Two days later, he was released from the hospital with instructions to rest and take his medication, two new pills in addition to another supply of AZT, to help prevent infection from his wounds. He swung the door open to the loft, and stared. The place was still clean, and seemed empty. Some homecoming. "Mark? You here?"

"Roger!" Mark appeared from his room. He looked tousled, worn down, but his eyes sparked at the sight of his friend. "I thought Collins was going to get you!"

"They let me out early on good behavior." Roger smiled and embraced his friend, aware of the same soothing warmth he'd felt back at the field. Memories flew back at him, an image of a man dragging Mark kicking and screaming into the darkness. It was a moment before he let go.

Mark pulled back with a puzzled smile. "How'd you get here?"

"Taxi."

"Right. I'll ask again."

"I walked, okay? I needed the air." He fell listlessly onto the couch. The walk had tired him more than he wanted to admit. His cut hands were still bandaged, but not as heavily. His forehead sported a small white gauze pad.

Mark managed an intense exam with a single glance. "You still look like shit," he frowned.

"You always look like shit." Roger responded automatically, then squinted at him. "Take it back. Looks like you healed yourself pretty well."

Mark looked embarrassed. "I didn't want to do anything in the hospital, you know . . .since it wasn't life threatening."

"Yeah, cause we know how you can save people's lives." The warmth that had hovered between them chilled slightly, and Roger fought to get it back. "Where's the others?"

"Food run." Mark joined Roger on the sofa. "Lemme see."

"No. Mark, what the . . ."

"Just shut up and give me your hands!"

Roger sighed and relented. Mark studied them carefully, running his thumb over the bandages. "Right. Take them off."

"You do it."

He looked amused, and slowly unwrapped the gauze, wincing as it stuck to the wounds. "They give you instructions for cleaning this?"

"Yeah. Hey, don't touch it!"

"Relax, will you?" Mark took Roger's hands in his own, and closed his eyes.

Roger tensed, then was filled with a warmth that was unlike anything he'd felt before, like he was drifting in a lovely sleep, his body filled with well-being and, heaven forbid, sunshine. If little rabbits started to scurry out of the woodwork, he'd have to question Mark's intentions. As it was, he felt more relaxed than ever, and wondered if Mark was able to just reach inside and pull this peace from his soul. The thought was quickly dismissed. There was no way the man was that with it. "You've been practicing," he accused softly, his eyes closing in near bliss.

"What else am I supposed to do?" Mark responded softly. "Now be quiet."

Roger was, and felt a burning heat erupt from his fingers, traveling up each digit, centering around the joints before climbing to his wrist. It circled there, gently massaging away the pain of impact that should have damaged the joint, but didn't. It curved in a graceful arch to his palms, both bloodied from the shattered windshield. He was afraid to open his eyes and look, because he was quite certain he didn't want to see the skin stitching itself back together. Some things were just too strange and better left to the imagination. Not that it took much, he could feel the pull, feel the tightness. He winced, fighting the urge to yank his hands away and shake them. Mark held on tightly. Roger ventured a glance, and was dismayed to see a fine sheen of sweat on the man's forehead. He didn't realize healing would cause his friend such an effort. Feeling ashamed and a little put out, he slid his hands back from Mark's grasp before the tingling warmth could start up his arms.

Mark opened his eyes. "What? What is it, did I hurt you?"

"Are you kidding?"

"Then why . . ."

"You just look . . .tired. That's all."

He tilted his head, befuddled, then smiled thinly. "Since when are you worried about me being tired?"

For some reason, the comment stung worse than a wasp. Roger opened his mouth, and realized Mark was right. "Since now."

The lips quirked. Mark raised his brows and sighed, slapping his thighs casually as he stood. "Well, I was done anyway, to tell the truth. I mean, you'll still have a place there, but it'll go away in time."

Roger blinked a few times before holding his hands in front of his face, studying the new skin, the faint lines of his previous injury. "Shit." He looked up.

Mark just shrugged.

There was a loud knock, a troubling sound that turned into a persistent pounding. Roger opened the door, and was forced back into the room by an over-worried form. "I heard what happened, are you okay? Are you both okay?" Nate barreled in, dragging Roger with him before he could close the door.

Roger pulled away in irritation. "We're fine! And where the hell were you?"

"I was tending to business. Are you sure you're all right?" Nate reached out to touch the bandage on Roger head before he jerked away. He sent an accusatory glance to Mark.

"Okay, okay, look, we haven't got that far yet," Mark said, taking Roger by the arm and guiding him to the sofa. He gently pushed him down, but remained standing himself.

Roger looked from Mark to Nate and back. "Is there something I should know?"

Mark gave a deep sigh. "Nate's been . . .helping me. With this." He held up a hand.

"Oh." Roger said, and suddenly wiggled his fingers at Nate like an excited child. "Look! He fixed my hands!"

"I see." Nate sat across from them. "I looked in on Collins. He said Benjamin was having some trouble."

"Benny was driving the car, but the wreck wasn't his fault. I gave the police my statement, why are they still hounding him?" Mark sounded disgusted as he sat beside Roger.

"It is the nature of law enforcement to enforce the law, any law. Unfortunately the Law of stupidity is not excluded." Nate pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his brow. "Anyone can see this was an intended act of violence."

"Sure. Doesn't mean they can catch the guys that did it."

"Billions of dollars spent in the city on surveillance and they can't get the cops to a remote area where it is proven that speeders and idiots abound." He shook his head. "I don't suppose you found anything?"

"Other than goons who wanted us dead?" Roger snapped. His tone had no effect on Nate. "No, no pot, not even a potted plant. Why's this thing so important, anyway?"

"The true value can not be expressed adequately."

"Even if it's busted?"

"Even so."

Roger smacked out a laugh of disbelief. "Then why don't you just sell the piece you have and let someone else look for it? Personally I don't think that thing is worth my life!"

Nate growled in aggravation and stood. "Because I – never mind. You wouldn't understand if I told you." He gathered himself, pulling his customary dignity around him like a cloak. "Well. I suppose the stage is set for the next scene."

"Which is?"

Nate smiled crookedly. "Now if I were to tell you that, it wouldn't be a surprise, would it?"

"You never said anything about surprises."

"Didn't I? Well, that's one right there, then, isn't it?" He smiled devilishly. "I am glad to see you are relatively unharmed. Listen out for me. You'll know when the time comes."

"That's hardly helpful," Mark yelled out as Nate closed the door behind him. He sighed and turned to Roger. "Why didn't you tell him about the spiral?"

"Didn't feel like it."

"Oh, so now you get to dictate who knows what around here?"

"I want to see if it's still there. If it is, we'll tell him. If it isn't, there isn't much use in it."

Mark looked at him askance. "Yeah. And how are we supposed to get there?"

Roger looked around the loft as though a car was going to present itself from a corner. "Shit."

"Guess we can use the one Benny will rent. Provided they ever let him drive again."

"If Nate knew where this place was, why didn't he go there himself?"

Mark had no answer. "Ever feel like you're being used?"

"All the time." Roger leaned his head back, and said nothing more.

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Roger's mood deteriorated. Lack of sleep, the downfall of adrenaline, he didn't know what the problem was. His warm fuzzy was gone. He actually made certain at one point to brush against Mark, and felt nothing but cool air. The fact that Mark looked so worn out bothered him, he wondered just how hard Nate had been working his friend. He retreated to the bathroom take a piss and sulk, heard the loft door open, and peeked out through the cracked door.

"They found them," Collins said without preamble, limping into the loft on his sore leg. "Turns out it was a bunch of drunk teenagers. Had nothing to do with us."

Mark looked up from folding his shirts, and shook his head. "That's impossible. We saw them, they . . .they vanished into the trees, not a car." He flung down the shirt he held. "Unless they had a car hidden in the woods, which I doubt. . .I don't believe it. But where did they come from?"

"Dunno. Pure coincidence," Collins said. "We were so fucking scared out of our minds that we thought we were being chased. That car appeared behind us the minute we hit the road, only further back. It wasn't them."

"I don't believe it."

"If we'd just kept our heads. . ."

"Hey, you were the one yelling for us to move!" Roger spoke up as he exited the bathroom. He tugged at his pants as he buttoned the top.

"So I jumped the gun!"

"Just remember that." Roger flopped onto the sofa and picked up his newspaper, flicking it crisply. Mark glared at him and yanked a pair of pants out from under Roger's hip. Roger merely glared back.

Collins leaned over him. "Did what I say even register between those ears?"

"The police got them. Drunk kids. Got it." He didn't look up from his paper.

"Ignore him. He's been like this all day." Mark sighed and looked at what was left of his laundry, wondering why he was even bothering to fold it. Restless energy filled him, and he grabbed his jacket. "I'm going to the Life café, you wanna come?"

"Better than watching him sulk," Collins said, clapping Mark on the back. "See ya, Roger."

"Yeah, whatever," Roger said, flipping the page. He glanced up in time to see Mark open his mouth. "Don't say it." Don't you dare say it.

"Right." Mark clamped his mouth shut and walked out, right as Roger's beeper went off. Okay, so it was spoken between them. Didn't mean he couldn't get pissed about it, when confronted with life.

He scowled at the beeper and went for his AZT, trying not to let Mark's paler-than-normal face bother him. Healing power, my ass.

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Benny had rented a car within a day of the arrests. He had to, there was no way he was going to arrive at work in a taxi, not when he was paying for a premium parking space. It looked like his Rover, so there would be no unwelcome questions that he would have to answer. He wasn't in the mood. His own Rover was in the shop, undergoing extensive body work.

The teens that had hit them were apparently coming back from a party, and were weaving along the road. They saw a nice, shiny car, and decided to play chicken from the wrong end. The driver felt eight levels of remorse and had stopped the car, intending to help, but was urged on by his buddies, all who were now in jail awaiting a court date. It wasn't the first time they had been arrested for a DUI.

All Benny knew was, they were damned lucky. And after a day of careful thought and research in between clients, he was no closer to finding any answers. He and Collins had been calling each other all afternoon, bouncing ideas off one another as to just what this mysterious vessel could be, why it was important, though without knowing what it was there was no way to judge the importance. Collins was reading up on any legend or myth he could find, absorbing knowledge in the way that only he could, yet he was getting nowhere. Benny's searches were not as thorough, and took longer, and yielded nothing.

He walked into his office after a long day and checked his messages a final time. Two canceled meetings for tomorrow, which suited him just fine, and an invitation to meet Mark and Collins at the café, which he passed on. He was still feeling out of sorts from the incident, though it was established that he was physically well. But the whole thing nagged at him. The spiral on the ground, the people that ran out at them, then suddenly retreated. . .what made them retreat? Were they fighting them off that remarkably? There was no question that Roger was. Benny could remember nearly getting the crap beat out of him, so taken aback was he by Roger's new skill. He remembered having to watch, then running to Mark's aid as he was pulled from his tree. And again, when Roger went nuts, he didn't know what to do but watch. Mark, of all people, was the one to pull the man off him, taking a hell of a blow to the stomach afterwards. That had snapped Benny back to the situation at hand, which was trying to stay alive.

Or so he thought. Nothing was said, there just seemed to be an unspoken signal, like these men had found whatever it was they were after, and vanished. It made him want to go revisit the scene. He flipped his watch over and glanced at it, then grabbed his jacket. A hour to get out of the city, and another half hour from the edge, he found the spot. He climbed out of the Rover and shut the door. The sound reverberated like it was the only sound in the world.

The ground was charred. The spiral was gone.

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"You didn't tell me? Why? WHY?" Nate rounded on Benny.

"I just told you! Look, this is the first I've seen of you since it happened, don't be dumping it on me!" Benny was sitting at his desk in his office. It was nearly ten o'clock. Collins and Mark were still out, Roger wasn't at the loft, probably with Mimi. Benny wasn't about to bring Nate back to his place, it was the only space he had that was sane, if the aftermath of a divorce could be called sane. He'd kept all his friends away from his place, he didn't want them to see how bare it was, how much April had taken him for. He had his pride.

Nate paced furiously. "I saw Roger and Mark earlier. They said nothing."

"I can't help you there."

"Even Collins, of course our talk was more along the lines of, 'I'm busy, come back later'."

"Take it he was reading?"

"Studying. Research. At least he's taking this seriously."

"Hey, we're all taking it seriously!" Benny placed his palms flat on the desk before him and leaned over angrily. "You have to realize, it has been just over a week since this shit started. Don't get all pissed if some of us has to take a little longer to adjust."

"That's the problem," Nate said, leaning forward, his hands tucked in his pockets. His eyes gleamed in the dim light. "You're not. None of you are. You're going around like nothing is happening, and dammit, something is about to happen. You can feel it, can't you?" He looked angry, almost evil. "I know you, Benjamin. I know the kind of person you are. You are controlling, you like knowing what is about to happen. And you have a sense of that now, every time you shake someone's hand. But have you used that? Have you elaborated on that? No. You use it to secure your petty little deals here, you've no idea to what extend you can get a read on someone. You deny it, at a time when you need it. You could have sensed about those boys in that car. You could have sensed about those men in the field, every time they touched you. You could have, but you didn't. You refuse, Benjamin. You refuse to accept this on any level other than the superficial, and in the end someone will die because of it, because you should have been able to save them." He leaned back, his nostrils still dilated in anger. "So don't you sit there and tell me you're taking this seriously. Don't you dare."

Benny glared at him, and held out his hand.

Nate straightened, blinking. His breathing evened, and he pulled his right hand from his pocket, clasping Benny's tightly.

Benny felt himself start to shake. He gritted his teeth behind closed lips, his dark eyes falling on the grip. Nate held on to him tightly, not blinking, studying him. Benny held on for as long as he could, and broke the grasp, falling back into his seat. His tired eyes met Nate's accusingly. "You," he said in a low voice, "are not what you seem to be."

"Neither," said Nate equivocally, "are you."

Benny's mouth worked, but nothing came out. His phone rang, and he answered it hotly. "Hello?" He listened, eyes glued to Nate's. His gaze slid to his desk as the news penetrated his stubborn brain, and he blinked. "What the. . .shit. Oh. Shit, yeah, he's here, we're coming." He hung up, looking at the phone, and not Nate. "That was Collins," he said. His mouth worked again, this time over words that he didn't want to express. "Mark's been abducted."

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The rooftop was a normal refuge for the people that lived in the building, but it was surprising how few used it. Maybe he used it because he lived on the highest floor. Either way, he was glad he was the only person up there as he kicked angrily, punched at the air, kicked, punched, jumped and spun, kicked again. A makeshift bag was taking the brunt of his anger. He imagined it was himself, that he was beating himself up over and over for being such a stupid ass, for letting Mark out of his sight, training himself for what it would take to get Mark back.

Collins had exploded into the loft an hour earlier and snatched up Roger's phone without even speaking to him. Roger had stood at his shoulder, panic filling him, because Mark hadn't come in yet. And Collin's words to Benny, given while looking Roger in the eyes, killed him.

He wouldn't come down to talk to them. Nate had said to leave him alone, because in this state he was useless to talk to, anyway. All tact, as usual.

What the hell did he know, anyway?

Roger fought the bar until he had no stamina left. Even then, he aimed kicks, feeling his heart race, his mind grow fuzzy, his body screech in protest. His chest hurt, his limbs shook, and he fell into an embrace, feeling strong arms wrap around him.

Collins dragged him to the folding chair that stayed on the roof. "Are you trying to kill yourself?" he asked the gasping man angrily. "What the hell is all this?"

"Back off," Roger grunted, shoving Collins away.

"I'll be damned! You wanna explain yourself?"

"Do you?" Roger growled, forcing himself out of the chair. "You were with him."

"Oh, so you're going to blame me for this? Go ahead. You always have to blame someone for anything that happens, so go ahead!" Collins was yelling, and he never yelled. It took Roger by surprise. "Go ahead! Yeah! Tell me how I screwed up! You think I don't KNOW THAT SHIT ALREADY?" He turned on his heel. "I mean, shit! You act like the world's out to get you, like all we do is sit around and think up ways to piss you off!"

"You should have known what was happening!"

"How?" Collins spun. "How the hell was I supposed to know?"

"YOU KNOW THINGS!"

"MARK KNOWS THINGS! I KNOW BOOKS!"

Roger cursed and turned away, bracing himself on the chair. He didn't look at Collins as he spoke in a low voice. "He had to take a piss. What was I supposed to do, follow him? Hold his dick for him?"

"No," Roger said softly.

"Didn't think so." Collins exhaled heavily, blinking back his own tears as he gazed at the stars above them. "Look, I'm sorry man. You have," he hesitated as he choked back his pain, "no idea, how sorry I am."

"I think I do." Roger still wouldn't look at him, but he straightened. Silence hung between the two of them, neither feeling like offering an apology. "We have any idea where he is?" Roger asked quietly.

"I'm sure we'll find out someway," Collins said. "Nate's on it."

"He knows things." Roger turned a sorrowful face to his friend. "You think he knew?"

"Like a self-sacrifice sort of thing?"

"They grabbed him when we were attacked. They were trying to take him away."

"They let him go."

Roger just shook his head, trying to organize his thoughts. "He would have known."

"From what I've seen, he knows something is going to happen literally seconds before it does. That's not much of a warning."

"Nate's been working on his healing power. Guess they should've worked on his awareness."

Collins frowned slightly. "Mark hasn't worked on it?"

"Not as far as I know. It's all healing-hands with him. How's Benny?"

"Pissed. Like you."

That was the problem with this strange bond that was forming between them. Any other time, there would be mere concern for each other, not this overwhelming sense of panic that threatened to tear them apart. It was like losing an arm. Roger just nodded. "Look . . ."

"Forget it. Let's just get inside, huh? Freezing out here, winter must be coming early."