Chapter Eleven

By the Thursday of finals week, Sean was recovering from his cold. He'd even managed not to pass it on to Tony, which relieved him, which in turn made him want to roll his eyes.

There were familiar voices in the dorm lounge when he returned after his 6:00 p.m. final, and he frowned. He hadn't thought everyone was meeting for their Thursday night gathering this week because of finals, but he was pretty sure that the voices coming from the lounge were Blink's and Mush's.

"Aw, don't go in there," Mush's voice said. "Why do they always wander into those dark alleys alone?"

"Because they're stupid," Blink said. "Maybe the writers make them that way so that we won't be upset when they're killed."

Grinning, Sean headed for the doorway. He stood there, arms crossed, observing the scene: Mush and Blink were seated on the couch, eating popcorn out of a shared bag, leaning their shoulders in toward one another and keeping up a running commentary on the episode of CSI that was currently playing on the lounge TV.

The lingering remnants of his cold tickled Sean's throat, and he coughed.

Mush looked up at him. "Hey, Sean." He glanced back at the screen. "Grissom, you idiot."

"Don't you two have your own TV in your apartment to watch this on?" Sean asked. He stepped down into the lounge – sunken in true 70s fashion that matched the orange furniture and ancient kitchen appliances – and perched on the arm of the sofa where Blink and Mush sat.

"You wouldn't believe how often we get asked that," Blink said, his eyes not leaving the action.

Sean snorted. "Yeah, I probably would."

A commercial filled the screen and the boys looked away, Mush sighing. "Grissom never listens to me."

Blink chuckled and punched Mush affectionately on the thigh. "So underappreciated." He looked up at Sean's smirking face, then cleared his throat and sat up straighter. "Um, we're meeting Race and David to study. They're late," Blink added, glancing at his watch.

"And Race's a dumbass for wanting to meet when CSI is on, anyway," Mush said. He waved a hand at a chair. "Sit, Sean, watch with us."

"Gee, thanks – " Sean began dryly, about to point out that it was his dorm's lounge they were in, but he was interrupted by Blink shushing him as the show returned. Sighing, he remained on the arm of the couch, humoring the two fanatics for a few moments. On the screen, a tall brunette's slim hands were confidently dusting the edge of a bathtub for fingerprints. Sean paused, watching. The woman lifted a clear print off the tub and smiled. His lips pursed. The scene flashed to some tech in a lab coat searching through a computer system for a match to the print, chattering away to the woman about finding a match in "AFIS." His eyes narrowed.

"So, what's AFIS, again?" he said, trying to sound casual.

"A fingerprint database," Mush said distractedly. His eyes brightened as a young man with spiky, blonde-tipped hair entered the screen. "Ooh, ooh, Greg. Hotness personified."

Blink snorted. "He wouldn't go for you, anyway."

Mush pouted. "Why?"

"First of all, the guy's straight," Blink said.

"Your gaydar really does suck, doesn't it?" Mush said. "The boy's flaming. He and Nick totally go at it in the storage closets at work."

Blink looked outraged. "Nick? He's straight, too! He's like – an athlete. And he fucked that hooker, remember?"

Mush rolled his eyes. "He's butch, I'll grant you, but the hooker was either an experiment or a cover. C'mon, he said last week that he was an ass man." Blink looked appalled. Mush sighed. "They're gay. They like to have sex with other men – specifically, each other."

"Also, they're fictional characters…" Sean said wryly. He stood and headed toward the doorway, calling back, "See ya," over his shoulder. By the time Mush grunted, "Yeah, bye," he was already out of the lounge and back outside on the sidewalk in front of the dorm, heading down the hill into town.


Forty-five minutes later, he was back in his dorm room, drumming his fingers impatiently on the edge of his desk as he listened to the phone ringing hollowly in his ear. Jack answered on the fourth ring. "Hey, Jacky-Boy."

"Sean. What's up?"

"I don't know about you," Sean said, "But I don't have comp sci finals until Monday."

Jack sounded confused. "Yeah – no, me either."

"So I'm thinking about having a couple of cold ones, relaxing the rules a bit while Tony's out with Blink and Mush." He drummed his fingers on the edge of the desk. "I hear David's out with them, too." He bit his lip to keep from making the obvious jokes about Jack and David. He needed Jack to not get pissed at him.

"Yeah," Jack said slowly. There was a pause, then the sound of a textbook slamming closed and a muttered "what the hell." "You got enough for two?"

"Come on up," Sean said. He grinned again.

Jack was at the dorm room door in minutes. "Thanks," he said, accepting the bottle that Sean held out. "I needed this."

Sean tipped his head in acknowledgment.

"So," Jack said, flopping down on the futon. "You and Race, huh? How's that going?"

Sean raised an eyebrow. "Peachy. How're you and David – oh, I mean Sarah?"

Jack chuckled, apparently unperturbed. "Sarah's great. She's got this wonderful habit of not giving a rat's ass what I do."

"Sounds like a great basis for a relationship," Sean said, sipping his beer.

Jack shrugged. "It's not like I'm lookin' to get married or nothing."

Sean narrowed his eyes. For a moment – just a moment – something in Jack's phrasing or his tone or his accent had sounded familiar. The Southwest tang had dropped slightly and he'd almost sounded... "What did you say?"

Jack glanced at him, brow furrowed. "Uh, I'm not looking to get married?"

He sounded like a guy who'd been born and raised in Santa Fe. Sean shook his head a little. "Never mind."

"Okay," said Jack uncertainly. He took a long swig of his beer. "Uh… so, what do you think our next move should be with Pulitzer?"

Sean rolled his bottle between his fingers. "Well, I think we need to get the word out to more people. The more people who are with us, the harder it'll be for us to be ignored."

Jack nodded. "We've got a bunch of the students with us from a lot of different departments."

"Maybe we need to work on the professors, too."

Jack nodded again. "I've been thinking," he said slowly, "that when we get back after Christmas break we need to do something to make a stand. Something that gets our names out there, makes the papers."

Sean frowned. "Like?"

"Um… a sit-in? A petition? A strike of some kind?"

"Well," Sean said slowly, "you better make sure before you do any of that that the people who say they're with you really are. That they have what it takes, that they'll stick with it."

Jack nodded. "David said almost the same thing. That it's not a game."

Sean took a long slow drink from his bottle.

"So," Jack said abruptly. "What are you doing for Christmas break?"

Sean shrugged. "Hanging around here, I guess. Maybe I'll see if I can pick up some extra hours at the diner, make some cash."

"I thought you'd be going home with Race," Jack said. He lit a cigarette.

Sean shrugged again. He hadn't really given it any thought – he'd spent every other Christmas for the last four years in an empty dorm, and the Christmases before those in a lot worse places. "Guess not. What are you doing?"

"I'll be with David – uh, and Sarah."

"Of course." Sean snickered.

"Shut up," Jack said, giving him a companionable shove on the shoulder.

"So," Sean said, smirking, "You sleep in his room when you go home with him?" He chuckled as Jack shoved him again and let the conversation flow into a combination of needling each other and discussing classes, exams, their favorite brands of booze and the obscene price of smokes. As he watched Jack head for the door an hour and a half later, staggering just a bit from the number of beers he downed, Sean realized it had been an easy, relaxing conversation. Comfortable, even. He couldn't say he'd felt precisely comfortable with anyone else since coming here but Tony.

"Huh," he said to the empty room, then shrugged. Leaning down, he rummaged around in the bottom drawer of his desk until he found what he had purchased earlier that evening: a brush, a small jar of black powder, and a tape strip.

It was amazing what you could find at a science surplus shop.

Dipping the brush into the jar, he collected some of the dust and swabbed it onto one of the bottles Jack had been drinking from. The powder clumped up on the tip of the brush, smudging along the brown glass of the bottle. He frowned, then sighed. At least Jack had gone through enough beers that he'd have several chances to get the hang of this.

He'd ruined another three possible prints before he finally managed to get the hang of it – he had to rotate the handle of the brush very delicately just above the glass, not on it. When a clear thumbprint finally appeared, he grinned.

A few minutes later, the print was scanned into his computer and he was hacking his way into the government's Automated Fingerprint Identification System – or AFIS. It took a little longer than he expected to get past all the firewalls and access the database; it was nearly midnight when the system greeted him as "Matt Firman" – the lab tech out there somewhere whose dubious luck it was to have the password that the algorithm Sean set up happened to pinpoint first – and began searching for a match to the print.

A key in the lock made him jump, and he quickly turned the brightness on his screen all the way down. Tony entered the room a few seconds later, looking exhausted.

"You look like shit," Sean said.

"Thanks," Tony said dryly. "I love you, too."

There was an awkward moment of silence. Tony cleared his throat. Sean looked away.

"Anyway," Tony said. "Um, I'm going to head to bed. I have a final tomorrow morning, early."

Sean nodded. If he stayed up with his computer, there was no way Tony would really fall asleep – every little noise or change of light would keep him up. And Sean certainly wasn't checking on his illegal search while Tony was awake, so there was really no point in staying up.

Also, if he went to bed with Tony now, it was entirely possible he'd get sex out of it.

He stood and began to shuck his shirt.

Tony looked up. "You coming to bed, too?"

Sean shrugged a little. "Might as well." He let his pants drop and pool around his ankles. "Besides, you look tense. I thought you might like to… relax a little."

Tony quirked an eyebrow. "Oh, is that what they're calling it these days?" He smirked.

"Hey," Sean said. "No smirking. That's my look."

"Make me stop," Tony said. He let his own jeans drop.

Sean stepped forward. He pursed his lips slightly, then slowly sank to his knees. In a matter of seconds, the smirk was gone – though he had to wait until after the two of them were lying back in Tony's bed, limp and satiated, for Tony to mumble, "You win," sleepily against his neck.


When Tony's alarm went off at 7:15 the next morning, Sean groaned and pulled the sheet over his head. He managed to mumble "good luck" when Tony kissed his bare shoulder and said he was leaving, then drifted happily in the warm, not-quite-coherent place just between waking and sleeping. It took almost ten minutes for him to remember.

Jack. The fingerprint. The AFIS search. Oh yeah.

Wrapping one of Tony's blankets around him like a tunic, he shuffled over to his desk and turned the brightness back up on his screen. "MATCH FOUND" blinked at the top of the screen.

"Score," Sean muttered, then dropped into the desk chair as he clicked on the "RESULTS" link. He scanned the page that appeared. "Francis Sullivan, New York, d.o.b., yeah, yeah…" he mumbled, scrolling down to the box that listed "Francis's" criminal record.

"Well, shit," he said a minute later, sitting back in his chair. He stared blankly at the headshot of Jack that filled the corner of the profile, looking surly and pale and underfed. Then he leaned forward again and began some serious research: he'd need the New York Times archives from five years ago, maybe even before then, and he'd have to re-hack into the juvie court records under the name Francis Sullivan. He'd have to decide whether or not e-mail Jax and Belcher again and see what they could dig up – subtly. Very subtly. Poking too much at the people Jack had run with in his previous life would be like poking a hornet's nest with a stick, and dangerous for himself and his informants as well as for Jack.

Did David know about this? Did Tony? Sean dismissed the idea. It wasn't the type of information you shared. And that was precisely why, although he was surprised by how much he wanted to share his new information with his boyfriend, he would be keeping it to himself. "Shit," he said again.


Bumlets let himself into the back door of his old house quietly, listening. If his former housemates had a party of any kind going on – and it was entirely possible despite the fact that it was the middle of the afternoon on a weekday during finals – he didn't want to be a part of it.

The house was relatively quiet though, the silence only broken by the hum of the refrigerator. Sighing, Bumlets pulled the door shut behind him and started looking for Skittery. His car had been in the driveway, and Skittery wasn't the type to just go out on a walk.

Wrinkling his nose at the filth in the kitchen, Bumlets headed for the stairs. He was glad he didn't live here anymore. His efficiency was lonely, sure. He'd never really gotten to be as close to Race and Jack and David and Mush and Blink as they were to each other; it had been his sister who'd introduced them. They were generally kind people, and tried to include him, that he knew – he didn't fault them in any way. But he'd spent most of his college years hanging out with his sister (twins were marvelous built-in friends) or the guys who still lived in this house. He'd still be here, joking around with Skittery and watching movies with Itey and Snitch, if the drugs hadn't gotten so out of hand.

Pot made him nervous. Skittery swore that it mellowed him out, kept him from going insane at school, but the only time he'd done it Bumlets had just gotten really paranoid and then had a terrible hangover. He'd never had any desire to do that shit in the first place, really – it could screw royally with your body, and if he wanted a career in dance, he needed his body.

A door opened at the top of the stairs, and Bumlets peered up into the semi-dark, relaxing when he recognized Swifty. He couldn't understand why Swifty was still living here – with Bumlets gone, he would be the only one in the house not using on at least a daily basis. But Swifty was the type who just let everything roll off his back. He wouldn't feel any need to smoke just because everyone in the house was perpetually high; he'd just go about his business and leave them to theirs.

Belatedly, Bumlets wished he'd gotten to be better friends with Swifty.

"Hey," Swifty called down. "I'm glad you're here."

"Yeah?" Bumlets said.

Swifty nodded. "We had some shit go down this morning." He glanced down the hall behind him, then came down the stairs and met Bumlets at the bottom. "Skittery got booted," he said without preamble.

"What?" Bumlets asked. "Like, from the house?"

Swifty shook his head. "From the school. He locked himself in the bathroom upstairs, hasn't been out all day. I've been kinda listening through the wall. I think he's just crying in there, but I hate to leave him alone for long. Especially since the others will be home soon."

"Shit," Bumlets said. Kicked out of the school? Despite the resignation with which he'd watched Skittery and the others grow more and more dependent on their pot, he still felt surprise that it had actually gone this far. "Why was he kicked out?"

Swifty gave him a look. "Why do you think?" He grabbed some books from the kitchen table, brushing crumbs off the covers. "Look, I've got a final to get to. You think you can help him?"

Bumlets shook his head. He really didn't want to get dragged back into this shit – that's why he'd moved out. "No," he finally said. "But I think I know who can."

Swifty nodded, tugging his coat on. "I thought about calling him," he said. "C'mon, if you drive me to my final, I'll fill you in with some details. We can text him on the way and see if he can help."


"I've figured out why you have trouble sleeping," Sean said.

"I don't anymore," Race said, leaning up to kiss the edge of his boyfriend's jawline.

They were tangled together in Race's bed again, drowsing lazily in the afterglow of some very enjoyable post-exam sex.

"I'm serious," Sean said. But he couldn't keep his fingers from threading through Race's hair.

"How did my boxer shorts end up on top of the lamp?" Race asked idly.

Sean's answer was wry. "We were in a hurry."

"True," Race said. "I'm probably going to have rugburn on my knees."

Sean shrugged. "At least we made it to the bed the second time." He propped himself up on one elbow. "But I'm serious. I think I know why you can't sleep."

"Hm," Race said. He gently stroked Sean's spine. "So, dazzle me with your theory."

"I think," Sean said, "that you're so involved with your friends' lives and keeping them together that you can't let go long enough to sleep. You're trying too hard to keep everything reined in, to stay in control of not only your life, but your friends', too."

Race sat up. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Jack has a problem, who does he come to?" Sean asked.

"David," Race said.

"No," Sean said. "Jack lives with David, flirts with David, for all I know, cuddles with David at night. But when he has a real problem or something he needs advice on, he comes to you."

"Okay – " Race said slowly.

"And so do the rest of your friends," Sean added.

"Is there anything wrong with that?" Race asked, bristling a little.

Sean blew out an exasperated breath. "No, you idiot, but I think you have trouble letting go of those problems and relaxing so you can rest." Race didn't answer, and Sean pressed on. "What do you think about before you go to sleep?"

Race raised an eyebrow.

"I'm talking nights when you're not with me," Sean said, rolling his eyes.

Race sighed. "I don't know. My friends. What's coming up the next day." He wrinkled his forehead a little. "I don't know. The stuff I've tried to help people with." It was his turn to roll his eyes when Sean smirked. "Great," he grumbled. "This is going to make your head even bigger now, isn't it?"

"Because you screaming my name almost every night and once or twice during most days doesn't," Sean said. He looked supremely pleased with himself.

Race sighed. "See what I mean?" He couldn't help laughing, though, as he gave Sean's shoulder a little shove. "You're a dork. A bigger dork than David."

"I'm a sex god."

Race chuckled and rolled over until he was almost on top of Sean, his leg wedged between Sean's thighs and his chin pillowed on Sean's chest. "Hey, sex god?"

"Hmm?" Sean stroked his fingers through Race's hair again.

"Wanna come home with me for Christmas?"

Sean's expression grew serious, then brightened. "Yeah, I guess," he said nonchalantly.

"I – I can't – " Race took a deep breath. "I can't tell my parents the truth. Maybe sometime, but not now." Sean's face dimmed a little and for a moment, Race hated himself. "But I want you with me for Christmas. Please." His phone buzzed, dancing across his desk top, insistent in alerting him that he had a text message, but neither he nor Sean even glanced at it.

Instead Sean nodded, then slowly drew Race up until their faces were level. With sudden intensity, he pushed their mouths together, snaking his tongue into Race's mouth, running his hands over Race's back.

Race pulled back enough to chuckle, amused by what he could feel growing against his thigh. "Geez," he panted, "you really are a god, aren't you?"

"Shut up," Sean said, and pulled his head back down.

A knock at their dorm room door interrupted them, and Race groaned.

"Ignore it," Sean said as he nipped at the side of Race's neck.

"We really should get it," Race said, but then Sean's teeth closed around his earlobe and he forgot why. He ignored the next knock.

The sound of Bumlets's voice calling, "Race? Are you in there?" brought him back to reality. Sighing, he pulled away from Sean and, after grabbing his boxers from the lamp and tugging them on, went to answer the door.

"Race, I'm glad you're here," Bumlets said. "It's – " He broke off, staring at Race's state of undress. "Um, why are you – " he glanced at his watch. "It's after two in the afternoon."

"Who the hell is it?" Sean shouted from behind the semi-closed door.

Bumlets's eyes widened. "Oh. Whoa. Okay. Sorry."

Race raised his eyebrows.

"Right," Bumlets said. "The reason I'm here." He drew in a deep breath. "It's Skittery."

Race's stomach tightened, but he gave a half shrug, lifting one palm. "Yeah, and?"

"He's been kicked out, Race," Bumlets said.

It had finally happened. "When? How? Why?" Race asked. He closed his eyes. "Did he get caught with pot?"

Bumlets shook his head. "He hasn't been going to class, turning in assignments, taking exams, any of it."

"Great." Race sighed. He was suddenly aware of the chill easing into the room from the hall, and crossed his arms over his bare chest. "So why do you need me? Comforting him's not my job anymore."

"He locked himself in the bathroom of their house and won't come out," Bumlets said. "Swifty said he'd been in there for hours. He won't answer or talk to anyone. I'm worried he'll hurt himself."

There was a long pause.

"Shit," Race finally muttered. "Let me get dressed."

Sean was already pulling clothes on when Race stepped back into the room and closed the door. "I'll go along," he said. He didn't meet Race's eyes.

"Fine." Race nodded.

All three were quiet during the short drive to Skittery's house. Bumlets steered his beat-up station wagon in silence, gripping the steering wheel, his face grim. Sean sat in the back seat, his face set in the stony impassiveness of his first weeks on campus. Race's stomach continued to tighten.

There was yelling and pounding coming from upstairs when the young men let themselves in the back door. Bumlets led them up the stairs. Snoddy, Itey, and Snitch stood in the second-floor hallway crowded around the bathroom door; Snoddy's fist was raised to pound on it again.

"C'mon, man," Itey whined. "I gotta go!"

Snitch was giggling maniacally.

"It's not funny," Itey insisted. "I gotta piss like a racehorse." Snitch just giggled harder.

Race narrowed his eyes. Snitch was tripping on something, and Race was pretty sure it wasn't just pot. Disgusted, he turned to Sean and Bumlets. "Get them the hell out of here."

In a movement so smooth it looked practiced, Sean caught Snoddy's arm before he could thump on the door again and twisted it behind him, then began hustling him towards the stairs, obviously taking no pains to be gentle. Bumlets grabbed Itey's shoulder and began to steer him after Sean and Snoddy; Snitch trailed after them, still giddy.

Race tapped on the door. "Skittery." There was a sound from inside the bathroom – the noise of someone shifting positions, or murmuring, "hmm?", or sniffling.

"Skittery – Skitts – open the door," Race said, keeping his voice even and low.

There was a long pause, then the quiet snick of the lock being turned. Race walked into the bathroom, pulling the door shut behind him. Skittery was sitting on the floor, knees drawn up to his chin, face buried in his arms.

"Are you high?" Race asked shortly.

Skittery raised a red, swollen face to him. "No."

His eyes were puffy, but clear enough, Race decided, and nodded. "You want to tell me what happened?"

Skittery drew in a shaky breath. "You were right. What you said when – well, you were right. I screwed up, Race. So fucking bad."

"No shit." Race's tone held no sympathy.

"Yeah." Skittery scrubbed his hands over his face. "I got booted. I didn't go to class, didn't do any of the work." He stared at his fingernails. "Shit. I can't even remember the last time I paid my cell phone bill or my rent."

"What are you going to do?" Race asked.

Skittery shrugged. "What the hell can I do? I'm done."

Race raised an eyebrow. "That's it?"

"Well, I can't keep going to school here. I'll never get in anywhere else. I've got no job – " He drew in a shaky breath. "It's over for me."

"Bullshit," Race said sharply. "Yeah, it's over if you're going to sit there on your ass. Get up, stop feeling so fucking sorry for yourself. Go home, ask for your parents' help, get into rehab. Get off the MJ." He narrowed his eyes at Skittery. "Snitch was fucking tweaking in the hall out there. Is pot all you're on?"

Skittery shrugged and looked away.

Race closed his eyes and sighed. "Skitts." He opened them again. "Look, you fucked up. Bad. But you know that. So it's time to get help and try to fix your life."

Skittery looked at him. "It's too late to fix some things."

Race stared back evenly. "It probably is. But that doesn't mean you shouldn't try."

"Race," Skittery said. There was a pleading edge to his voice. "If I hadn't fucked up so badly, we wouldn't have – I mean, you and I would still – "

"Don't," Race said. "Just don't." He closed his eyes, abruptly aware that he didn't want to be doing this – why was he always the one who had to be the strong, firm one, who had to save everyone else? Sighing, he opened his eyes. "Look, you can't change the past. There's no way of knowing whether the choices we made back then were for the better or the worse. So just move on." He held out a hand to pull Skittery to his feet. "It's time to move on. To take care of yourself."

Skittery took Race's hand, but didn't stand. "Will you – will you be there? Will you help me?"

Race looked away. "It's probably better if I don't."

Skittery didn't release Race's hand, instead clinging more tightly. "I don't know if I can do it without you," he said.

"That's the point," Race said, tugging on Skittery's hand until he stood. "You need to learn that you can do this without me. That you can do it for yourself." He hoped fervently that what he was saying was right – psych classes were one thing, but this was someone's life that he could be screwing up. "You've got a lot of friends who want to help you," he said, "and a family that's going to be with you, too." He paused, then added, "I know you can do it, Skitts." Then he pulled his hand away from Skittery's still clenching one, gently but firmly.

He turned away and opened the door. Sean was leaning against the wall across from the door, smoking a cigarette with every pretense of calm. When he looked at Race, though, his eyes were hard and a darker blue than usual. Race's stomach tightened again.

Sean was silent throughout the ride home, after Bumlets had dropped them off and they climbed the stairs to their room – bypassing the once again broken elevator – and after Race had shut the door behind them. He didn't say anything when Race came over and sat next to him on the futon.

"Do you want to get some dinner?" Race asked.

Sean shrugged.

Race leaned lightly against Sean. "Do you have a lot of studying to do?"

Sean shrugged again.

"Well, when's your next final?"

"Dunno."

Sean's shoulder was stiff against Race's. Race could feel every bone in Sean's thin frame. He sat up. "Okay, what?"

Sean shrugged again.

"Uh-uh," Race said, his voice rising a little. "Why am I getting the silent treatment?" He moved so he was standing in front of Sean. "Sean," Race said, forcing Sean to meet his eyes. "What's wrong?"

Sean looked away. "What's with you and Skittery?"

It was Race's turn to shrug. "Nothing."

Sean snapped his head around and met Race's eyes, glaring. "Don't lie. I ain't stupid." The Brooklyn in his voice grew more pronounced.

Race sighed. "We used to go out. Freshman, sophomore year. He was – I don't know. It was good for a while."

"Did you…" Sean's voice trailed off and he clenched his jaw, as if he couldn't believe what he had almost asked.

Still uncomfortable, Race looked down. "Yeah. We did. He was my first – well, my first everything. First boyfriend. First steady relationship. First – first time." He clenched a fist by his side.

Sean stared out the window. "What happened?"

Race sighed again. "He was getting into his pot too much. I mean, I don't really care about getting high once in a while." He shrugged. "We're in college. Everyone experiments."

"Did you?" Sean asked.

"Only once or twice," Race said. "As you may have noticed, I have slight issues with losing control."

Sean snorted.

"But Skitts was getting addicted," Race said. "It was obvious. His personality, his priorities, the people he hung around with – everything was changing. So I gave him an ultimatum. Quit, or I would walk."

"And you walked?"

Race shoved his hands in his pockets. "He wouldn't quit, didn't think there was anything wrong with what he was doing. 'Everyone gets high,' you know? I warned him, over and over, and finally I had to do it. I left him."


Sean closed his eyes. Tony had walked. Of course he had. Why should he have stayed with a guy who obviously had so many problems? He was a good guy – a pain in the ass, but a decent guy. He had a future, potential for being something. There was no reason for him to stay with someone who was so fucked up. No one else would have.

No one else ever had.

He was dimly aware that Tony was still talking, going on about why he had to leave Skittery, justifying with one breath and telling Sean to say something with the next.

" – I couldn't help him. Jesus, Sean, say something. I didn't want to hurt him, but I couldn't help him, couldn't handle it. God, I didn't even know he was on it until sophomore year. All through freshman year, I had no idea."

Sean snorted. "What, the conviction for possession in high school didn't give you a hint?"

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew his mistake. He kept his eyes closed, hoping that Tony wouldn't notice it. Silence filled the room, ringing ominously in his ears. Then –

"What?"

Fuck.

He opened his eyes. Tony was still standing in front of him, his arms folded across his chest. His position meant his biceps were deliciously outlined by his tight grey shirt sleeves, but for the first time in weeks, no desire stirred in Sean.

"Nothing," he said.

Tony' s dark eyes very clearly said, "yeah, right." "Uh-uh. What do you mean, a conviction for possession? Are you sure about that? When?"

Sean sighed. "In high school. Community service, no jail time or nothing."

Tony's eyes narrowed. "How do you know about it, Sean?" he asked, very quietly.

Sean rubbed suddenly sweating palms on the thighs of his jeans. "When I started here, I looked everyone's records up. I didn't know anyone, just wanted to know what I was dealing with."

"Court and criminal records are available online," Tony said, almost to himself. Then he met Sean's eyes, frown lines creasing his face. "But I'm pretty damn sure juvenile records aren't."

Sean didn't answer.

"Damn it, Sean!" It was the first time Sean had heard Tony raise his voice since he had lost his temper the day he'd found out about Crutchy's death. The only time he'd heard Tony raise his voice other than that day.

He stood, paced away from the futon, then turned to face Tony. It had been nice while it lasted, he thought sardonically. Probably the most comfortable two months of his life. He took a breath. "I hacked into the files. Looked everyone up – adult files, juvenile files, credit histories, housing records."

Tony was holding very still. "And what did you find?"

Sean shoved his hands in his pockets. "Skittery'd been arrested for possession. David and Sarah and Specs were all pretty much clean. Dutchy'd had some sort of breakdown. Mush was an orphan, Bumlets and Gabby'd lost their parents, lived with their grandparents. Blink and Del had – had rough childhoods."

"And me?"

"Underage gambling."

Tony lifted his chin a little, then said quietly, "All you had to do was ask – I would have told you about it."

Though he doubted the truth of that statement, Sean stared at the toes of his scuffed Chucks.

"And Jack?" Tony said, still unmoving and quiet.

Sean didn't look up. "I don't – I can't tell you."

"I see," Tony said. "Because?"

"It's not something you should be fucking around with," Sean said sharply. Fuck, if Tony started screwing around, looking too closely at Jack's background – he tried to make the importance of what he was saying explicitly clear. "It could be dangerous for you, Tony. For Jack, too."

"But it's fine for you?" Tony asked.

Tony's vaguely superior tone should have grated against Sean's nerves, but he couldn't manage even annoyance. "I can take care of myself better than you can," he simply replied.

"I see," Tony said. "Is it something that could jeopardize what we're trying to get going against Pulitzer?"

Sean hesitated. "It could," he finally said.

"I see," Tony said again. "So Jack has a history, a past that no one can know about except you, apparently. And you – " He paused, drew in a breath. "You not only think that you need to find out what skeletons are in everyone's closets shortly after meeting them, but you have the ability to do so by hacking into a lot of systems that I would imagine are generally well guarded."

Sean shrugged.

"Tell me why, Sean," Tony said. "Tell me why."

Sean was silent. He couldn't even begin to imagine what kind of answer Tony was expecting.

"Sean," Tony said. Emotion was creeping back into his voice. "What are you running from?"

Sean's head snapped up, a comfortably familiar sneer on his face. "Save the Psych 101 crap, Tony," he said. "I'm not one of your friends crying on your shoulder."

Tony flinched, but persisted. "You don't have to cry on my shoulder," he said. "Just tell me what happened to you."

Sean stiffened. "Look, I don't poke at you about your problems with your mom."

"Yeah, well maybe you should!" Tony was raising his voice again. "We're together, Sean. That means you're supposed to give a damn about the other person."

Now it would happen, Sean thought. Tony would set an ultimatum, the same way he'd had for Skittery: give up the pot or I walk. Give up your secrets or it's over. Like hell that was happening, Sean thought, drawing himself up and giving Tony his best glare. He'd do the leaving before he'd let someone else walk out on him. He didn't need Tony, didn't need his touchy-feely crap and all the baggage that came with a steady relationship. He was Sean Conlon. He didn't need anyone.

"Fuck you," he said clearly and coldly.

Anger and shock warred on Tony's face.

"You think you're so great?" Sean asked. "You've got it all figured out, you're gonna help save me just like you save the rest of the world." He grabbed his knapsack and his keys. "Well, I ain't one of your fucking charity cases," he said. He shoved the keys in his pockets. "So I kept some secrets. You sure as hell didn't tell me everything either. And you shouldn't be judging anyone – you're an insomniac, gambling-addicted fag who can't even handle coming out to his family." He wheeled away from the anger – and what looked frighteningly like pain – on Tony's face and headed for the door. When he was around the corner of the closets and out of Tony's sight, he paused long enough to hiss, "And I don't need you." He didn't bother slamming the door behind him.


AN:
Wow. I know this took a long time to get up, but I hope it was worth it for you all. Blame the wait on school and a broken Internet connection (two weeks without reliable service – yikes!). I appreciate everyone sticking with the story though. I've gotten some really great reviews; it's always good to know so many people are reading and liking my little world.

As always, love to my betas: Amanda, who always reads first and can be bribed with promises of upcoming snippets; Shannon, who gave me a kick-ass beta this time and isn't afraid to tell me to reign in my adverbs; and B, who always manages to fit me into her busy schedule and who (I recently realized) has my story posted as a recommendation on her web site.

I don't own any of the characters from the movie. Original characters are all mine, though if Disney ever wanted to borrow them to make a sequel, they probably could be bought... for the right price.

Happy Easter, Passover, Vernal Equinox, or Other Spring Holiday of Your Choice, everyone!