Antoine tossed himself into the familiar couch and grabbed his favorite Koosh ball from the "fidget basket." He tossed it from hand to hand, tugging at its rubber fur as he did. After a minute he settled down and contented himself with rolling it in his hands before giving it a last squeeze, and willing himself to sit still. He grinned up at the woman seated across from him at her desk.

"You seem in a good mood," noted Doctor Elisabeth Rouse, "Liz" to her patients.

Antoine bobbed his head in agreement. "Yeah, I am!"

"So tell me about it," Liz prompted. "I love good news. By the way, it's good to see you again, Antoine. It's been a little while, hasn't it. I'm glad you're back."

Antoine shrugged. "Well, with the wedding, then our mini-vacay, then getting back to work and trying to make things normal again, time got away from me. But yeah, coming here helps, and I've still got a ton of stuff I want to work through." Antoine looked away for a moment, suddenly a bit shy. He looked around the office, taking in the toys, the books, Liz's desk, Liz herself.

Liz had her tape recorder on her notebook. She hadn't turned it on yet, Antoine noted.

Following his gaze, Liz lifted it, asked the unspoken question with her eyes.

Antoine nodded. Go for it.

She set the recorder on the coffee table between them, and turned it on.

Antoine regarded the little red light, thinking.

"You said you still have some things you want to talk about?"

"Well, just because I'm married isn't like some silver bullet. It's not like I'm 'cured' or my entire past is suddenly erased. Preston started taking meds a few years back, and he's been on them ever since. They really help him. He'll probably be on them for life and that's okay. Meanwhile, since they don't make pills to cure being a fuck-up-"

Thwap!

"Oy!" Antoine grunted in surprise as a Nerf dart bounced off his knee. He wrinkled his face, gave Liz a shifty look. She ignored it, smiled innocently, and raised the Nerf revolver concealed behind the notebook on her lap.

"Remember what we agreed on for negative self-talk."

Antoine rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I know..." He picked up the dart and handed it to her. "Kinda forgot about that part."

Liz took it, and loaded it back into the chamber. Six shots. She spun it with a grin.

"Okay, okay, I get it! I am not a fuck-up. I am a good person, doing my best, and the only thing I can control is me. Now, let me rephrase: they don't make pills to cure a fucked-up childhood. Is that better?"

Liz smiled innocently.

"Yeah, it's better," Antoine answered his own question. "I get it. So, anyhow, since Prep's brave enough to do something that helps him, I'm going to keep doing this because it helps me. That's that, and here I am." He gave the koosh ball a squeeze. "And yes, you're right, I am in a good mood. I had this dream last night, and though I know it's just a dream, it felt really good. Almost like it wasn't a dream... Except it was... and now I'm rambling." He shrugged again.

"Let's hear it," Liz said.

Antoine smiled, eager. "Okay!"

Antoine watched Preston getting ready for the evening. It was one of those black-tie fancy fundraiser things Preston often attended, especially now with the new training facility and education center completed outside the main property of the power plant. The site was still within the main security perimeter, but outside the deep security boundary. It had been Preston's initiative, the Board liked it, they took it and made it happen. Demystifying nuclear power, offering the community a chance to learn about it.

Preston was making waves, whether he wanted to or not, and people were starting to notice. It meant more schmoozing, more rubbing elbows with politicians and city influencers.

It was all a bit over Antoine's head.

On occasion he accompanied Preston, but there were equally as many times that it didn't work out. Antoine's early morning schedule for Infrastructure left him unwilling to be out all hours of the night, trading dry jokes over even dryer martinis. When he did go, he was happy to follow Preston's lead, not unlike he'd done as part of Thaddeus Dimas' entourage back in the day. Antoine considered himself a common man, great at chatting up the event photographer, or making casual connections with an editor for the Plateau City Review, but he was not the sort to mingle with aldermen. Playing political ballgames with the City Council was not his forte.

This was one of those nights he would not be attending. This dream. And he knew it was a dream because their house was similar, but not exactly the same.

That, and Antoine was watching everything from a detached perspective; the view of a movie-goer watching the big screen.

Antoine drifted, looking over Preston's shoulder as the lean man readied himself.

There was something both purposeful and delicate in the way Preston moved. Graceful; like he was dancing to some secret melody. He had fixed his hair, gelling each strand into a messy-chic style, then running his hands through it a second time to be sure it didn't look too deliberate. Preston raised his hands, fingers curled over his palms, and examined his nails. Absentmindedly, he picked a tiny ball of lint off the white cuff of his jacket. Removed a single long, blue hair as well; one of Antoine's that had somehow gotten on him.

Preston's deft fingers easily fastened the gold cufflinks he'd chosen. Whale tail style clasps. Something Antoine thought secretly fitting for a Boston man. Antoine recognized the style, from Cartier's Santos collection. Santos de Cartier cufflinks. A hint of industrial, a dash of chic, and a statement to those who knew.

Preston turned, oblivious to Antoine's presence, and passed by him. Antoine'd view swirled, as dreams are wont to do, and he found himself atop the administration complex of the Plateau City Nuclear Generating Station.

Antoine had been on the roof many times. Well, if not many times, enough that he was familiar with the place. Most of the time, his trips up work maintenance-related, though not always. One year he and Preston had watched the New Year's Eve fireworks from that vantage point. Sure, it might've been a ways from downtown, but along the Hudson River palisades, the land was flat (minus the cliffs to the river). The haze in the air reflected the orange city lights of downtown, and beyond that the almost mystical glow of New York City herself.

Antoine leaned on the retaining wall, enjoying the view.

"Nice night, isn't it?" a voice asked from behind him. "Peaceful."

A familiar voice.

One Antoine recognized easily.

Slowly, he turned around. Thaddeus Dimas was standing behind him, in the flesh (so to speak), looking every inch as fit and healthy as he had when Antoine first met him. Dimas' dark eyes twinkled. His curly black hair didn't have so much as a hint of grey. His sharp, Grecian features bore the prominence of youthful vigor. Broad shouldered, thick framed, the former atom baron of Plateau City opened his arms, beckoning.

Antoine made a small squeak of surprise, then the next thing he knew he was locking arms with the man, a tight and mutual bearhug.

Had Antoine ever hugged Dimas before?

He couldn't remember. If he hadn't, well, he imagined, it would feel just like this.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind Antoine knew this wasn't real; and yet he was perfectly happy to forget that fact for the moment.

Dimas squeezed Antoine tightly, rocking back, lifting the younger man off his feet for a second. Antoine reveled in the crushing grasp. It was exactly what his heart needed. Dimas. Dimas! "Ahhh, so good to see you!"

Thaddeus Dimas set Antoine down, gave him a rough horse-slap on the arm. "You are looking well, my boy! Seems like life's agreeing with you on all fronts."

Antoine glanced down at his familiar paunch, patted his stomach, and smiled.

Dimas gave his own flank a slap. "Trying to take after me, eh?"

Antoine laughed. "Naw, I could never be the next Big D."

"Still flying that chopper of yours?"

Antoine shook his head. "No, they sold it. Her. The Board sold her a few seasons ago. The new CEO isn't much for flying, and they didn't want the expense."

Dimas cocked his head. "That guy down there?" He gestured over the lip of the wall.

Antoine looked, following Dimas' arm.

Below them, Preston swirled through the crowds, his motion as skilled as a ballet master, turning, pivoting, shaking hands and half-bowing politely. The golden light from below filled spaces between Preston and the others. A misty sea. It was like watching through water, or a crystal ball. Antoine folded his arms over the railing. "Yep, him."

"Preston, isn't it?" Dimas asked, leaning in beside Antoine.

Antoine slid over to give Dimas a bit more space. "Yep."

"I'll admit," Dimas began, "I never thought I'd see him come into his own like that."

Antoine let his fingers dangle in the night air. "I don't think any of us did. But I'm proud of him. He's worked hard. He's been through a lot, and he made it out the other side."

Dimas' hand was on Antoine's shoulder. "He's not the only one to be proud of."

"Oh?" Antoine half-turned.

Dimas gave a snort. "Seriously, Radson? As if you don't know! Don't you think I'm proud of you too?! Don't you think I'm looking at you, at everything you've done for yourself, and saying 'good job!' each and every day?"

Antoine lowered his eyes, a tired smile forming on his lips.

"I know this a dream, Big D."

Dimas raised his hands. "Okay, yes. The 'Big D' is D-E-A-D, but are you going to let that take away from the sincerity of my statements? You know better than that. You've always been important to me. Admittedly that wasn't what I expected when I took you onboard, but I like you, kiddo, and I'm proud of the man you've grown up to be."

Antoine waved an arm towards Preston.

"I asked him to marry me."

"I know."

"He said 'yes.'"

"I know that too." Dimas dropped a calloused hand on Antoine's shoulder, a fatherly touch. "Just because I'm dead doesn't mean I don't know things."

Antoine gazed up at the sky, incandescent, lit from the city and gala below. How strange dreams could be, and yet how much sense they also made. It wasn't real, but it wasn't not-real either. Antoine inhaled, savoring the cool night air, and let his breath out slowly. "I never got to say goodbye to you."

Dimas patted his shoulder. "And what is it you could've said then, that would be any different than what you're saying now?"

Antoine nodded. "Valid point... but it's not the same. There's so much I wish I could tell you. About Rowdy and me kinda 'borrowing' the helicopter without technically having permission. About saving Monty and Waylon in Springfield. Hell, about golfing with Preston's dad! Now he and I throw down a few holes every time he's in town, or I go out to visit them. I'm using those clubs you gave me, by the way," Antoine added.

"I'm glad you're getting some good use out of them," Dimas replied. "They weren't cheap! They're a good set!"

"That's what Alfred said," Antoine agreed. "You know you didn't have to do any of that for me, right sir? I mean, I never expected any of it."

Dimas stepped back from the railing and folded his arms behind his head. He stretched, cracking his neck and shoulders deliberately. "That's what made it so fun to do! I like you, Radson. And you didn't expect it. If you had, I probably wouldn't have done it." He squeezed his knuckled, popping each joint in turn. "What can I say? It felt the right thing to do."

They lapsed into silence, Antoine watching Preston, Dimas staring up at the night sky.

"I kinda got Rowdy banished to Ukraine," Antoine confessed.

Dimas rolled his shoulders. A shrug. "She's doing alright there."

Antoine turned, a slight scowl on his face. "How would you know?"

"I'm dead, remember?"

Antoine growled softly. "Yeah, I can't forget that." He looked away, unsure of what to say next.

Dimas signed heavily. "Look, Radson, don't get so worked up about that. It's not your fault, and you're not responsible for what other people do. Good or bad, people make choices, and while that might define their future it doesn't define them. Look at Preston down there!" Dimas pointed with a thick finger. "I didn't expect him to last five years as an assistant before burning out. Now look at him: he's thriving. That's not just because of his character though, a large part has to do with you."

Dimas stuffed his hands into his pockets and smiled. "You're a success story, Antoine! Now, admittedly I'd like to think I had at least a little influence there, but if I may be blunt, most of that's on you! I might've given you a few things here or there, let you have some leeway because I liked having you around, but the accomplishments you made are all yours. No one did any of that for you. No one handed you anything! You wanted it, you found a way to get it. Now look at you, married, working a job you like, got friends and family who care about you; how better could anyone define success?"

Without waiting for Antoine to reply, Dimas continued. "Go down there, mingle! Or stay up here and enjoy watching your man play the game. Whatever makes you happy. Don't feel bad about either thing."

"There is one thing I feel bad about," Antoine admitted. He turned so he was facing Dimas, and settled down into a sitting position. "I never got to say thank you. I never even got to tell you goodbye."

Dimas tilted his head. "Isn't that what you're doing now? We're talking, saying our peace."

Antoine brightened. "I guess that is what we're doing, isn't it."

Dimas nodded. "And don't forget faith. Dead, dying, living, it's really all the same in a lot of ways. At least it seems that way to me. And it doesn't change that I'm still impressed by your accomplishments; and I'm glad I had a chance to know you."

With that, Dimas stepped forward, and extended his hand to Antoine. Antoine took it, noting how warm and vaguely translucent Dimas' fingers had become.

He let the older man pull him to his feet.

"Nobody's perfect, and we've all got our own crosses to bear. But if I were you, I'd keep my head up high. You're something, Antoine Edelmar Radson. I can't tell you what, you'll have to discover that on your own. But, like I've said several times before, I'm proud of you." He pulled Antoine into a second deep bearhug. Antoine let himself collapse into the embrace, that sort of deep and loving pressure that restores the soul. After what might've been a minute, or possible forever, he let go, and clasped Antoine's head in his coarse palms.

Their eyes met.

"You've done good, son. You've done good."

Dimas' body was already fading, blending into the amber haze of the dreamscape around them. Antoine felt his chest swell with pride. "I done good," he repeated under his breath, then he paused. "Hey, Big D! How'd you know my middle name? I've never told anybody that!"

Dimas winked. "I'm dead, remember? You can't keep secrets from me. And of course I know it, after all this is-"

"-Your dream," Antoine mumbled, pushing himself awake.

He glanced over at Preston sleeping deeply beside him. The thin man, not so thin as he once was, wearing a tee-shirt and briefs, burrowed into the nest of blankets Antoine kept heaped on their bed.

Antoine shook his head, ran a hand through his sleep-tangled mane.

It had all seemed so real.

He sat there for several minutes, listening to Preston's light snores.

Carefully, so as not to bump his husband, he leaned over and cupped his phone in his hand. Using his body to block Preston from any direct screen light, Antoine checked the time.

It wasn't even midnight. He'd been asleep for less than three hours.

It felt like a lifetime.

At least I've got four more hours, Antoine thought as he settled back under the covers. He reached an arm around Preston, and wrapped his legs around in a spooning pose. Preston may have been taller, but he fit well as the "little spoon." Antoine ran his fingers over Preston's shoulder, then chest, appreciating the muscles and slight layer of fat that was finally (finally!) covering Preston's ribs. The man would never be plump, his body and anxiety wouldn't allow it, but he could at least fill out a bit.

Antoine liked the way Preston's face looked. It was like when they'd first met: Preston's Italian features fine, but not hollow. Mature. Refined. The faintest hints of grey at Preston's temples only served to enhance that cultured mien. Maybe Preston was a bit young for grey, maybe not. It wasn't unheard of for a person to start greying in their thirties.

Regardless, it suited him.

Maybe someday, Antoine would stop dying his hair and let the natural white-blond take over. Would that help him look more mature? Or would he just look old. Antoine wasn't sure.

He didn't think about it further. Before he could turn another page in his mind, he was already asleep.