I hadn't seen flowers since my time in the hospital. The ones I had taken home from the duration of my stay had remained alive well enough, but eventually they died like any other plant. Since then, well, I just hadn't any care to buy myself any and Alfred never brought any around to brighten up my studio. Not like I needed them. Still, it was nice to have around the place.

Especially now that I wrote almost every waking moment. The new story that I had begun had possessed me like a demonic ghoul and I was up late at night writing draft upon draft of new chapters, possible scenes, and meaningless side stories in order to help me flesh out the characters. My editor was more than overjoyed with elation as she came by every other day to see my progress. Normally I was slow and tended to hide my work until the last moment, but with this new story came a fresh outlook of how I was going about my day.

Alfred was pleased too. He had seen my mood drastically improve. I'd like to think that all the credit fell to him, but it wasn't just Alfred that helped me. The men at the firehouse were a great deal of help in their warm welcoming and kind friendship. I had visited the station a few times since Thanksgiving, and now with my casts off I was planning on coming round more often.

The first few days of physical therapy had been brutal. I was scared, but tried not to show it. Keeping my stiff upper lip, as Alfred loved to remind me. The therapist had reminded me to go at my own pace, and to not push myself. He obviously hadn't met someone as stubborn as me.

Alfred had taken me to and from my appointments with an optimistic outlook every time. The first day I had found it annoying and was quite irritable from it. I didn't speak much, keeping my thoughts to myself in order to not bite Alfred's good intentions right off of his head. If he noticed he didn't say anything.

The session hadn't gone well at all. I expected myself to just jump up and start walking right off the bat, but was sorely mistaken. I had nearly fallen over instead. Alfred sat and watched, cheering me on all the while, as the therapist kept a steady hand on my back and helped me to stand. I found that standing alone was hard enough. When my time was finished I was dripping with sweat and exhaustion.

It was then that Alfred started buying me flowers again.

The first day was orange Kaffir lilies. They sat beside my computer until the second day when he brought a new bouquet of strange red flowers. I knew they weren't poinsettias. Alfred proudly declared they were "Amaryllis" flowers. He thought he was so smart.

The second day wasn't nearly as strenuous as the first day, but I was still worn out. The third day saw little improvement, but my therapist and Alfred both tried to reassure me I was doing well. The fourth day I didn't have Alfred by my side. I felt guilty for having taken up so much of his time considering he got so little free time given his job, but he never complained.

I still couldn't drive myself and had difficulty moving about, so Alfred asked Matthew to come and help on the days he was unavailable. It was nice to be with Matthew for a time. Not that I was glad Alfred was away, but we were spending an awful lot of time together. I worried that he was growing tired of me or that I would of him. We hadn't even had a real fight yet, just squabbles.

"Don't think about it," Matthew said when I voiced my fears. "If you two fight, you'll fight. You're at your three month now. Who knows what will happen."

Finally, towards the middle of December, I found myself walking. It was slow and I stumbled a lot. Much of the time I thought myself like that of a baby taking their first few steps. I was humiliated, glancing at Alfred watching patiently from the corner, but when his face broke out into a proud smile that sent shivers to my core, well, I felt damn proud of myself too.

I had changed in just three months. Physically, emotionally and mentally. That car crash had been a blessing in disguise.

I had gotten far enough in my therapy to walk around my studio with little complications. It felt amazing to stand on my own and cook or brew tea. Sometimes I would falter and grip the counter or a table close to me. One time I did so when Alfred was present. I expected him to tell me to take it easy or watch me like a hawk the rest of his stay.

However, he said nothing and watched as I struggled to stand back up. He knew that interfering would anger me. I could do it. I had to do it. If he helped I would feel inferior.

It was little things like these that made my heart begin to blossom with deep affection for Alfred.

One day Alfred appeared at my flat with poinsettias. I was pleased to see the beautiful red flowers, placing them on my kitchen table. It really was nearing Christmas.

"Can we go on a date?" Alfred asked.

In all honesty, the two of us had never been on a real date, as in a night out together for dinner and possibly a movie or something just as romantic. My wheelchair made it near impossible for us to get around and I hated to be a burden. Ever since the incident at the park, we had kept our relationship a secret.

I smiled at the prospect of a night finally out with my boyfriend. "I would love to."

"Alfred…," I whispered. He moaned my name back.

We had ended up back at Alfred's place, too high from our beautiful night to care who saw us now. I had him pressed against the front wall of his apartment complex. My hands were practically in his pants by the time he pried me away and led me inside. In the elevator he pushed his leg between mine and pressed.

My head fell back as my mouth opened, but nothing came out. I don't think voicing my pleasure at that pressure could capture how hot and heavy and needy I had become. I gripped at Alfred's clothes, desperately aching to take his shirt off and feel his hard abs pressing on me, feel that pressure pushing against me, into me, and Oh Alfred.

He all but carried me to his apartment, kicking the door out of the way as I sucked on a delicious spot on his neck. I'm not sure how we had been swept away in this ragged desire. It could've been a number of things. The romantic evening, the sexual tension that had been between us for a few weeks now, my own desire to actually shag a fireman, or the fact we actually could now.

Having the casts come off gave me more than just freedom around my living quarters, it gave me the chance to date and have sex with my boyfriend; for us to be a normal couple.

I moaned Alfred's name as I lay on his bed, which I noticed was not a fold out and had a wonderful feeling of silk covers underneath my back. His hands slipped under my shirt and pulled it up. I sat up to give him an easier time taking it off. He laid me back with a sigh as his eyes drank me up. The way he looked at me was one I had never seen before. It was almost as if he were looking at the most precious thing in the world. He stroked my torso with restraint, wanting nothing more than to devour me.

I spread my legs and smiled up at him as I moved my hands to the side. It was different, being admired and lusted after. I had never had a man desire me as much as Alfred did right then and there.

"Wow, you're beautiful," he breathed.

Well, that was too much for me. I pulled him down as my face blossomed into red like the flowers he gave me. I kissed him until he shut up, but he was repeating how "beautiful" I was. So I moved to take his shirt off.

He stopped.

"Wh-what're you doing?" I asked, panicked.

"Um… There's…just something I have to show you," he replied, nervously biting his lip.

I narrowed my eyes. "Unless your penis has been cut off I don't care."

Alfred sat back. He hesitated, watching me and probably thinking I was something other than horny and impatient. Finally he pulled off his shirt.

I gasped. Not because the sight before me was so breathtaking it made my penis quiver in delight (of which I'm not saying if it really did or not), but because there was a long and red scar cutting across Alfred's midriff. It wasn't new, but it was big and jagged and red.

I sat up, a tentative hand touching it. I half expected it to be as hot as it looked, but it wasn't any different than the rest of Alfred. The skin felt a little unusual, but he wasn't hurt by my touch. I looked up at him. He was looking off to the side with an uncomfortable grimace on his face.

"This… when did you…?"

"When I was trying to save that kid," he replied. I didn't have to ask anything more.

I just leaned in and kissed his skin. He panted lightly, watching me. My fingers crawled along after my lips as I covered every inch of this scar.

"I thought you'd think I was…ugly…"

I shook my head. My hands, smaller compared to Alfred's, caressed him, and then I moved to his neck. I whispered against his skin, "It's beautiful… It proves you're alive…"

Alfred grew excited. He pulled me up to kiss him and lied atop me again. I wound my arms around his shoulders as I kissed back with as much fervor as he was giving. He nibbled on my neck as he whispered something.

"What?" I asked, breathless. I brushed his hair off of his forehead and he smiled up at me.

"I love you," he replied.

My breath caught. I hadn't heard those words spoken to me in years, platonic or not. Not even my last fling had mentioned anything other than "wanna fuck?" of which I always did because I was desperate for any attention. But Alfred, not Alfred.

"I love you too."

The evening wore on and we made love until my throat was raw. I cried for him, our bodies rocking back and forth, his moans and hands grabbing at me to keep me close. Falling asleep in his arms was the most exhilarating thing of my life.

Waking in the morning I found Alfred was absent from the bed. I sat up and called his name, but felt my hips grow tight. We had gone only once, but it had been so long that I was a little rusty. I weighed my options and settled on staying in bed until he returns. He was most likely in the bathroom.

The door opened soon enough and Alfred entered holding two trays with a coffee cup and two plates of breakfast. One had eggs, bacon, and hash browns while the other plate had a fresh pair of buttered toast. Alfred sat beside me where I snuggled up to his side.

"You made me tea?" I asked with a smile.

"You're lucky I have some around the place," he replied drinking his coffee. "This is the first time you've ever been over."

I nodded. "It's nice. You have good taste in bed sheets."

"Silk. Gotta love it."

We kissed and then began our meal. Sometime shortly afterwards we placed the trays aside and I straddled Alfred where I proceeded to return the same affections he showered on me the night before. I don't think I could tire of hearing his voice calling for me or whispering his adoration for me.

"Don't you have work?" I asked sometime around noon. We hadn't gotten out of bed once, except to relieve ourselves.

It was more likely we'd dive back into each other's arms than get back up.

Alfred looked up to the ceiling, annoyed that he had been reminded of his duties. Then he flashed a smile my way before reaching for his mobile on his nightstand. "I'll call Mattie and ask him to take my shift for tonight."

"Can you do that?" I asked. I toyed with his belly button while staring up at him.

I was still reeling from the beauty of his sculpted body. I'd heard the saying some men are like marble statues, but Alfred Jones was no cliché. He was the real deal. And I was lucky enough to get this man in my arms, have him hold me in his, and make sweet love to him. A man like me should not be in bed with a beautiful fireman like Alfred.

"Sure, he'll understand. He owes me anyways." Alfred gave me a wink. "Hey! Mattie! Can you do me a favor? This will make us square. I kind of have things I want to do here at home, so can you cover for today?"

I laid my head against Alfred's chest, listening to his heartbeat as he finished up his phone call with Matthew. I didn't listen in, focusing on that steady tempo beneath me. It was so strange to know that a simple matter of an organ beating brought me such peace. That I actually preferred cuddling and talking romantically for hours on end rather than shag. It certainly hadn't been that way with my flings in the past.

But I chalked that up to the affect Alfred had on me.

Alfred hung up and rolled me over so I was on my back. He loved giving me Eskimo kisses, something of which I had never been given before. It was cute. Alfred tended to do very cute things.

"Oh!" I straightened up in bed. I rested my cheek on my hand. "Did I tell you? I'm working on a new novel."

Alfred mirrored my movements and smiled widely. "No way! Is it another romance?"

I shook my head. "No. I thought I'd do a fantasy novel."

"Really? Like with sword fights and mages and stuff like that?"

I nodded. I looked off past Alfred with a nostalgic smile. Days of spring afternoons and early summer evenings in the lush greenery of my childhood returned to me. "When I was young, I often had adventures in the hills of my old hometown. There were fairies and unicorns and-"

Alfred's snorting beside me interrupted my musings. I snapped my attention to him. He blushed, putting a hand over his mouth. I narrowed my eyes at him.

"No," Alfred said with an obvious laugh to his voice. "No, go on. I'm sorry. Keep going."

"No."

"Aw, c'mon! Please!" Alfred grabbed my free hand still resting on the bed between us. "I promise I won't laugh! Tell me what it's about!"

"There's a unicorn in the story," I said flatly.

Alfred bit his lip as his cheeks puffed up, keeping back that traitorous laugh. My eyes were now slits of a glare. So Alfred tried again.

"Is there a prince in the story?"

"Yes, there is. He's the main character."

Alfred lit up. "Is he me?"

"No."

"You based him off of me, right?"

"No."

"His name is Alfred, though, right? I mean, ya gotta have his name be mine!"

"He's not you."

"But… But authors often base characters off of people they know, right? So, did you base anyone off of me?"

"No."

Around dinner time we finally got out of bed, but Alfred insisted we remain as naked as possible. I donned my underwear, but he actually stayed completely naked. I didn't mind one bit.

We didn't stay out of bed for long. After dinner we were right back in each other's arms and moaning for one another. I don't think I've ever had so much sex in one day before.

We had been snogging with roaming hands when there came a vibration coming from Alfred's nightstand. I grabbed at him to not move, but he pulled away with a laugh.

"No," I said. I didn't whine. I wouldn't do that. "Don't answer it, please."

"C'mon, you know I have to. I'm still on duty in case there's an emergency." He reached over to grab at his mobile.

"You put Matt on your shift, yeah? He's a big boy. He can handle it." Okay, I'll admit. Maybe I was a little needy this evening.

Alfred shushed me with a laugh, and then answered. I busied myself with his bare skin, leaving little kisses on his chest while I felt his heart beat against my lips. I could hear very little from the phone, but I didn't care. Nothing was important except for our bare bodies. And my ever growing need to have Alfred back on top of me.

In that moment, though, I had no idea what had just broken.

"What?" Alfred bolted up, startling me off of him. "When?"

I sat up, confused. Alfred's expression grew panicked. Color faded from those bright eyes of his and formed into dread. I knew that look. I had that look every time Alfred left for work.

Someone was hurt.

"Okay, I'll be right there." Alfred hung up. He flung the covers off of himself and clamored out of bed.

"Al? What happened?" I asked. I began getting up as well. My chair was a little ways away and while I didn't need it all the time like before, it seemed I would have to get in it if I were to keep up with Alfred. He changed in a flurry of clothes flying every which way before I could even pull my trousers back on.

"Matt," was all he said. His voice sounded distant.

My throat was dry and I said nothing in return. We dressed in silence. Once I was settled in my chair, Alfred wheeled me down to his truck. He drove with hands gripping the wheel. He always had the radio blasting, but today the minute the music came on he punched the stereo to be silent. I just sat and waited, fearing the worst.

The worst wasn't the half of it.

We reached the hospital in record time. I'm sure even an ambulance would have been impressed by the time we set. I told Alfred to go inside without me, but he was adamant that I stay by his side.

The other firemen had crowded around outside of the hospital when we had arrived. Most were covered in ash and black soot from the fire that had just come from. Others were clean, probably because they had been on the hoses. Captain Carriedo stopped Alfred before he could go inside.

"Arthur, you had better stay out here," he said. I didn't like the tone of his voice. It was too eerily like Alfred's own. Grave and detached.

I watched as Alfred slipped inside. Then I was left alone in my thoughts. They spoke of hideous events that had befallen Matthew, from burning severely to just a few broken bones and other minor injuries. I wanted to believe the latter, I desperately did.

I heard a wail that sounded too close to Alfred's voice for me to be comfortable. I struggled to get out of my wheelchair as fast as I had any time prior. The captain stood back and let me pass while the other men took their hats off and dipped their heads. I wobbled over to the door, leaning against the doorway.

A startling and cold splash of water struck me, settling into my bones and overtaking my body and soul. I watched as Alfred flung himself over what looked like a perfectly healthy looking Matthew. He was fine. Just sleeping, right? I hadn't noticed all of the wires and medical equipment that had been hooked up to his body. Nor did I hear the loud and long dead beat of his heart on the monitor by his bed.

The water struck me and I was unable to stand. All the while I worried for Alfred's well being and forgot Matthew's. The other men. My friends. They were all at risk with their job. And now, without even noticing, Matthew had died.

I turned to Antonio with a shuddering stare, asking what had happened without speaking.

Tears in his eyes he said, "It was a backdraft. He was flown… And then he just fell through the floor."

My voice creaked out, "Couldn't you…save him?"

"Not without possibly losing more men," the captain replied slowly. "We worked as fast as we could, but by then the smoke had caused Matt to pass out. We… got to him… But. There's nothing for internal bleeding."

I slid down the doorway, tears slipping out as I stared at some speck on the white linoleum. It was the only thing I could focus on. It was so insignificant, but so meaningful at the same time. That little speck that watched me back. Probably just a mark from when a stretcher was wheeled in. Perhaps it was made when Matthew came in. Before Matthew died. It saw the last few moments of his life and now was here to listen as an entire company of fireman mourned the loss of one of their own.

"Go to him," the captain whispered. He helped me to stand.

In a daze I wandered over to Alfred. The poor man was crying so hard I think he was about to hyperventilate. Slowly, I pried him away from the sleeping Matthew. Yes, just sleeping.

"Al," I mumbled. I think I said his name. Maybe I'll say it again just to be sure. "Alfred… Al… Come…Come here."

"No!" he exclaimed in a hiccup of a cry. He shook his head like a child. "No, Matt! Matt please no!"

I was too weak to do much. My legs could give out. My mind was hazy with so much and so little. The happy emotions of just a few days ago had all vanished. Funny how death took everything from you and left you with the broken pieces of what you once were.

"Alfred," I said, a little more sternly. I had to be strong for him. Yes, Matthew was a friend, but to Alfred, he was so much more. He was like his brother. He was his brother. "Alfred, please. Come here."

That time he listened. He turned and fell to his knees, as if he was the one with broken limbs. I knelt down, holding his head to my chest as he sobbed. My shirt was damp from the tears, but I didn't mind. His own head was wet from my own.

We were taken outside into the hallway until Alfred calmed down. The doctor and nurses attended to Matthew, talking to the captain, and leaving us to our own devices. I think hours or days passed. I can't remember. I sat in that impossibly white hallway, immobile as my boyfriend cried his spirit into oblivion.

Then it hit me. Alfred was supposed to be on that shift. He had asked Matthew to take over in favor of spending the evening between my legs. While Alfred and I had pleasured ourselves, Matthew had gone to that fire. He had died.

I began to weep. Not for Matthew, but from the fear. The sheer shock from the realization that this moment could have belonged to Alfred struck me as hard as seeing Matt in that bed. I could have been sitting here, alone, as I had watched my beloved die. Matthew by my side, rubbing my back and comforting me as I was hollow inside. I wept in joy that it hadn't happened.

Alfred turned and collected me in my arms. He soothed me, a monotone voice. He wasn't sure why I was crying and I had no intentions of telling him this ugly thought, but it wouldn't have mattered. Alfred's psyche had broken. He was more like a robot, just going through the motions of life without knowing why or what for.

I hated myself. I hated that Alfred had chosen me over his duty. That death had come to take away Matthew. That I was relieved to know Alfred was alive and Matthew wasn't.

Both men deserved to live. Neither was more precious than the other. But to me, Alfred was. Matthew had been my friend, but he was just a friend. Was that any reason to want one to live more than the other?

I grabbed my head, crying harder until my throat went raw. I felt ugly. After a time I had to push Alfred away and go be alone with these thoughts.

Sometime later, when I had collected myself well enough, I wandered back to find Alfred. He was still sitting in those ugly brown plastic chairs, facing a white wall. An end table was filled with outdated magazines all of perfectly healthy people smiling back at you. I knocked them away and sat on the table beside him.

"Alfred?" I whispered.

"I want to go home," he murmured.

"Okay. Let's go back to the truck," I said taking his hand. He remained in his seat.

"Can you come with me?"

"Of course," I replied. I ventured a smile. "My things are still there, you know."

He looked at me with flat eyes. I gulped, unsure how to handle that stare.

"No, I meant…back to Boston." Oh, I thought. Alfred took my hand. "Will you come with me?"

I tried to gulp again, but my throat was suddenly dry. Instead I grasped for some answer. Any answer. Even a rejection would suffice, but could I honestly say no to a man that had just watched his best friend die?

"Of…of course."

I haven't been on a plane since I moved to America a few years ago, so I was a little nervous. Going to Boston wasn't the problem; it was the fact we were to be flying back for Matthew's funeral. The ceremony in L.A. had taken place the day after Matthew's passing. It was all over the news and a portion of the freeway closed for the funeral procession to the airport. The next day, Alfred and I boarded a plane and headed out east.

The duration of the flight Alfred slept. He hadn't gotten any sleep after coming home from the hospital, insisting that I stay with him through the night. As was the case, I also had stayed up all night. Alfred managed to sleep during the turbulence for six hours; I on the other hand was wide awake.

All the confidence I had gathered in the past weeks had vanished. That single ugly thought crippled my entire being worse than the car crash. Only, there was no wheelchair for this case.

We landed without complications and Alfred hailed a taxi to take us to his parent's house. They weren't directly in Boston, but on the outskirts of the city in a small suburb. I marveled at the amount of snow they had already accumulated, suddenly missing it when it dusted the city of London now and again. Southern California didn't welcome snow that often, or any other type of weather for that matter.

Outside the window I saw the buildings tower overhead. So different from that in L.A. It was modern, yes, but still held a feel to it that dated back to colonial times. Remembering quite well what this city meant to Americans in their history I decided to remain silent about anything I would've normally brought up had this been under a different situation.

If we weren't here because of the death, I imagine Alfred and I would be beside ourselves in excitement. Alfred chattering on about his city, where he went as a teenager, the adventures he had in what part of downtown, and jumping up and down waiting to introduce me to his family. I, on the other hand, would be pretending to not be impressed by the city, and would instead make snide comments of what the city was during the American Revolution. Alfred, hopefully, would play along and we would bicker and banter all the way to the house.

But that would not happen now. Not with this gap of painful silence between us. I was nervous about meeting Alfred's family. I could only imagine what was in Alfred's head.

The taxi pulled up in front of the house a short while later. It was a quaint one-story house with brick and wood meshed together. Bushes in the front were leaning over from the snow. Bare trees lined the walk up to the house from the front sidewalk. Alfred's parent's cars were sitting with covers over them in the driveway. It was nearing twilight, so a modest porch light

"This is where you grew up?" I asked, the first time I had spoken to Alfred since departing from L.A.

Alfred nodded. He handled both our suitcases and my wheelchair, brought along just in case. I could walk quite well now, only a slightly limp here and there, but the bitter cold air made my legs feel tight and hurt where they had fractured the most.

I reached out for Alfred's hand when I almost slipped on the walk. He dropped our things and caught me. His hands were so warm on my back. He held me in a hug for a brief moment before helping me to stand upright. I held onto his arm the rest of the walk up.

Alfred knocked on the door, and soon his mother answered the door. She was shorter than I with a slightly pudgy frame, but a warm and gentle face much like her son. She had short, blonde curls that framed her face perfectly. She smelled amazingly like cinnamon cookies, but wore a hideous Christmas sweater. I knew what I'd be getting for my Christmas present.

"Alfie!" the woman cried. She pulled him into a tight hug to her chest, screaming all the while. "Oh my baby boy!"

"Hi mom," Alfred said, and I saw his shoulders relax almost instantly. I guess there's nothing like a hug from a mother, not that I'd ever know.

His mother released Alfred and turned to me, bright eyes lighting up in recognition. "And you must be Arthur! Oh dear me, those are quite the eyebrows!"

Alfred snorted. "Mom!"

I shook my head and held out a hand, face slightly red from the cold and the embarrassment. "Hello Mrs. Jones. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Mrs. Jones seemed a little surprised by my offered hand and waved it off. Instead she pulled me into an identical hug like that of one she gave Alfred. The overwhelming smell of cinnamon filled my nose. I looked over her shoulder to see Alfred giving me a shy smirk.

"Mom, he's English. They don't hug there a lot," Alfred said.

"Nonsense! I watch the BBC!" Mrs. Jones hustled us inside, and then closing the door once we were inside.

I was grateful for the warmth of the small house. A long corridor led straight into the kitchen at the far end of the house. Off to our immediate left was the living room, the television alive with the evening news. Two recliners faced the set with a bookcase on each wall, only half filled with books while the rest were photographs of the family. Behind me was a den with a computer and an office desk.

"Al!"

I turned as a booming voice much like Alfred's filled the room. A man a head taller than Alfred with dusty blonde hair came into the crowded hallway. He gave Alfred a big hug much like his wife's, patting his son's back loudly with a chuckle.

"It's good to have you home, son."

Alfred smiled sheepishly and patted his father's back. I looked to my feet. I couldn't remember a time I hugged my father that way, if ever.

"John, this is Arthur," Mrs. Jones said from behind me. She pushed me forward slightly.

Again I offered my hand, and luckily Mr. Jones took it. I wasn't sure I could handle another hug from another Jones. We were shown to Alfred's room where we were to put our belongings, and then sit down for dinner. There was no guest room, so I would have to make do with the couch.

After dumping our suitcases in the room, we were taken to the dining room, between the kitchen and living room. I admired the China cabinet until I was told to take a seat. Around me I could see old photographs from when Alfred was growing up. One, I noticed with pain, was of him and Matthew in high school.

Dinner was magnificent. A warm, home cooked meal was exactly what I needed; and Alfred apparently, as he devoured his food faster than I could comprehend.

"I missed your cooking, mom," Alfred said between bites.

"So!" Mr. Jones started, ignoring the atrocious way his son ate. He looked to me. "Arthur. Alfred tells us you moved here from England to become a writer. How's that going for you?"

I blushed. Alfred had talked about me to his parents? Well he had to have to some extent if they knew my name when I arrived. I wondered if they knew exactly what kind of couple we were.

I began to explain my first book, and then moved to explain about my newest fantasy story. Thankfully, Alfred never spoke up once. A sting of pain hit my stomach as I remembered the last time I talked about my new story. I decided to cover my sudden sorrow by coughing and then reaching for the wine Mrs. Jones had been so gracious to provide.

Then, Mrs. Jones asked, "Your third month is coming up isn't it?"

Well, now I knew what they knew of our relationship. I wasn't sure how I felt about this revelation, honestly. It was a relief to know I didn't have to tip toe around the issue, but at the same time it was a little embarrassing to know Alfred had told his parents so openly about our private life.

"It's this weekend," Alfred said with a smile. He looked at me, and I looked away. I wanted to share that weekend with just him, but I knew we'd be here for at least a week.

"You should take him to Boston that day. Show him around. Maybe see a hockey ga…"

Mr. Jones ducked his head. I saw Mrs. Jones take a long swing from her glass of wine and then wipe at a tear. Alfred remained emotionless, as if the words had never left his father's mouth. He stared at me, but I was cutting into my steak. I didn't want to think that hockey was now a taboo event.

"Arthur, how do your parents feel about Alfred?" Mrs. Jones asked me suddenly.

Ah, this dinner is fun. Going from one horrific topic to the next.

But Alfred stepped in. "Um, mom…Arthur has spoken to his parents in years. They don't get along."

Her hands flew to her face in shock. "Oh! Oh dear, I am so sorry!"

I held up a hand, offering a polite smile. "Really, it's ok. It doesn't bother me. I never really had a family, to be honest. The fact they kicked me out was a long time coming."

Alfred looked at me sadly. He had heard enough of my family woes to know that it wasn't a complete lie. I did know my family didn't like me, but I had hoped they loved me. Disowning me proved me wrong.

"Then you can be a Jones," Mr. Jones declared.

I bit into my fork rather than the meat, and cringed away from the utensil in pain. The family laughed. I felt a warm hand on my knee. Across the table, Alfred was smiling at me; the first one he'd given since Matthew died.

That night Alfred pulled me into his bedroom. He couldn't sleep alone. I reminded him that his parents disapproved of this, but he said he'd deal with them come morning. Sleeping with Alfred now wasn't the same. There was some familiarity that the first time we had been in each other's arms was violently ripped apart by the tragedy. Or maybe it was guilt.

Either way, in the morning I stumbled out of the bedroom in the early morning. There was tea, thank God. If there hadn't been I might have risked my sanity and actually gone out in that snow to the nearest market to buy myself some. My legs would not have been happy.

They were about as happy this chipper morning as an eight year old's legs. I considered getting my chair, but then I saw the fireplace was lit. I rushed over to it, clutching my tea, and settled right before it. I didn't even pause to think why the fireplace had been lit when no one should have been awake. It was barely five.

But then Mrs. Jones came from the bathroom. She was wearing a robe over her night gown.

"Good morning," I said while I stifled a yawn.

"Can't sleep?" she asked. She took a spot on her chair near me. I nodded. "I haven't slept well since we heard of the accident."

It was quiet. I stared at the flames, dancing and living and then dying before me. It was strange to think that this fire that seemed so meek could become something so monstrous that it stole a precious life from us all and now our lives weren't the same because of it. If it wasn't for the fact my legs desperately needed something resembling the Californian dry winter, I would put this fire out and walk away, never to look at the area the rest of my stay.

A thought occurred to me. I'm not sure why I thought to turn to Alfred's mother and share with her my ugliest thought, but I did anyways.

"Alfred was supposed to be on that shift that night," I said. My voice sounded odd in that still room.

Mrs. Jones stared at me, the same expression Alfred had at dinner last night. She wasn't sure how to react, but really what face could you give to that kind of news?

"He stayed at home, with me, and asked Matthew to take the shift for him," I continued. I looked down at my hands and found them shaking. "When I realized this… I was so happy… Happy that it was Matt and not Alfred and that Alfred was still with me… But then I felt like some demon for thinking such a thing. Matthew was my friend. But… And yet…"

I began to weep into my hands. I felt Mrs. Jones lay a hand on my back, rubbing lightly. It was terrible of me to pour something so deep and personal on her after knowing her less than twenty-four hours, but when Mr. Jones said I was part of the family, I guess I just felt more at ease with the parents. Enough to say my secrets aloud.

"I thought the same thing," she whispered. "When Alfred first became a fireman, I didn't know what to do. I was terrified. What if the last time I saw him was really the last? What if he came home with burns, broken limps, or died? It all drove me crazy. Knowing that he had dodged another potential injury just… When he was hurt all those years ago on one of his first missions in L.A., I couldn't be there for him.

"I wanted to go to my baby's side and hold his hand, tell him that the doctor would give him candy for all the hard work he did. I couldn't. Even if he were here and he had been hurt, I still couldn't. Because I have to let it go. Just like that thought I had of 'Thank you Jesus for sparing my son'."

I lifted my head and looked at her. In the fire light she seemed so much older than she had looked before. When I met her she looked like she had stepped out of a Christmas card, like one of Mrs. Claus. Now she seemed like anyone's grandmother. Full of wisdom and years beyond our own.

"That's how it goes with death, even if Alfred wasn't a fireman, death can come at any time." Mrs. Jones looked at me. "As I understand it, you two met when you were very injured. You could have died if Alfred hadn't rushed in to save you. I'm sure he worries for your safety as well."

I remembered when I was in the hospital from those punks punching my broken legs. He had cried for me.

My heart clenched. I put down my tea as my hands began to shake.

"Then… how do you let it go?" I asked faintly.

"I cherish every moment I have with him," she replied. She sounded so much like what I figured a mother to sound like. I leaned closer to her. "You're there with him. I'm not, but I have more years of him in my head to keep me happy. You take as much as you can with him. Love him. Protect him. He needs you. He loves you."

"And I love your son." I was surprised I had said that to Alfred's own mother, but she didn't seem fazed at all. Alfred had already told me how accepting his parents were of his homosexuality.

"I'm glad," she said after a moment. "He needs a man like you. You keep him in check. Every time Alfred calls he talks about you and only about you. I can tell you've had an impact on him. Maybe now he'll slow down in life. He's always been the one to rush into things and constantly passed everything by."

I chuckled. "Yes, he does seem to leap before he looks."

I looked back to the fire and picked up my tea. "Alfred's also had an impact on me as well, though, Mrs. Jones…"

The week went well. The only day I worried was the day of Matthew's funeral. I met his mother with a heavy heart. She had lost her husband to lung cancer a few years prior, and now she was burying her only son as well. It was a terrible loss, and everyone was the most considerate to her.

She, however, seemed to be more concerned for Alfred's well being. It was sweet that she fussed over him so much, but I could tell Alfred wanted nothing more than to be alone during the wake. I led Alfred out into his backyard where he showed me the old swing set he couldn't let his parents throw away. It was rusty and didn't seem safe, but Alfred swung on them nonetheless. I stood back in silence and looked at the white oblivion around us.

The weekend brought our third month. Alfred seemed well enough to keep to his father's suggestion, and he took me into the city of Boston for a romantic night out. However, like sleeping it was stained with the thought of what our first date had been like. We had come home, made glorious love, and then woke to Matthew's death.

I was determined not to have that happen. I didn't want all of our first memories to be tarnished. I wanted to love them as much as I loved Alfred.

We went to a museum, not very romantic, but we enjoyed it. Then he showed me to downtown where I soaked up the history surrounding me. Alfred seemed to enjoy himself, but when I caught him staring off into the distance for what I thought was far too long, I would pull him away. I didn't want him lingering on thoughts of when he and Matthew were together.

Eventually we went for food and then our movie we agreed to see at night. Alfred's parents, bless them, had agreed to leave the house in case we wanted to get a little intimate. They went to play Bridge with Matthew's mother until ten. We came home an hour before they were to, but neither of us wanted to do anything more than lie in his bed.

I had stripped, not bothering with pajamas, so that Alfred could stroke me. His hands, so big and rough, were comforting to me, tingling with every touch. It soothed him too as he traced his hands along my hips and ribs, eyes following. After a time, Alfred joined me in lying beside me with nothing on.

It was wonderful to be so bare and trust the other not to hurt you. How could he? He was my hero.

I took Alfred's hand in mine and pulled him to my chest. "Alfred. I want you to cry. You haven't since the hospital. Please cry, my love."

"I hate crying…," he grumbled.

I stroked the back of his head. "I know… But you need to let it out. I'm…I'm worried about you…"

I felt tears sprinkle my skin. He shuddered into my body, practically collapsing as he mourned again. It was a long time coming. I was worried all day, practically all week, given how silent and withdrawn he would become. I know everyone mourns the dead differently, but it bothered me to see my shiny boy become so dull.

"It's my fault," he mumbled. I pulled his face away to look at him, not surprised by his words. "It's all my fault."

"It is not," I started.

Alfred shook his head. "It is…! I changed the… I should've gone…!"

"And then what? Left me alone?" I tried to make him feel better, but he saw the tears prickling my eyes. "No, I won't let you leave me. You will never leave me. Only death can take you from me."

Alfred closed his eyes and cried harder. He promised to never leave and swore his love for me. I reassured him that I was still here and that I loved him too.

We cried together in his bed, surrounded by those stupid comic book heroes he worshiped and facing away from the sole picture of Alfred with Matthew back when they were ten. They had come back from a fishing trip, both with brilliant catches and wide smiles, arms around the other's neck.

As the night wore on and Alfred's parents returned home, we stayed awake. We were up all night, just talking. Alfred talked mostly of Matthew, while I told him of my family. It was painful, but we needed it. I had no idea how much pain Alfred could soak up in that smile of his.

All the times he was jealous of Matthew for his good looks (ones I reminded Alfred he had as well seeing as they looked like twins), all the fights they got into but never resolved, the anger he had towards my family for leaving me, the fears he had of his own job. And of me.

"Your mum said that you fear I could die too," I said after having confessed my three month long fear that consumed my body. "Why?"

Alfred blushed. "Well… I know you're strong."

"Strongest chap you know, right?"

He grinned. "Yeah. And you don't need my help. But there are times I just… I don't know. I want to protect you. I want to keep you by me. I get worried when I can't see you or know that you're okay."

"Was this because of my wheelchair?" I asked.

Alfred nodded. "Ever since you got the casts off I've felt better. I'm not as worried."

"Unfortunately it will take a long time for me to accept that you could very well never come home." Just admitting that aloud dug a hole into my chest. I gasped for air.

Alfred pulled my face up so that I could look into his eyes. "Arthur, I won't die. I promise you. I will never leave you."

How I wanted to believe him. Here in this room, in this very moment, naked and bare before him. Nothing between us anymore. He knew more about me than anyone and I of him. I could hold him and know he wouldn't run, wouldn't push or pull away. He'd remain right there.

I wanted to believe him.

And so I did.

Hoshiko2's cents: Terribly sorry to kill of Matt. I do love him, I really do, but I knew this had to go into the story for Arthur to face his fear of Alfred dying.

Minor changes made on the last chapter. My spell check got a word wrong, then the same word had to be changed on a review recommendation, then a second review pointed out that it was still wrong. Upon further inspection, the latter reviewer was right and the final change was made. Haha.

Only one chapter left. My other series Rainbow Veins will continue updating, and there will be a new series starting soon as well called Run. I hope you come back for more!