wrong way around the table, away from Jason, and put his cup in the sink. "Thank you for the coffee, Mrs. Scott," he said, as if it had been an ordinary visit, and then went out the back door.

Jason saw the look of relief on his mom's face. She was right: if Bill had gotten within arm's reach of him by going out the front door, Jason would have given his dad a display he'd... probably have been unable to ignore, so it was a probably a good thing Bill had more self-control than he did, if there was any way to preserve this relationship.

Before he could say anything, his mom spoke up. "Frank, he's still our son, you're right. You're his father, I'm his mother. We're a family—"

"He should act like it."

"You should act like it," Jason retorted. "You could try being happy for me."

"Happy? I was happy when you wanted to marry Emily. I'm supposed to happy about this?"

"This is the man I love." Jason said with careful deliberation. "And while we're on the subject, he didn't 'do' anything to me. Except love me."

"Is that what they're calling it now?" They locked eyes.

"That's what it is." Jason said. Even in the middle of this, he could hear his voice soften as he said, "I've never been loved like this."

"I would hope not."

"God damn it, what is your problem?" Jason said, shouting for what he realized was the first time.

"I... can't deal with this," his dad said, sounding, suddenly, more lost than angry. "I can't deal with him."

Jason had stiffened, but the tone got to him despite himself. And then he heard Bill saying you don't want to lose them if you don't have to, and he realized that, even if he didn't mind, and he did, Bill would feel pretty bad about being the cause of any estrangement. Buying himself time to think and calm down a bit, he brought his hands up to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose, hard, between them, taking a deep breath and holding it for a moment before blowing it out. Then, calm enough to speak rationally, he said, "Okay. Okay. I'm not leaving Bill, but I'm not going to try to force him down your throat, either."

"What does that mean?" Linda asked, sounding hopeful.

"It means, I'm moving to Massachusetts. But you don't have to tell people why. I'm inviting you to our civil union ceremony, but if you can't come, I'll understand. I'll call you on the phone, and I won't ask you to talk to Bill or get annoyed if you don't ask about him. If we come back to Angel Grove, I'll come here by myself. Can we live like that?" Because that's as far as I can come.

His mom looked at his dad, who suddenly seemed to realize how close Jason had come to just walking out the door after Bill and never coming back. "And right now?" he said.

"Right now," Jason answered calmly, "I'm going after my," he paused, "roommate."

"When will you come for your things?" his mom asked.

"Tomorrow, or the next day maybe," he said. "When you're at the station, Dad." He looked from him to her. "Is this going to work?"

"It will work," she answered, giving Frank a hard look.

"I'm sorry, Jason," his dad said. "I can't... yes. Yes, this will work."

"I'll call tomorrow," Jason said.

And then he left.

Bill was sitting on the hood of the Jeep, leaning back against the windshield, his arms around his knees. He was doing that thing he did, looking at something only he could see. This time, though, he wasn't so far away that he didn't notice when Jason approached. "Hey," he said softly, turning to dangle his legs over the side of the hood. "What happened?"

Jason leaned on the car beside him, resting his head in his hands. He wanted to hug Bill, to be held, but he knew better. Not in public. Not the Cranston way... "We're still talking," he said. "Thanks for that, by the way. If it had been left up to me, they'd be seeing the mushroom cloud in Stone Canyon."

"Your mother knew."

He looked at Bill. "What?"

"Before you and your father came in," Bill said. "She told me she knew."

"But..."

"She said your wearing my shirt was the last clue she needed. She seems fairly insightful."

"It's just, I mean, you were sitting there like nothing happened."

Bill smiled. "She'd just told me to be good to you."

Jason felt some of his anger drain away. "She wasn't upset," he nodded. "Just Dad..."

"I'm sorry, Jason. I truly am."

"I know. I didn't want to lie to them. I did so much of that before—"

"You had to. You had no choice."

"But I was still lying, Bill. I was hiding who I was from them. And now there's no excuse. Of course, the truth I get to tell them isn't the one they want to hear."

"Jase, come here."

He looked at Bill. They were so close Bill's knee was touching his hip. "I am here."

Bill reached for him, pulling him over to stand between his knees, and wrapped his arms around him. "She told me to be good to you," he said. "It's an easy charge..."

Jason wrapped his own arms around Bill's waist and laid his face against his chest. He felt Bill's chin resting on his head, and he tightened his hold. A tiny piece of him hoped his parents were
looking, but only a tiny piece. "God," he said softly, "I love you, William M. Cranston."

"I know."

Jason could have stood there all day, but he knew Bill must be uncomfortable. He had gotten what he needed, anyway. He tightened his hold for a moment, then pulled away. "Now, we really need to go shopping."

"If you say so," Bill said.

"I do say so. The state of your refrigerator is scandalous. I'm cooking tonight. Lamb, if I can find any. A nice rice pilaf, with apricots. And we need eggs for breakfast. Cokes. Orange juice.
Something for tomorrow..."

Bill laughed. "Lamb and rice pilaf? You know what? I think I'll keep you."

"That is the plan... especially since I've been and gone and burned my bridges."

"He'll come around."

"I hope so." Jason pulled out his keys. "Get in. Let's hit the Safeway first."

"Okay." Bill pushed himself gracefully off the Jeep. "We'd better go by a travel agent, too. We need to get you a seat on the same flight I'm on next week."

"We can't fly," Jason protested automatically. "How is all your stuff getting up there? Not to mention mine, though compared to you I haven't got much."

Bill buckled his seat belt and said, "Sunday we put it all in boxes. I can start in the lab while you go to church?"

"I suppose..." Jason wondered if he'd look for one in Boston. Depended on how tolerant they really were up there.

"Then on Monday morning, two big men in jumpsuits show up and load it all onto a truck. All we do is unpack it again in Cambridge next weekend."

"Then how is my Jeep getting there?" Jason headed the said Jeep away from his parents' house toward the shopping center.

"You get to drive in the snow?"

"I'll have to," Jason said, then Bill's tone registered. "You can buy a car, just get one that's not older than you are."

Bill was silent for a block, then he said, quietly, "Do you know the difference between 'can' and 'may'?"

Jason almost responded with his father's old Can you? I'm sure you're physically able but you may not, but fortunately the real meaning of the question penetrated in time. He reviewed his words, and sighed to himself. "I'm not giving you permission. You don't need my permission."

"Good."

He slid a sideways glance at Bill, who was looking satisfied. But he felt he needed to say something more. "Look, Bill, you know me. Sometimes I come off a little bossy—"

"As long as you know the difference," Bill said, not sounding annoyed at all, "I'll even take your suggestions into consideration."

"Too kind," Jason grinned.

"You want to teach me to drive in the snow?"

Jason groaned aloud, remembering hours of frustration trying to teach Bill martial arts. His tactile, do-what-I'm-doing, like-this, higher-no-not-that-high style hadn't worked at all well; Bill's ability to defend himself in a fight was due more to his determination to learn than anything else. And what was worse, he'd been able to adapt to tutor Jason in science and math with very good success... he'd been AGHS's best tutor ever, actually spending half his time his abbreviated senior year tutoring, mostly junior high kids in trouble... "That's such a good idea," he said. "Let's kill each other before our first anniversary."

"I could buy a book," Bill said, ignoring Jason's renewed groans at the idea of learning to drive in the snow from a book, "and you could correct my technique."

Jason slid another sideways look at him; a small smile was curling the corner of his mouth. "Are we still talking about driving?"

"We don't have to be," Bill replied.

"You interest me, Cranston."

"Strangely?"

"Oh, yeah." Jason laughed. "We'll work something out. About the driving, too."

Bill laughed and put his foot up on the dash.

"You are aware," Jason said conversationally, "that if I have to slam on the brakes or we hit something, you'll break your leg?"

"If we hit something," Bill said, "I'll probably break my legs anyway, given the track record of air bags." But he put his foot down.

"We should drive to Boston."

"Drive? You're insane, Jason. Do you know how far it is? 3000 miles, roughly. To get there in four days we'd have to drive over 700 miles a day. That's twelve hours a day driving... at least."

"Why do we have to be there in four days? I don't have to be there until next Monday, and you aren't telling me you didn't give yourself at least a week to get acclimated."

"They're delivering on Saturday. We couldn't leave till Tuesday at the earliest—"

"Bill, I'm sure they'd be happy to charge us an arm and a leg to pick it up early and store it for a week or two."

Bill contemplated that. After a moment, he said, "I wonder if I can cash this ticket in."

"You like the idea?" Jason liked it. Nine, ten days on the road with Bill, no one else around.

"It's one of your better ones," he agreed. "We'll call them."

"Good."

"I've been thinking," he added after another block.

"That's not new," Jason observed. "What about?"

"Getting civilly united. We should wait, you know."

"Why?"

"Because Vermont is a long way away. Longer than Boston."

"True, but I don't see the point."

"Hey, Scott!" He was interrupted when a patrol car pulled up in the lane next to him. Fred Hanson leaned out.

"Hey, Sarge," Jason said across Bill.

"What's with this? Usually you kids give us back a year or so in gratitude for making you marketable in the big city." He was grinning.

"Nobody told me," Jason grinned back.

"Smart-aleck," Hanson said amiably. "Wait till the blizzards start."

"I'm told I'll like snow."

"Yeah, sure. Good luck up there." The light turned green and they went their separate ways.

"Ex-partner," he said. "I'd've introduced you, but... well, I told Dad he could lie about why I'd gone, so if I started telling people he has to work with..."

"It would invalidate the arrangement. I understand. It's okay, Jason. It really is."

"Yeah?" Jason actually ground the gears as he pulled into the parking lot.

Bill reached over and squeezed his leg. "It's okay."

"Yeah. Besides, it would just make Hanson glad I was leaving... So," he parked the Jeep and looked at Bill, deliberately changing the subject. "Why should we wait? We just drive up there before we get to Boston."

"Well, it'll be hard for anyone to get there on such short notice."

Jason was a bit startled. "I hadn't actually thought about asking anyone."

"I hadn't thought you'd want it private," Bill responded, equally startled. "We have to ask Kim, if we don't ask anyone else. She'd kill me if we didn't."

"You're right. We owe her a wedding."

"So we'll have to coordinate with her schedule. And with anyone else we ask. It's not like asking someone to run over to Santa Barbara for an afternoon ceremony."

"You know," Jason vented some of his annoyance, "the fact that there's only one place in the whole country we can get married is—"

"Something we should be grateful for, perhaps." He sounded serious.

"Why? Because even just a couple of months ago there wouldn't have been anywhere?"

"That, and the fact that it is so far away means people can use that as an excuse not to be rude and tell us they wouldn't come on a bet."

"Who?"

"Kat, certainly. Rocky maybe. I don't know about Adam and Tanya..."

Jason didn't know either. He'd just figured on not asking. But if they made it clear they didn't really expect anyone to come all that way, asking was a gesture of friendship. And he didn't want to lose all his friends... "Hey," it occurred to him. "Tommy will probably want to come. We'll have to coordinate with him, too... this is going to be complicated."

"That's how life gets," Bill said philosophically. "Are we shopping, or are we sitting?"

"We're shopping. I'm going to introduce you to the produce section."

"Is it too late to change my mind?"

"Way too late."

Bill smiled at him. "Yes. You're right. It most certainly is."

Part Eight:

Jason sat on the couch in the Cranstons' living room, watching the Angels game with the sound low, threading his fingers through Bill's hair. Bill, his head pillowed on Jason's thigh, had fallen asleep in the second inning—no fan of organized sports, he, but at least he didn't object to Jason's watching them. Close enough to perfect. Jason had pulled his glasses off and put them on the coffee table next to his stockinged feet and divided his attention between his team and his lover to the point that he had to look at the screen to know what the score was. He wondered if he'd ever get used to this: to having the right to watch Bill sleep, to touch him sleeping, to sit there until he woke up while joy fizzed inside him... He didn't hear the car pull up, and by the time he realized the door was opening, it was too late to wake Bill in order to face his dad in a slightly less picture-worth-a-thousand-words way, to explain instead of demonstrate.

But Edmund Cranston merely glanced his way as he came in, putting his suitcase down to turn around and shut the front door. For a minute Jason thought he just hadn't noticed his son or maybe just hadn't registered the possessive way his arm was wrapped around Jason's leg. Or where Jason's hands were... But then the man smiled that subdued version of his son's incandescent smile and he said, softly, "Hello, Jason. It's good to see you here."

Jason smiled back, more in relief than anything else. Bill had been right... for all the apparent lack of communication in this house, compared to his own family, Mr. Cranston knew his son. He might not know how to talk to him, but he obviously didn't miss much. "Hey," Jason shook the blue clad shoulder under his hand. "Hey, sleeping beauty. Wake up. Your dad's home."

"What?" Bill opened his eyes. "What?"

"Hello, son," Mr. Cranston said.

Bill sat up, finding his glasses after a moment, and stepped over Jason's legs to get to his dad. They smiled at each other, though they didn't touch, and Bill picked up the suitcase. "How was the trip?"

"Fine." The man smiled again, a little more mischievously. "I won't ask how you've been."

"No..." Bill grinned back. "Did you eat?" he added as he headed for the side hallway that led to the bedrooms.

His dad paused in the process of hanging up his coat—Bill's habit of tossing his at the nearest horizontal surface and not really caring whether it got there or not must be his version of rebellion, Jason thought with amusement—and called back, "No. Not yet."

Jason got to his feet. "There's lasagna in the fridge. I can heat it up," he offered.

"You can cook? Yes, thank you. Bill won't starve in Boston, then, that's good to know."

"I heard that," Bill said from halfway down the hall. "And it's Cambridge."

"Cambridge, then," his dad said. "But you can walk to MIT from downtown Boston in fifteen minutes. That makes it Boston to my mind." Turning to Jason he added, more softly, "So you are going with him to Boston? Cambridge. Wherever."

Jason paused on his way to the kitchen and looked Mr. Cranston in the eye. "Yes," he said as softly, willing him to believe. "Wherever he goes. From now on."

The older man's tired grey eyes—they always looked tired, Jason thought, tired or sad—held his for a long moment. Then he nodded, once, decisively. "That's good. That's very good."

After his own father, Jason found himself needing to hear it in so many words. "You don't mind?"

"My boy's been breaking his heart over you for a long time now," he said. "I'm glad he's going to be happy. What I'll mind is if you ever leave him. Not coming to him—that's one thing. His choice to keep on... But. Leaving him would be another, altogether."

Where had he ever gotten the notion that not saying things meant not feeling them, that reticence equalled detachment? Edmund Cranston's eyes were eloquent with a fierce love that left Jason feeling slightly shaken. "Never," he promised. "Never. I couldn't. Not now that I know how much I love him..." He shook his head. "I never will."

And he never did.