Two for the price of one this time, since I had both parts in one file. Warnings—violence, bad language, m/m sex. Bain digs up the garden.

They're not mine. And still more hugs to Miss Becky, who deserves them for putting up with me during this whole endless process.

Secrets

by Melody Wilde

Part 11

Mort groaned as he slowly came awake. Even though he was alone, the bed was still warm enough to make him want to stay where he was, snuggle in, and go back to sleep. No. I should at least check the time first, then...

He rolled over, holding the covers close around him, and struggled to extricate his right arm just enough to see his watch. 11:15. 11:15? Oh shit. I didn't mean to sleep so late.

Where's Bain?

He had a vague memory of the bed shifting as Bain left, of fingers brushing the hair back from his forehead in a caress, of a soft, "Sleep on, my friend."

He's gone out to...oh fuck...he's in the garden. He's started on the garden.

Panic jolted him upward. He'll find them and I won't be there and he'll...he'll...what? Oh shit. He grabbed his glasses and flung himself out of bed, ignoring the chill in the room. He stumbled through the door, across the balcony that had become his workspace, to the window. Amy's window, Amy's secret window over Amy's secret garden, only it's my garden now or maybe it's still Amy's after all because Amy's down there somewhere and he's going to find her and...

He jerked the window open and leaned out. Bain lifted a hand and waved up at him.

"Good morning."

How long has he been there? I can't tell. Has he...

As if aware of Mort's concerns, Bain gestured at the area he had cleared around himself and the pile of withered cornstalks to one side. "I have been up for a while. I had coffee before I came out to start."

"Have you... is there..."

Bain laughed and shook his head. "Mort, Mort, Mort. I have not yet begun to dig, so how could I have found these things that I will not find?"

But he will. I think. I should...maybe...

"You look very cold, standing there like that. Get dressed. I will come inside and join you for another cup of coffee."

Right. Clothes. Coffee. He pushed the window shut, then made his way back to the bedroom. Get dressed. I'm going to go out and help him. I need to. I have to.

He dressed quickly, mechanically—shorts, undershirt, jeans, socks, sweater—then sat on the edge of the bed to lace up his boots. A door slammed, and he heard Bain's footsteps crossing through to the kitchen. It's such a normal sound. I wish...

He hurried in the bathroom, not bothering to shave, then clattered down the steps to join Bain. Bain turned, holding out a steaming cup.

"Ah. Better. You look warmer. Did you sleep well the rest of the night?"

Mort nodded, gulping at the coffee, feeling it burn all the way down.

"Gently, my friend. Sip. The work will wait for us." Bain's eyes were twinkling with amusement. "It is colder out today, so the movement is good."

"I want to help you."

Bain pursed his lips. "I had hoped that you might use this day to write—I have kept you from your writing for far too long already—but if this is what you wish..."

"I don't think I could. Write. Not...not today." Not with you out there digging, digging, digging.

"I understand. Later, then."

Oh god, he's so sure...when he finds them...

"Mort." Bain set down his cup and leaned forward, curling a hand around the back of Mort's neck, beneath his hair. "You should not worry about this. I do not."

But you don't know what I do. What I think I do. "I'm just...afraid..."

"Do not be, my friend." Bain pressed his forehead against Mort's. "All will be well. You will see." He tilted his head to touch his lips to Mort's cheek. "Come, then. Let us start so we can finish this business and move on."

They bundled into jackets and gloves and knit caps, then went out through the door that led directly into the garden. Mort hesitated on the steps, swallowing hard against the nausea that rose at the sight of the denuded earth.

"We are lucky. It has not yet been cold enough for the ground to become hard." Bain retrieved the shovel. "Do you have another?"

"No." The shovel. I used that shovel to...to... I'm going to throw up in about five seconds here if I'm not careful.

"We will take turns then." Bain gestured. "Where should I start?"

"Start?" What's he talking about? Deep breaths here, Morty ol' boy.

"Where will I find these...bodies? Where should I start digging? On one end? In the center? How far down should I dig? How deep?"

Where? How deep? How should I know? Wait. I should know. I buried them. I should be able to...

Bain was waiting. Mort shivered. "I don't remember."

Bain laughed. "Of course you do not remember. Good, good. Your fantasies are beginning to go, yes?"

No. I know they're down there. I just don't remember exactly where or how far down.

"All right. I will start here and work across." Bain pushed the end of the shovel into the dirt and began to dig.

Mort leaned against the side of the cabin, watching Bain dig with easy, practiced movements, watching the hole widen and deepen with each passing minute. It won't be long now. He must be getting close. How deep are they? He's going to find them. They're probably... It's been three years. But he's going to find something. He's going to...

He realized he was shaking with cold and fear seconds before his knees gave way. He managed to drop sideways, landing on the steps, and lowered his head. He heard the sounds of digging cease.

"Mort? Are you all right?"

Breathe. Breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth.

"Mort, this is not good for you." Bain was beside him, urging him to his feet, guiding him back into the house. "I want you to stay inside. Read. Watch television. Try to write. Anything. But do not watch. I thought the watching would be good for you, but I can see..." He frowned.

It's tearing me apart. But waiting's going to be just as bad in here as it was out there.

"I...I want to be there," he managed. "I want to help."

"I can do this alone. I want to do this, for you. Please?"

Mort nodded wearily. It doesn't matter. Whatever's going to happen will happen, no matter where I am.

He tried to do what Bain had asked. He sat on the couch and tilted his head back and closed his eyes. He tried to make his mind go blank. All that fucking money I spent for Amy and me to learn how to meditate. I should be able to do this. He gave up and, instead, counted to a thousand, then a thousand again. He picked up the nearest book and stared at the words for what seemed hours. Finally, he rose and began to pace, toward the front door, to the kitchen, over to glance out at Bain.

The mound of displaced earth behind Bain was now higher than his head. As Mort looked on, Bain suddenly went still, leaning on the shovel and looking downward with an unreadable expression.

Mort heard himself begin to keen wordlessly. Oh god...he's found them...oh god...no no no...

He ran for the small half-bath, dropping to his knees with bone-jarring force in front of the toilet, and began to retch violently. No no no I almost hoped no no no no I knew...knew...but I wanted to...oh god...hope...I wanted to believe I wanted to...

There were hands sliding beneath his arms to raise him, turning him to sit on the toilet seat. Water running in the sink. The splash of a washcloth. Cool wetness on his face, his mouth. His glasses were lifted away. Cloth moving across his streaming eyes—I didn't even realize I was crying—then back down to his throat, his lips.

"I am so sorry, Mort. I had no idea the waiting would be so hard for you."

He blinked up at Bain. There's nothing different...he's not disgusted or angry or...how can he not...

"Are you all right now?"

Never. I'm never going to be all right again. Oh god, I wish...

Bain leaned back, shaking his head. "I am glad that I decided to come in when I did to ask a favor of you."

A favor? He came to ask me a favor? He didn't...?

Mort took several hiccuping breaths. "I thought...thought you found..."

Bain lay the washcloth aside. "No, my friend. I only came to ask if you would go into New London for me."

"New London?"

"Yes. It is my gloves. They are good for the cold, but not for the digging. I wanted to ask if you would go and buy a pair of heavy work gloves for me, to protect my hands."

"Work gloves?" Work gloves. He hasn't found...them. Not yet. An errand. He wants me to run an errand.

"Yes. A sturdy pair. And now I think perhaps we need another shovel too, so that you can come and join me in the digging."

Another shovel. We. We need another shovel. And gloves.

"Mort? Will you be able to do this? To drive?"

"Yeah." He forced himself to wobbly feet, filled a cup with water, and rinsed his mouth. "Sure. I'll...I can do it. New London. Shovel. Work gloves."

"Two pairs. You will need some also."

"Right. I..." I don't want to go to New London. I want to grab on to him and beg him to hold me and keep me safe. Christ, what's happening to me?

"You are going to be all right, Mort Rainey. I promise this." Bain followed him to the door and helped him into his jacket, then leaned forward to brush a kiss across his face and press the car keys into his hand. "I swear. Now drive slowly. Do not take chances. Your mind is confused, so be very careful."

I can do this. Into the car. Buckle the seatbelt. Keys in the ignition, start the car. Easy now, back up, turn...is he digging again? I can't see. Don't think about that. Think about gloves and a shovel. New London. I've driven this road a million times, I can do it in my sleep...I can do it today. Don't think. Drive.

He suddenly blinked and found himself on the outskirts of New London without knowing how he'd gotten there. I'd say God's watching over fools today, except I don't think any god I've ever heard of would watch over me right now.

Mort circled, searching his memory for the location of the hardware store. I've been there a dozen times over the past three years, picking up stuff for the cabin. More, before that, when it was me and Amy. Why can't I find...wait...there. Okay, easy now, into the parking place.

He was no less confused once inside and roaming the aisles. Work gloves. Where are the work gloves?

"Over here, sir."

Oh shit, I'm talking to myself out loud. He mumbled a quick thanks and headed over to stand and stare blankly at the selection. What kind should I get? These? Those? What brand? What size? How big are his hands? I ought to know. Those hands touched me last night with such...such...no, not love. Those hands are digging up my wife and her lover right now...

Grabbing two pairs of every kind, he moved back toward the front of the store, pausing only long enough to add a shovel to his purchases. Okay, gloves, shovel. And what am I going to find when I get home? What? Maybe I should just keep on driving.

When he pulled back into his driveway and parked in front of the house, Bain stopped working and leaped gracefully out of the excavation to come toward the car. He's smiling. Not yet then. He's not found them yet. They're waiting for me to come back and find them.

"Ah good." Bain lay a hand on Mort's shoulder. "I was beginning to think perhaps I should not have sent you alone on such a long errand."

"No. It's...I'm okay..." He strained to see past Bain, to see the remains of the garden.

Bain took the package and shovel from him and stepped back. "Come. Look. See what I have accomplished so far. And then we will finish together."

Mort walked around the closest pile of dirt to stare downward. Well over half the garden had been dug up, leaving a gaping hole almost three feet deep. Nothing? He hasn't found anything yet? But I would've thought...

Bain was rifling through the gloves, selecting a pair and pulling them on. "Perfect. Try these." He handed the second pair to Mort and leaped back down into the hole. "Am I digging deeply enough? I can go farther."

I don't know. I don't remember. How deep did I bury them? Did I bury them?

He pulled his own gloves on, joined Bain, and began to dig.

--------------------------

The sun was going down, bringing a pronounced drop in the temperature. Mort leaned against the side of the excavation—which was now easily five feet deep in spots—staring blankly ahead. Bain was still working, beginning to go down another layer.

Nothing. There's nothing. No bodies. Not even a scrap of bone. Just... Nothing. He's going to dig to China and...

And they aren't there. Amy and Ted aren't buried in my cornfield. In her garden. They really did run away. Or Shooter killed them. Or...it doesn't matter what happened to them. They're not here.

A sob tore from his throat. Bain was instantly at his side, sliding an arm around him, holding him close, murmuring soft Spanish words. He leaned into the embrace and wept helplessly.

"You were right," he whispered at last. Exhaustion—physical and emotional—was overwhelming him, making him lightheaded. "They...they..."

"They are not here. And you are not crazy."

Mort drew a shuddering breath. Not crazy. I'm not crazy after all. There aren't any bodies. There won't be an insane asylum. No jail. Just...me. Me and him.

"Let us go inside now. I do not know about you, my friend, but..." Bain's teeth flashed in the dimming light. "I could use a hot shower and something to eat and then a long nap."

Yes. All that and then...oh god... Then I want him to...

He couldn't finish the startling thought. Later. I want to get warm and clean first and then... His stomach chose that moment to loudly remind him that he hadn't eaten all day. Bain laughed.

"Yes, me too. Come."

Yes. Later.

-------------

The fire was blazing again, filling the room with its warmth. Mort huddled on what he was beginning to think of as "his" end of the couch, still-damp bangs hanging across his cheeks, sipping at the last of the soup Bain had heated. He was full. Comfortable. Content. He glanced toward the man on the other end of the couch and smiled.

"You are feeling better now, yes?"

"Yes."

"And your busy mind is still. Quiet for a change."

"Yes. It is."

"Then I hope I will not disturb it with the thing I want to tell you now." Bain stretched out an arm to touch Mort's. "I had thought we should talk about the past, once this business with the cornfield was over. That I should try to explain to you why I hurt you. That we should search for some way to heal that hurt. But tonight I wonder..."

He paused, as if searching for words. "I wonder if it would be better if we let the past go and look only at the future. For me, the future is... I have decided that I no longer have a need to do the business of killings. I have money—more money than I will ever need. What I did was never about money. It was about satisfying my evil side. About being recognized as the best by my peers. I do need that any more. I do not want to be that person any more. And for you, Mort Rainey, the future is..."

"Peace." All these years, I've never felt at peace. In the back of my mind, where even I didn't see it, was all this...fear. Fear of someone discovering that I pushed Tom's car into the lake, fear that someone would know I'd been an accomplice to murder. Fear about what had happened to Amy and Ted. I think deep inside I've been afraid that I did kill them. Fear of Shooter, of how he tried to destroy my life—and damn near succeeded—over nothing. Fear that he'd come back and take away what little I had left. And now...

"I'm not afraid anymore."

"Ah, Mort, that is such a good thing for me to hear." There was a gentle joy in Bain's voice that made Mort shiver. "Yes, I think you are better now. I can see something in your eyes that was not there before. And that makes all today's work—all the sore muscles—worthwhile."

"Bain..."

"Sí?"

Say it. No more fear means I'm not going to be afraid of him either.

"I want you to fuck me."

Bain's eyebrows shot up in surprise. He began to shake his head. "You cannot mean..."

"I do. And I know you want it. You have since...since before you met me. I want to do this for you, just like you wanted to dig up the garden for me."

"What if I hurt you again?"

"You won't. I'm not going to let you, because this time I want it too."

The fingertips that reached up to touch Mort's cheek were trembling, and Mort smiled to see the other man so unnerved. "I will not hurt you. I swear this."

Mort leaned forward, into Bain's kiss. It was tentative. Tender. Searching. And then there was fire. They dragged each other up the steps to the bed, shedding clothing along the way, until they were falling, naked, into a tangle of limbs and tongues. Mort groaned, thrusting himself forward, offering, begging.

"Slowly, slowly..."

He felt Bain shift, reaching, and then he felt well-lubricated fingers searching, exploring, a gentle preparation that made Mort whimper and ache with need. Oh god, that feels good. When he touches me...there...

"Are you sure?" Bain's voice was soft.

"Please...please...please..."

And then there was pain, but somehow it wasn't a bad pain, and then they were together, joined, part of each other in a spiral of something that was more than lust, more than desire, more than sex. And then they were still, curled together in a sated heap, Bain's hand smoothing over his stomach in a ceaseless caress, Bain's lips mouthing soundless words against his shoulderblade.

Good. Oh god, it was good. I never thought...never imagined...that I could feel so...so fulfilled.

He's right. What happened...before...it doesn't matter now. It's over. It's time to let the past go and look toward the future. And for the first time in...how long? years. Years. I feel like I have a future—a real future—ahead of me. Like there's somebody who cares about me. A friend. A lover. It may not last, but while it does...

Smiling, he snuggled closer to Bain and slept.

----------------------------

Part 12

"I need to tell you something, Mort."

Oh Christ, here it comes. Mort moved the cursor across the screen to click on the "save" button, then closed the file. He's going to tell me he's had enough of me and he's leaving. I knew this was going to happen eventually. But I thought the relationship...the sex...the whatever the hell it is we've had since the night he dug up the cornfield...would last a little longer than four days.

He cut the power to the notebook and folded down the screen, then turned to face Bain. "Okay. Tell me."

"I am going to have to leave you today."

That's it, then? Not even a "good morning" or "coffee ready?" or "great sex last night", just walks out, already dressed, and says, "I'm leaving." So long and thanks for all the fish. Today. To-fucking-day. If I'd known this was coming, I wouldn't have gotten up early to write. I'd have stayed in bed and enjoyed having somebody there with me, somebody I thought... No. Stop it.

He nodded, forcing his face to remain impassive, making his hands go still on his lap, keeping his breathing steady. "Okay." He heard the quiver in his voice and cleared his throat before trying again. "Okay. Do you need help packing?"

"No." Bain dropped into the chair—Chico's chair, poor old fella, I should've gotten another dog a long time ago, maybe I will when I'm alone again—and rested his elbows on his knees. "I do not need to take many things. I will not be gone long."

Woah. What? He won't be gone long? He's not leaving for good?

"I have waited longer than I should have to do this, because I have enjoyed being here with you. I would prefer to stay here and continue as we have begun." Bain tilted his head to one side and gave Mort a slow smile of remembrance and promise. "But there is a thing I must do. I will do it as quickly as possible, and then come back. You do want me to come back?"

He's going to come back. "I...yes..."

"Ah, Mort..." Bain made a quick sound of reproof. "Surely you did not think I would leave you forever with no word of warning." He shook his head. "In the past few days, I have come to believe that you feel as I do—that what we have between us is a good thing. That it is a thing to be cared for. That it is a thing which can make both of us happy."

"Yes."

"I would not throw that away. We have both been alone for so long, even when there were others with us. I think we are not alone anymore. And that is why I must go and do what I must do."

Can I ask? Should I ask? Is it any of my business?

Seeing Mort's hesitation, Bain said quietly, "I am going to do one more...task before I retire."

One more... "You're going to kill someone?"

"I am going to find John Shooter. I am going to do this for you, so that you will never need to fear him again."

Great! No, wait. Oh shit. No. I can't let him do that. I can't let him commit murder. Kill somebody. Not even Shooter.

"You seem distressed. I thought you would be pleased."

"You can't just go out and..."

Bain laughed. "Of course I can. It is what I have done for many years. It will not bother me to do this one last time."

"But..."

"Would you not be happy to know that John Shooter is dead?"

Oh, right on that one, pilgrim. After what he did to me, I'd like to see him dead and dismembered and scattered to the four corners of the globe, but I can't tell Bain that. Can't let him go kill somebody. Not for me. Digging up a cornfield's one thing, but murder... If he goes after Shooter...it'll be my fault. I'll be responsible. I'll be the accessory to another murder. I have to stop him. Have to...

"Mort?"

"It's a waste of time. I don't know where he is. Nobody does. The arson investigators turned Mississippi inside out looking for him and couldn't find him."

"I will find him," Bain said flatly. "I have been in the business of finding those who cannot be found. Believe me, there is nowhere that this man can hide from me."

I think he's right. He will find Shooter. And then it'll be Shooter's turn to be afraid. But...

"Okay, go find him, but you can't kill him." His words—his tone—sounded pathetic even to himself.

"Can't?" Bain rose, shaking his head. "What would you have me do with him, then? Turn him over to the police? Tell them he is a murderer? And if I do that, what will happen? We do not know that he killed your wife and her lover. You cannot prove that he killed the two men who were in the car. No one saw him here—no one but you and one of the men he killed. He was very careful. Very clever. We would bring up the bodies from the lake, and it would be your word against his. I have seen how the people of this community feel toward you. I know who they would believe. No. This is the only way."

"Bain...please don't do this. Let it go." Mort stood, moving in front of the other man, reaching out to lay a hand on Bain's chest. "It doesn't matter. It—"

"Do not try to stop me." There was a disturbing tone in Bain's voice. "I am going to do this." He shook off the hand and started toward the stairs. "I will be back when I have done what I am going to do."

"No!" Mort reached again, grabbing Bain's arm, holding it to make him stop. "Wait. Listen to me. I..."

Bain's head jerked toward him. Too late, Mort recognized the expression on Bain's face, the blackness in his eyes. Oh shit. Oh fucking shit.

"I'm sorry." He released his grip on Bain's arm and tried to move backwards. "I didn't mean to..."

Too late.

He was being grabbed, hard, hurting fingers digging into his shoulders, spinning him, shoving. Got to get away before he...

His foot almost found the top step...then missed. He was falling...trying to catch himself...falling...

He slammed into the floor and the light went away.

-----------------

Can't breathe. I think if I could breathe, I'd be screaming about now. Oh shit oh fuck...

"Don't move! Don't try to move."

Move? I can't even breathe. Hurts hurts hurts. Oh god my shoulder. There's something really really wrong with my shoulder.

The voice coming from somewhere above and behind him was saying something else in a voice that seemed to be shaking with terror. That's funny. The idea of anything making Bain afraid...wait. Am I dead? Maybe he killed me. What's he saying?

"Can you hear me, Mort?"

Something in his chest seemed to give way and he began to draw in huge gulps of air. Breathing. Not dead. Wish I were. Oh Jesus I can't stay still...hurts too much too much...

"Don't move!"

Hands were touching him—the hands that hurt me, shoved me—gently holding him still. Okay. You win. I won't move. Just don't...don't...

He realized he was making low whimpering sounds. Shut up shut up shut up. Things are bad enough. Don't do anything to piss him off. Don't make it worse. Oh shit.

The hands were moving over his body, touching, sliding down the bones, pressing against his side. When they touched his arm, he had to sink his teeth into his lower lip to hold back a shriek of pain.

"Can you move your legs? Mort?"

Make up your mind—do you want me to move or not? The thought amused him even more than the idea of Bain being afraid. I want to giggle. No, don't. If I make any kind of noise...who knows where I'll stop...

"Try, Mort. Please. Not much—just a little."

Okay. Okay. Whatever you say.

"Good, good. Now the other one."

I guess this means I haven't broken my neck or my back or anything vital like that. If I had, I wouldn't be hurting like this. I wouldn't be feeling anything.

"Good. I'm going to try to turn you over now."

"No! Oh god...no...please..."

"All right. Be still a moment longer." Bain's voice went soft, soothing. Back to the voice I've come to know and...almost love. Too late. Everything...too late.

Tears were leaking out of his eyes, making uncomfortable puddles in his eyesockets. My arm feels like it's been ripped out of my body and now all I can think about is how my eyes feel. Fuck. He tried to pry an eye open and immediately regretted it as the area in his limited field of vision leapt and swam crazily. Okay, bad move. I think my glasses are gone too. No surprise there. Oh damn it hurts and now I want to throw up too.

"Let me shift you...just a little...so I can see if there is any more blood."

Any more blood? I don't like the sound of that.

He could tell that Bain was being as gentle as possible, but the movement as he was edged over onto his back sent his consciousness skittering away. A soft touch on his face brought it back.

"I believe your shoulder is dislocated." Careful probing of that area sent a stab of agony through him. "There are cuts...a gash over your eye...perhaps this is broken...ah, Mort..."

He's sorry. I know he is—just like he was sorry when he...the other time. He didn't mean to hurt me...evil demon inside...I understand now...I really do. I wish to God I didn't, but I do.

"I could fix this—I have done it before—but I think it would be better if I took you to the hospital in New London. Mort? Can you ride, or should I call an ambulance?"

"I can ride." I think. As long as I can keep my eyes shut. He's going to be really pissed if I puke in his car.

"All right. Here. Reach across yourself like this. Put your hand here, on your arm, to hold it still."

Mort allowed Bain to move the right arm across his body, then cupped his left elbow in the palm of his hand. Okay, that's not so bad. Not so good, either, but at least it's not hurting any worse. He's going to take care of me. Take me where they'll stop this pain. Fix me.

"Bend the arm...like so...and it will be better."

It's not, but I'm not going to tell him that. It's easier to keep it still, though.

"Now we will sit you up."

Bad idea, but I guess we have to.

The shifting had the expected results, with the expected pain. I don't think puking has ever hurt that much, not even that time in college when I was trying to prove I could be one of the guys and...

There was another rush of tears, tears which had nothing to do with the pain. I was trying to prove that I was okay, that I could be their friend, that... I wanted somebody in my life so much that I would've done anything...anything...to be one of them. And now? Am I any better now? This man...this man who's holding me and kissing the side of my face and saying how sorry he is... Is this college all over again? He can rape me and hurt me and do anything to me, just as long as he's somebody in my life?

"We are going to try again to stand up. Lean on me. I will help you."

No. No. It's not the same. Because I never liked those guys. Not really. I just wanted to belong. But it's different with Bain. Oh...easy...hurts. I like him. I like him a lot. I have from the first day. He hurt me but...I understand. I don't know how...why...but I can understand something inside you taking control and making you...do things you don't want to. Making you go crazy. Oh god that hurts. I understand. And I don't want just somebody...I want him...

"Can you lean here and let me wrap your coat around you? Good, good. You are doing well, Mort Rainey."

Warm. The coat feels warm. I wish it didn't have to touch my shoulder. Hurts hurts hurts but the warm is good. His hands are warm. I like Bain. I could more than like him. If I didn't like him, I wouldn't have let him...wouldn't have wanted him to...still want him to...

"Now we will move again. Carefully. Steps here. Down. Another. Good. Just a little more."

Bain's hand was barely touching his elbow, painlessly supporting his arm as they crossed the driveway. A car door opened, and he was eased into a seat.

"I am not going to do the seatbelt thing for you. I will drive carefully."

As Bain was circling to get into the driver's seat, Mort risked slitting his eyes open again. The world tilted and he swallowed hard. Then he realized. My car. He's taking my car. Not going to risk having me puking in his car. I love this...

"What do you have to smile about, my friend?" Bain sounded incredulous.

"Nothing. I'll...later." We'll laugh about it later, together. Yeah, oh yeah, there is going to be a later. I understand him, I understand me, I understand us. He's my friend. My lover. He's just fucked up a couple of times, and don't we all do that. He cares about me and I care about him and together...we'll laugh about it together and talk things out and be...together...

Mort began to fade in and out. After asking once if Mort were doing all right, Bain remained silent for the rest of the drive. Mort could tell Bain was concentrating on his driving, trying to avoid potholes and sudden stops and anything else that might be painful. Never thought about just how long it takes to get to New London. A fifteen minute drive that's turning into a three-hour tour.

"Mort? We are here."

He hadn't realized that the car had stopped. Finally. Thank God. He reached for the door handle, and faded away again.

----------------------

Where am I?

His vision was blurred, but the amount of white all around him and the crisp antiseptic smells gave him a clue. Hospital. Curtains, not walls. Some other poor fucker moaning on the other side there. Probably the ER. I think that's an IV bag up there. Can't feel my shoulder anymore. Can't feel much of anything. Where's Bain?

The last thought made him try to sit up, but his body refused to obey. Paperwork. He's gone to do paperwork, that's all. He wouldn't just put me out at the hospital and then go away and leave me. Would he?

"How are you feeling, Mr. Rainey?" The far-too-cheery nurse who'd appeared at his aborted movement leaned across him to adjust the drip. "Not hurting so much now, I hope. You were in bad shape when your friend brought you in."

"Where..." Mort's lips had gone rubbery, unworking. "My friend..."

"He's in the waiting room. He'll be with you as soon as we finish and can get you to a room. Can you remember what happened to you? How you got hurt?"

"Fell. Stairs...in cabin. No railing."

"You're lucky you weren't hurt much worse, you know."

In so many ways. I know.

"We've already done your X-rays while you were asleep. The doctor will be in to fix your shoulder as soon as we get the results."

"Peachy."

She giggled and vanished through the curtains. Bain hasn't left me. I'm not alone.

I think I'll take a nap.

Another cheerful voice—this one male—woke him some time later. "All right, Mr. Rainey, let's get this sorted out as fast and painlessly as we can now."

Right. Good. Couldn't you have let me sleep through it? No pain. Feels good.

"I'm going to ask you to do a few things for me, moving your fingers and wrist, to make sure there's no nerve damage, and then we can put the shoulder back. Let's start with this. Can you grip my hand? And by the way, I'm a big fan of your books."

Great.

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"Mort, can you hear me?"

He forced his eyes open to the welcome sight of Bain leaning over his bed. He tried to smile.

"I know they have given you morphine for the pain and a...a muscle relaxant to help when they..." Bain gestured at Mort's shoulder. "So I will not try to talk with you now. I will wait until you are more awake."

Later. Yes. I want to talk later. Talk about later. Later together.

"I am going—"

No! "No..."

"All right. I will stay here with you for as long as they will let me." Bain faded out of sight and Mort heard the scrape of a chair being drawn close to the bed. "And if they tell me to leave...I will refuse."

Good. Later. Good.

Mort struggled. Managed to lift his right hand and flap it in Bain's direction. Bain caught it, and Mort awkwardly laced their fingers together. Lifeline. You're my lifeline right now. Stay. Together...

Mort Rainey slept.