TIT FOR TAT
A STORY FROM ALBA
With permission from the author, I took a visit into Alba—the imaginative city created by Gryph introducing Virdon, Burke and Galen to the technologically advanced city populated by humans and the genetically engineered winged Anakim.
These pages fold within Gryph's original work, "Don't You Remember" after Pete's restored memory forces him to relive the trauma of Hoffa's farm ("Broken") leading to an emotional break-down resulting in his decision to separate from Zeke and two weeks later when Pete tells Alan he is having dinner to meet Zeke's family. This is one fan's story of how Pete and Zeke reconnected during those missing days. Additionally, this story uses flashbacks & references from Gryph's interpretation of "The Interrogation" and his dramatic tales "One Final Lesson" and "Common Ground."
Warm thanks to Gryph for creating inspirational stories allowing my imagination to soar. Gryph provided a beta read for editing and ensuring accuracy and continuity within the Alban universe. The chronology of Gryph's extensive works and recommended reading order as it relates to this story are:
"The Interrogation"
"One Final Lesson"
"Broken"
"Common Ground"
"Don't You Remember"
Please note: The original stories are quoted word-for-word when relevant. I saw no reason to summarize or reword perfection!
The lift door opened with a gentle whoosh. Pete felt trapped against the back of the lift, staring at the thin wall that that connected the lift to his destination—the transparent dome that covered the central shaft of the underground city of Alba. It was if a heavy hand pushed against his chest preventing a step through the open elevator door into the verdant green landscape of the arboretum. He knew it was his hand doing the pushing.
"This was your damn fool idea so move your ass," he mumbled to himself as he caught the closing door with an elbow and forced his way onto the entrance patio of the lush botanic garden. Once the lift sealed, he listened as the elevator whirred downward into the active desert city, leaned back against the cool metal of the closed sliding door, and checked his arm link worn by all residents connecting them to the central computer. He needed to go left. He pushed off with firm steps uttering, "Your stupid idea. Get it done. Done and it's over…"
Following a path through the trees, he entered an open glen with a small water feature cascading down a sculpture of rounded and curved pressed aluminum reflecting blues, greens, and lavender sparkling through the flowing water. He saw the brown variegated wings of the angel twitch, but not turn around, upon his approach.
A really bad idea, Burke thought but suddenly unsure which part—going or staying—would be the bad one as his heart skipped a beat, his stomach twisted into tightening coils.
"Zeke," he greeted keeping his voice flat in an attempt to hide his nervousness. The angel turned from his study of the fountain to face him, his own features schooled to stillness. Pete tried to press down the sudden warmth that flooded him seeing the handsome face bordered by a thin beard along his square jawline and accented by a dimpled chin, topped by soft spikes of short brown hair that complimented the rich browns of his wings. Memories of his first visit with the angel to this location and the happiness he felt spending time together filled him. Second thoughts crashed those memories and he kicked himself for choosing this location, considering his intended purpose for this meeting. The white bandage at Zeke's shoulder peeking out from beneath his green shirt and the slight gap in the feathers at the apex of his wing where Urko's bullets tore through his flesh caused Pete to grimace. He had to take partial blame for that—Urko would have never come to Alba if he hadn't been chasing him and his friends. Zeke had a lot of good reasons to avoid him. He swallowed and did his best to keep his tone level.
"I wasn't sure you'd come."
"I was surprised you asked to see me," Zeke crossed his arms at his chest, his wings lifted high over his shoulders. Pete flinched. Four days ago, the last time he saw the angel, and had yelled at him to stay away, he had wrapped himself in a sheet gripping his knees as he recovered from self-inflicted alcohol poisoning in an all-too familiar hospital bed. He had only recently been released from the medical center by Jedadiah, Alba's chief healer and Zeke's best friend, his ahuvi, when he found himself stationed at the angel's bedside as he recovered from his wounds.
On the day of Zeke's discharge from the medical center, the cautious pair finally admitted to one another what many around them had already surmised, the feelings developing between them ran deeper than a simple friendship. The skittish nature of the pair led to a fight and Pete had stormed out. Before they could resolve their argument, the deeply suppressed experience of Pete's terrible treatment when he was sold as a slave to Hoffa's farm some months before exploded into Pete's consciousness. In a desperate attempt to send it back into the darkness, he had lost himself in a bottle of booze and almost lost himself completely had Alan not found him, unconscious and not breathing on the floor of his anger-fueled, trashed quarters. Demanding answers Pete frantically wanted to hide, Zeke had burst into his treatment room sending Pete into traumatic terror trapped in reliving those three weeks at Hoffa's farm he could no longer escape.
He told him then, "Go away, Zeke. I... Just do yourself a favor and walk out that door, and don't look back."
And he needed to tell him again. Unable to still his feet, Pete began to pace, his arms locked across his chest, his eyes firmly planted to the ground.
"If we are going to stop seeing each other, well, like seeing each other, but I guess we can't help but see each other in Alba," Pete rambled. "And I don't want to never see you even if we can't see each other like that, 'cause I do want to see you and if we're gonna see each other around, I don't want you to not want to see me so I know that I owe you a big-ass apology for all the things I screwed up and wanted to do it in person. Things got away from me. Not your fault. All mine…"
Zeke had been deeply hurt at Pete's behavior during and after their last fight, and although the young astronaut's best friend, Alan, had assured him it had nothing to do with him, he also refused to tell him why. Alan alluded that Pete had suffered a trauma whose memory surfaced but nothing more. Both astronauts had ignored the fact that Zeke was willing and able to help him recover from that trauma if given the chance, if Pete truly cared enough about him to let him have that chance.
Part of him wanted to turn away and leave this man from the past to whatever demons he thought he needed to battle. But as an empath, Zeke had also been allowed to enter his consciousness, the first time completely unbidden as they connected immediately, the path laid open for him. That had never happened before. Later, he acted as a guide to help him recover some of his memories, most filled with anger, helplessness, and pain. In those moments, Zeke had met Peter Burke in an intimate way seeing through his eyes the compassion, idealism, sincerity, and kindness that drove him despite his façade of jokes and indifference.
Zeke had come intending to let Pete struggle through an apology knowing how difficult it was for him to talk about his feelings—any feelings—but his cavalier attitude melted into concern as he watched the man that had slipped in and laid a hand on his heart churn with anxiety and tension. He didn't need the physical touch that would fully connect them with his empathic abilities; Pete's turmoil flooded him where he stood.
"That's what you want? Really want? To end… us?" Zeke interrupted quietly, already sensing the answer but knowing his friend had to admit on his own.
The man froze in place, raking both hands through the dark hair curled around his troubled face. Pete's mouth moved but couldn't say the words. He wanted to say, 'it's for the best', 'you're better off without me', 'it's not you, it's me' or any other number of break-up platitudes he had blithely used through a countless number of empty relationships, but finally dragged out, "Isn't that what you want?" He glanced up through shielded eyes, dreading the answer.
Zeke took a cautious step toward him, his hands now held behind his back as a gesture that he wouldn't attempt to touch him. He wet his lips and offered, "I don't know yet if there is a you and me, Pete, but I want to try—if you want to try—"
Pete's feet wanted to run away but he forced himself to find the hazel eyes, beautiful eyes, of the angel filled with nothing but concern and openness. His voice sounded distance over the roaring in his ears. "Zeke, I have issues, a lot of issues," he shook his head, "that I am working on. You know Malachi is helping me…" He stopped, gripped by a sudden fear that maybe Zeke already knew; maybe Malachi, his angel parent, his eema, shared with him all the things Burke never wanted shared with anyone, didn't want in his own head.
Reading his fears in his face, Zeke instinctively took another step and held out his hand before drawing it back as Pete took a half-step away. "Malachi doesn't break your confidence. He barely shares how he feels about me," Zeke rolled his eyes. "He would never reveal to anyone else what you share with him."
Pete relaxed. The therapy sessions he started with the head of Alba who shared Zeke's emphatic gifts had been a lifeline. A first step to heal from the violation… he shoved those thoughts down as feelings of helplessness gurgled up.
"But I have an idea," Zeke was saying, almost pleading. "I keep telling you my issues can go toe to toe with your issues. Maybe we need to start by trusting one another. You share something about yourself with me, and I will share something about myself with you."
"You kinda have the inside track on that, buddy. I can't exactly see in your head," Pete felt an uncomfortable shudder crawl along his skin. He didn't think he could handle hands on him right now. Even Malachi's approach had his stomach in knots until he gave the old magic touch to help him relax and accept his presence in his head. And he just wasn't ready for Zeke—especially Zeke—to see him like that. To see his failures, his weakness—he could barely tolerate those feelings and memories himself.
"We can do it the old fashion way," Zeke smiled causing a different ripple along Burke's skin. "It's called talking."
Pete's heart was pounding. He wanted to do this, he really did, but the twitch in his legs to turn and run was growing. Somewhere out of recent memory, he felt the calming hand of his commanding officer and best friend at his back. Alan's face, confident, constant, a half-smile lighting up his blue eyes as he told him, "Don't give up on something that just might bring you some happiness, Pete. We've given up enough, don't 'cha think?"
"Zeke," Pete dropped his attention to his feet and didn't see the crestfallen expression of the angel who expected the pronouncement of the end. He swallowed hard as nervousness washed through him, "Umm, would you have dinner with me? Tonight? My place?"
Zeke lit up, his wings lifting at his back. He grinned as he shyly replied, "I'd love to. I'll bring the dessert."
"You are the dessert," Pete winched as soon as the words left his mouth. Some old habits were just too hard to break.
Zeke ran his fingers nervously along the edges of the table. Pete sat across from him tight as a coiled spring waiting for the trigger to release. As they picked at their food they talked about Alan and his on-going meetings with Gabe to analyze the magnetic disk data from The Hyperion and about their hopes of making a trip to nearby Kirkland Air Force Base. They touched on the topic of Galen's return that afternoon from the Rephaim village and his meeting tomorrow with the Council of Elders as they prepared to move the gorillas outside the walls of Alba. They chatted about any other thing but the thing they had agreed to talk about.
Unable to keep up the tap dance, Pete finally burst, "Okay how does this thing work?"
"Talking?" the angel couldn't resist the gentle jab.
"Yeah, not part of my skill set," Pete countered.
"Maybe we can move to the couch? Be more comfortable?" Zeke gestured with his chin.
"Yeah, sure." His host grabbed his glass of water desperately wishing it was beer and choose the chair making it clear he needed some distance.
"Fine, I'll go first since it was my idea," Zeke dropped onto the couch close enough to touch Burke's knee with his own, but left the space his friend needed.
"You asked the other day," the day of their last fight went unsaid, "about Jed and I, and I never really had a chance to explain. How Jed and I became ahuvi," Pete tensed at the word, but Zeke carried on. This was the point of the exercise. Trust. And trust started with truth, no matter how painful.
"I was in Section Three in the Educational Experience…,"
Burke scoffed out loud. "Educational Experience? That's what you call school?"
Zeke almost responded with a snide remark but seeing Pete's dimpled smile and the skittering it brought to his heart was worth the tease. For the first time since the evening had started, Pete wasn't projecting underlying dread and had finally settled into resigned acceptance. He raised his voice slightly as he powered over him.
"… so I was about eight years old. There was this one brion, umm, bully who had tormented me since day one. A golden-haired angel named Nehimiah who let the teachers fawn over him but was a merciless demon behind their backs."
"He's an angel?"
"Just because they call us angels doesn't mean we are, Pete. And if you think by interrupting me enough we are going to skip your turn, I've got alllll night—." Pete raised both hands in surrender.
"He was older than me and a Section ahead and found it quite amusing to push me off the landing pad into the central shaft or swipe my school pad and alter my assignments or drop worms in my food all to the laughter of my classmates." Pete lifted one foot into his chair wrapping his arms around his knee as a sympathetic look settled in his face, but he remained silent.
"There were times I just needed to be away from it, and I would hide my link bracelet in the school library so not even my parents could find me then slip two floors down to this storage closet I found. I would study and draw…"
"You draw?" Pete couldn't help himself leaning forward with a grin.
"That became my little brother Josh's passion more than mine; but at the time, I made up characters—friends—and drew pictures of us doing stuff together."
"You didn't have any friends?"
"I had children I grew up with but no one I was close to. There were many downsides to being the son of one of the Elders." Pete raised an eyebrow.
"Malachi took a seat earlier than most when his eema stepped down, but that is another story which you will not distract me into telling," Zeke responded. Pete shrugged and gestured for Zeke to continue. "I guess I got cocky thinking I had everyone fooled and got lax. One day Nehimiah strolled in my secret room with that hateful leer on his face, shoved me against the wall, snatched my tablet, then slammed the door and wedged it closed. He taunted me from the other side saying he'd let me out tomorrow or maybe he'd just forget where I was and let them find my bones. Then he walked away laughing."
Zeke's face grew pensive at the memory. "I threw myself at the door begging him to let me out until I realized there was nothing but silence on the other side. I slid against the door and cried.
"I still couldn't tell you how much time passed before I heard the sounds of something dragging on the other side and the quick pecks of someone on the keypad opening the latch. I thought it was Nehimiah, and I am embarrassed to admit, I was willing to thank him for taking me out of the closet he had locked me into and beg him not to tell my parents. But it wasn't Nehimiah. It was this little red-haired angel who was a couple of Sections behind me, so we had never talked. He was smaller and more shy than me then. He just said, 'I hide from him, too.'
"Jed and I walked back to the library together and he went straight to the place where I had hidden my link bracelet. He knew where I left it," Zeke admitted with a soft grin. "Turns out, he had known for weeks and had even followed to see where I went. Turns out, he was just as lonely as me but too afraid to talk to me. He handed my link bracelet to me and said, 'I know another place to go.' I guess I don't need to tell you that we went there together, and I didn't have to make up friends any more after that."
"Wow. I can't imagine being close to someone that long. I thought knowing Alan for almost five years was a milestone. But then again, I could set a record making an argument for a thousand and almost five years. Have I met this Nehimiah asshole?" he asked, his ire evident.
"No," Zeke laughed. "We will never be friends, but I don't hide from him anymore."
The angel raised a finger and shook it at Pete. "No more evasion. Your turn."
Pete dropped back in the chair with a loud sigh and a familiar look that admitted he knew he was backed into a corner and a sarcastic remark was not going to save him. Pete considered. During his last session with Mal, a new memory had surfaced, painful, frightening but also…
"Okay, fair enough. Since we're talking about friendships, I'll tell you a memory that just came back. One of the times Galen saved my life."
"One of the times?" he raised his eyebrows as the tips of his wings flicked in surprise.
"It's a tough world out there for humans in general and for us in particular, especially with Urko on our tails.
"This was right after Alan got shot and we had left the hospital to find a place to hide where he could recuperate," Pete had remained seated as long as his pent-up anxiety would allow. He began a short pace behind the chair with an occasional quick glance at Zeke talking as rapidly as his turns. The empathic angel had shared Pete's memory of Alan's life and death struggle absorbing the helplessness and grief of his friend's emotions during a deep read to assist Pete recall some of the year he had lost when he had nearly died barely a month ago.
"We ended up in a place called Dagon. Travin, the head honcho of the human orderlies at the ape hospital where Alan was treated had a brother there. Fergus. Travin and me didn't hit it off at first but in the end, we came to an understanding," Pete shrugged as he spoke. Zeke covered his mouth to hide the smirk as his friend admitted his tendency to buck first setting others off the wrong way but knew any interruption could shut Burke down and let him continue.
"He thought we could safely hide there for a few weeks while Alan recuperated. Galen and the Prefect, Korbo, hit it off right away and as far as Prefects go, he was okay and gave the humans wiggle room to have some kind of life outside of slaving in the fields. But the price for us to stay there was my slaving in the fields. Which was okay, too. I was happy to do that for Alan. But the overseer, a gorilla called Solan," Zeke saw as well as felt the shiver that Burke experienced when he spoke the name, "seemed to have it in for me the second he laid eyes on me. My charm and good looks don't work on everyone," Pete glanced at Zeke with a half-hearted grin. The pace of his story picked up even more as did his nervous elliptical walk behind the chair.
"Everything I did just pissed him off so I got his mouth every day and his fist every other. I didn't tell Galen or Virdon 'cause I knew Alan would try to 'fix it' when all he needed to do was rest and Galen and Korbo were getting along so well. I knew Korbo would take the side of an ape over anything I had to say so I just had to suck it up. Galen walked in on me one day and saw Solan had cracked a couple of my ribs that morning to go along with all the other bruises he left behind popping me 'cause he could," he rubbed absently at his side where he had been impaled by the rebar as Zeke pulled forward in his seat, his hands folded over his mouth, his chin cupped by his thumbs. He had a sudden urge to pull Pete into his arms while he talked but held his place and listened.
"And then, … I knew better… so stupid… humans have to stay in their goddamn place out there…," the anger mixed with remorse was unsettling to the empathic angel as Pete went on. "Solan backhanded me to the ground for who the hell knows why and was coming after me for another blow when I just lost it and I pushed him down. Humans can't touch apes, Zeke. Apes can beat the hell outta humans, but you can't touch 'em back and I knew that but I lost it and hit the sonofabitch back. The next thing I knew I was dangling in a tree by a noose 'cause by ape law, ol' Solan had every right to kill me and would have if one of the girls hadn't run for Korbo. He got there in time to make the gorilla drop me to the ground." Pete kept his eyes averted from the growing anxiety in Zeke's face. He couldn't look at the angel anymore if he was going to finish.
"Galen was able to convince Korbo not to order my hanging, but Solan demanded justice. The Prefect agreed to a less lethal punishment, but Galen had to do it. With everybody watching. So the next morning, Galen saved my life. They tied me on my knees to this barrel and he had to cane me ten times. Almost killed him. Hurt like hell but at least I was still breathing when he was done. We left the next morning."
Pete took a deep breath as he plopped on the couch next to Zeke leaving a couple of inches between them. He wrapped his arms around his chest keeping his eyes on his shoes.
The angel fought to keep his expression from revealing the horror and anger churning through him. He remained on the edge of the seat but turned his head back noting the sweat glistening along his friend's forehead and chest. He swallowed as he realized the source of the thin white scar lines crisscrossing on his shoulder and disappearing beneath the dark blue fabric of his sleeveless shirt.
"Galen beat you?" Zeke asked softly.
"He saved my life," Pete replied with a furtive glance in the angel's direction.
"And you forgave him?"
"There was nothing to forgive. It was my fault. Not his. I asked for his forgiveness—"
"Pete you always take the blame for everything around you," Zeke interrupted.
"I usually deserve it," the young man looked away as his tongue darted out to wet his suddenly dry lips.
"You know," the angel recognized the need to reduce the tension building in his friend and teased, "you're giving me a lot of advantage up front—makes it easy if I'm always going to be right."
"Look, Zeke, you said these little reveal sessions were about trust. Trust me on this. I never blamed Galen for any of what happened. He saved my life," Pete rubbed the back of his neck and met Zeke's gaze. "A noose is no way to die."
As he finished, Zeke moved back into the couch nudging closer to his friend, continuing to stamp down his longing to hold him. The edge of his wing brushed against the man's bare arm.
Pete gasped and edged away at the soft touch of the feathers. The caress filled his mind with a hulkish leering face with blond hair and cold blue eyes. Icy fingers circled the nape of his neck as he felt himself dragged toward the hitching post… no, no, no, no, no, no ….
"… and does help us understand one another. I want you to know you don't have to keep anything from me, Pete," Zeke was saying when Pete returned to the room, his heart pounding, his breaths shallow. He drew in a quick gasp acknowledging the pressure on his leg where Zeke had placed his hand and rubbed gently.
"Yeah, sure," he stared down at the hand and at one level wanted Zeke's presence next to him but the hand squeezing at his neck had not let go. He moved away from his gnawing fear into flippancy. "So round one complete?"
"I don't see this as a competition, Pete," Zeke shook his head as he drew back his hand acknowledging he had been dismissed. "It's learning about each other…"
"If it were, you'd win on the cuteness factor alone."
"I'm so glad you see my lonely childhood as cute," the angel's frustration leaked through.
"I was thinking about your adorable little baby wings," Pete leaned back in his seat, his hands cupped behind his head. Zeke flexed one of those wings to knock the astronaut's outstretched elbow, "—Oww…who is full of surprises."
Burke threw himself off the couch and moved toward the door suspecting Zeke wanted to explore more than talking and he could not think about touch when every brush of Zeke's presence threw him into a dark barn with his wrists and ankles bound inside a closed grain box. Zeke shrugged his shoulders and rose to follow.
Pete's weight toggled back and forth between his feet. His mouth dry, his eyes forced onto Zeke's closed expression, the words sounded empty in his ears, "Back where I came from, when you were thinking you wanted to see the person again, it was kinda a rule of thumb that it was the third date before you started thinking about really seeing the person…"
"Third date?" Zeke responded to the hesitation and anxiety Pete displayed with a softening to his face. "So, is this Number One or does it count as Two?"
"Jury's out on that."
"And what does the jury think about having that next date?" Zeke prodded gently.
"If you want to…"
"My place?" the angel offered.
"I'd like that," he agreed as he thumbed the door to his apartment open.
Zeke took the hint and said his goodbyes and even though Pete walked him to the door, he stood back, no suggestion of physical contact. The angel spun out of the door, his thoughts racing.
Pete pressed his forehead against the cool metal of the door, his hands gripping the trim frame. He wanted to kiss Zeke goodbye, rediscover that intimacy they had shared but the moment he felt his head leaning forward, the taste of Phelan, his abuser, his mouth pressed against his own forcing his way into him, his hands rough on his welted skin, and moving toward… he took deep breaths to keep his stomach from expelling everything he had just eaten. He rolled to his back leaning against the door and tapped a quick request into his arm link.
Malachi, this is Pete. Could you make time to see me tomorrow?
Zeke hadn't intended it, at least he didn't think so, but he marched passed Galen's door on the way to his own compartment, stopped, and turned back to jab at his alert button. Every muscle throbbing with the residue of Pete's projected anxiety (and did he sense an undercurrent of fear? of him? was he still worried about Alan and his opinion of him and Pete being together?) and his own anger at the treatment Galen had inflicted on Pete (not to mention his frustration at being dismissed by his maybe he is, maybe he isn't boyfriend). He leaned with his hand against the wall, looking at the floor, listening as he heard the chimpanzee move inside.
"Just a moment," the voice called out causing the angel's indignation to rise further. Galen had told him, showed him an ape who abhorred violence, yet… yet… he beat Pete, the human he claimed was his friend, his brother. The angel wanted to scream at him.
"Zeke! What a pleasant surprise! Is Pete with you?" Galen greeted as the door slid open and he glanced both ways in the hallway looking for his friend.
"No," the angel's voice was tense. "I need to speak to you alone," he pushed inside without waiting for an invitation.
"Of course," the chimpanzee stepped back allowing him in. "I had dinner with Alan, but when we saw the two of you were together, Alan thought it best to let you spend some time alone. I hope to see Pete after I finish the meeting with the Elders in the morning. Alan told me, well… he told me what has happened while I was away."
Zeke held up his hand to stop Galen's chatter. Unlike angels and humans where strong feelings were detected by proximity, Zeke's abilities did not pick up emotions from apes unless he laid hands on them. He thought the chimpanzee was expressing only concern, but now he doubted everything he had previously thought about the ape as the scars on Pete's back inflicted by this—creature—kept his anger churning.
"Galen, I need to talk to you about something… I need to know… I need to understand…," Zeke took himself to the middle of the room and stopped, his wings pulled up over his head in a display of his increasing outrage, his hands firmly on his hips.
Galen coughed and covered his mouth attempting to hide the quick grin accompanied by the twitch of his nose. He had trouble enough understanding human behavior, and he still felt an underlying childhood uneasiness around the angels, but the posture and volatile temper struck him as so Pete-Burke-like, he took a breath and prepared for an onslaught. "Whatever I can do," he offered.
"Pete's memories are coming back," the angel explained. "He told me about the time Alan was shot—"
"Very frightening," Galen nodded as he gestured toward the couch and chair taking a seat on the couch. Zeke reluctantly took the chair. "We almost lost Alan and barely escaped Urko. We had help from both humans and apes or we all would have died."
"Dagon. I need to know what happened in Dagon," Zeke jumped to point.
Although it was harder to pick up on the emotions of an ape without physical contact, the immediate fall of Galen's shoulders and nervous tapping of his hands stoked Zeke's anger.
"So you do remember," Zeke's tone was harsh.
"I am not the one who lost my memory, Zeke. I must live with that experience every time I see my friend," the chimp shared, only sadness in his face.
"You beat him? You caned him?" the angel no longer held his fury in check. "You made me believe that you would never hurt another person. That you could not willingly commit a violent act, yet you just admitted that you did! Whatever your motivation, I need, no—I demand an explanation!"
"Is that what Pete told you? That I beat him?" the chimp's eyes were downcast onto the hands tapping in his lap, his words near inaudible.
"No!" Zeke exploded from the chair and moved to stand behind it, his knuckles white as he gripped the back. "He insists it was all his fault and you saved his life."
"It wasn't his fault," Galen shook his head vehemently and met the angel's irate eyes, "but I did what Pete asked me to do. I did what I was forced to do."
"Show me, Galen. I need to see it. I need to understand it," the angel leaned forward, his wings flapping. The chimpanzee winced.
"Zeke, if you care about Pete, you may not—"
"Because I do care about him, Galen! I need to see it! I can't help him if I don't understand. I need you to show me!"
Galen hesitated, closed his eyes, then nodded. The ape had allowed the angel to conduct an empathic deep read on him once before. Other than a mild headache and an odd sense of being watched over the next several days, the procedure did him no harm and would perhaps appease Zeke's accusing eyes more fully than answering his questions. He rose and moved toward the table and gestured toward the wooden chair. "Here?"
Zeke followed on his heels with his own affirmation and pulled a second chair slightly behind Galen's. He quickly reminded him of the procedure and raised his hands to press against the soft skin at his temples. Giving Galen no time to demur, he plunged into the chimp's memory as Galen pulled it from a dark place tucked behind many other sad and painful images.
Entering the ape's mind was harder, harsher than doing deep reads on angels and humans. Zeke fought against the foreignness of the thoughts, the alienness of the projection of emotions, but when the pictures and sensations came, they came swiftly. Galen's memory of the past struck as if they were living in the moment: images of Prefect Korbo opening the locked storage room door to see Pete's hands knotted at his back, his nose bleeding, his eye blackened shut, his voice ragged from the angry cut of a rope around his neck where the gorilla attempted to hang him.
Of the heated argument to stop Pete's execution only granted with the demand that he and Pete learn their lesson by forcing his master who could not control his servants to inflict ten strokes of a cane.
Of the trepidation that filled him as they forced Pete, stripped to the waist, to walk shackled before the crowd and yanked his face against the barrel, his wrists tightly bound around it.
Of the recoil that vibrated up his arm and the soft, wet sound like no other he had ever heard as the first blow landed across Pete's pale shoulders causing him to soundlessly arch back from the barrel where he was restrained only to slump forward into his bonds.
Of the nausea that filled him as the angry, red welt rose on his friend's shoulders.
Of the cries that ripped from Pete's throat when he landed the third strike bringing bile to his burning throat soundlessly shrieking, I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry knowing sorry could do nothing to stop what must follow.
Of the smell and sight of Pete's blood running in slow moving, crimson streams down his back.
Of his friend and brother's agonized screams as he quivered uncontrollably, thrashing, and writhing within the confines of the ropes after only the fifth strike of the cane.
Of the chimpanzee's tormented steps to check on him only for Burke to ground out through clenched teeth, his voice wrecked, 'Just finish it, Galen. Finish it.'
Of the final five blows landing on Pete's trembling body, the flesh on his back pulverized, heavy bruising surrounding the bleeding ribbons of skin.
Of his body slumped in uncontrolled tremors, barely conscious, around the barrel after the tenth and final blow.
Of Virdon catching him as he was released from the ropes, swaying to one side, pulled him tight against his chest so the dark head lolled on his shoulder, the colonel careful not to touch his back while Burke groaned into Virdon's neck.
Of the twisting in his gut that he had betrayed a sacred bond of friendship confirmed by the look of disgust that Virdon leveled at him over Burke's shoulder even as the blond man murmured in the other's ear, 'I've got you. You'll be okay. I'm here. You're gonna be okay now. It's all over.'
Zeke yanked away causing Galen to gasp as the angel's presence left his mind. Both were crying.
"Why?" the angel begged an answer.
"Because he pushed an ape who smashed him to the ground for changing the way he stacked the wood. An ape that Pete hid from us had beaten him for weeks. And for the crime of finally fighting back, they would have hung him dangling from a tree until he choked to death, forcing Alan and me to watch. And for him to live, I had to scar both of us for life," Galen's voice cracked.
Zeke's chin drooped against his chest, his own hands trembling, his wings limp at his back. "I have to go now, Galen," he choked out as he pushed himself to his feet. "Call Jed if you need anything." He stumbled through the door without looking back.
Galen sighed, wiping at his face, and reaching for a folded napkin left on the dining table to dab at his running nose. He barely understood how to help humans. He felt completely lost when it came to understanding angels and what they may need when faced with trauma. He did know, without a doubt, that he needed to see Pete and sent a message through the link asking if they could have lunch together after the Council meeting.
Pete leaned nonchalantly, head down, eyes peering up through those long dark lashes with one hand on the wall as the door to Zeke's apartment slid open. The angel took a deep breath at the care-free attitude his friend was projecting. Either Pete was relaxed about their date, or he was getting better at masking his emotions when they were not in contact. The angel had been pacing, his lower lip tucked firmly in his teeth. He knew that Pete had met with Galen that afternoon and he worried what his reaction would be if the chimpanzee had shared the details of his evening visit. Zeke had checked on Galen via the link bracelet to ensure he had no ill effects from their encounter, but the conversation had been brief. Galen thanked him for sending Jed to check on him as well.
"Are you going to ask me in?" the young man teased after Zeke paused at the door.
"I was just taking a second to admire the view," the angel admitted and stepped aside allowing him to enter.
Pete strolled in with his own anxiety nibbling just behind his eyes and threatening to tighten his throat. Over the years, he had become a pro at compartmentalizing life events leaving the day before, hell, the hour before, locked away, forgotten, moved on. Even as he plopped in the chair acting like the playboy Pete of old, he questioned himself. Wasn't this the life you wanted to leave behind?
After enjoying some time with Galen over lunch, he had spent an hour with Malachi cruising through his psyche followed by talking about the experience and ways for Pete to cope with the violence inflicted on his mind and body. Without sharing what he and Zeke were attempting on their own, he had asked, and Malachi had guided him on ways to shield those places he wasn't ready to share. The Elder explained a few techniques that would block casual examination by an empath with the caution that for their time together to be most effective, Pete would need to be open and willing to share his memories and the feelings that were haunting him. With assurances that he wanted Malachi's help to continue, he practiced until he felt slightly more confident that he could be with Zeke and protect—hide— memories he needed more time to address on his own before putting them out for another's appraisal—judgment—and come to terms with his own feelings of violation—disgust—
He straightened in the chair giving a warm smile to the angel who took the seat adjacent to him on the couch. He decided he did need to commit to the life he wanted – I think I want – and plunged in. "Ok, yesterday was hard for me but I think it was good for us. Just don't get any ideas that this touchy-feely stuff is gonna be a way of life…"
"I thought you enjoyed the touchy-feely stuff," Zeke teased with a half grin and a tentative bump of his knee against Burke's. Zeke felt his heart jump when Pete allowed his leg to remain next to his, but sensed he needed to let Pete direct the speed of their encounter. His instincts proved successful as they had a relaxed meal before Pete volunteered to begin what he called, "Round Two."
His heart flipped again as Pete settled on the couch next to him.
"So, you go first. Last night you had me ready to punch out good old Nehimiah for you and made it easier to spill my guts to make you happy."
"Pete," Zeke shook his brown head as his wings gave a gentle flap. "It's about trusting each other, not making me happy…"
"But it does makes you happy," a dark eyebrow shot up with a knowing grin.
"What makes me happy is knowing it's your turn to go first."
"Fine," the man squirmed raking a hand over his face before it dropped to his outstretched leg. "One of the things that was hard for me was a miserable few days I had with this bitch-chimp named Wanda. Called herself a scientist but made my life hell for about four days. Wanted information. I didn't tell her anything, so she sent me off to Urko who planned to…"
"Hold on there. I don't even need my abilities to hear you skipped a bit there, Mr. Talks About Everything But Himself. Do I have to turn this into an interrogation?" the angel challenged.
Pete flinched as a burst of anxiety washed through him and inadvertently projected to Zeke. The angel reached out gripping Pete's hand that rested on his knee causing an immediate connection. He saw the image of Pete strapped to a spinning table, his battered face rocking back and forth with low-guttural groans. Pete pulled away, his face a sudden mask.
"You are supposed to be talking with me, not reading about me," his attempt at humor was flat in his own ears. Zeke wrapped his arms around his chest, biting at his lip, the unsettling image caught in a terrible loop in his mind. Seeing the darts of fear in Pete's eyes, he wanted to hug him, hold him, beg him to open up and trust him to be there for him but stayed back. He had to be invited in.
"Ok. Talk. But try giving a more complete story. You obviously experienced something a deeper shade of miserable than me trying to explain to my eema that I didn't actually steal the ancient covered–watch on a chain passed to him from his father and his father before him for who knows how many fathers…"
"Ha! You took Mal's pocket watch?"
"His what?"
"Pocket watch. That's what we'd call a 'covered–watch on a chain.'"
"Huh, no one knew that. Why would they call it a pocket…? Hold up! You did it again. Evasion doesn't work on an empath. It's your turn. Tell your story—the entire story this time."
"I was always fond of the abridged versions, myself."
"Let's try just this side of epic," Zeke gave a sarcastic look, his wings twitching accenting his narrowed eyes.
Pete scowled but started over.
"Galen, Alan and I were having a pleasant stroll in the countryside, and I believe I was enlightening the big monkey about beautiful human vacation spots before the Fall of Mankind…"
"PETE!"
"Fine. Finding a happy medium. The secret to all long-lasting relationships."
"What I'm hoping for," Zeke revealed with a half-smile.
"Yeah, me, too." Pete admitted and briefly wondered if the cold sweat rising at the back of his neck was admitting he wanted a relationship or the discomfort of speaking about Wanda. He rolled his shoulders and plunged into some dark memories. He told Zeke about his capture and the hard ride into Central City where he was given over to Wanda for days of interrogation. She wanted to discover the names of the humans who had helped them, to be followed by Urko's destruction of the creatures tainted by Burke and Virdon's influence. He struggled as he described the days of starvation and denial of sleep, sensory overload compounded with sensory deprivation, endless opportunities for pain and the terrible thirst all bound in her ceaseless demands for names, names, names. Even as he felt lost and near falling into a forever blackness, she turned him over to Urko for a travesty he called brain surgery to make him docile or dead. Alan, Galen, and Galen's mother, Ann whisked him away only ten minutes before a blade would have been dicing out chunks of his frontal lobe.
Pete felt a heat rising to his cheeks that was slipping toward anger as he realized he had left the couch and taken up his usual pacing as he talked. Zeke's look of worry latched on to him like a puppy dogging his heels, like Pete was the one who suffered and needed comfort. Zeke didn't seem to hear the part about how he almost gave in and gave up the names she wanted. The angel was missing the part about his failure to protect the people who counted on him or about his weakness that would have given Wanda everything she wanted to save himself no matter who got hurt.
Sensing his agitation, Zeke sent a subtle aura of calm.
"It is amazing how the three of you withstood everything thrown at you," Zeke said, hoping Pete would be willing to elaborate on his experience, but the firm set of his jaw announced he was done.
"Enough about me." Pete gladly dropped the subject, pleased to place those memories back in the chest and sealed tight. "Shine a light in your darkness."
"Good description of what I want to tell you about," Zeke moved to the far side of the couch making room as an invitation for Pete to join him again. The brief squint of his brown eyes gave away his hesitation, but the angel broadcast his relief when his friend sat next to him.
"You've heard me talk of my family unit—," Zeke began blowing out a hard breath.
"Yeah, and I can see why they make you nervous, pal. Mal can impale you with that stare of his," the human turned so one leg was pulled up next to the back of the couch, his foot flat on the seat cushion and his back against the arm. Zeke twisted so they were facing one another.
"Is this my story or yours?" Zeke's hazel eyes flashed good-naturedly. He continued letting himself fall into Pete's dark eyes. "You know Malachi and Levi. You have heard me speak of Tirzah, my dodah. What I have not told you was that she was not my dodah at my birth." Pete leaned forward a bit at the revelation but did not speak.
"Her name was Esther. We have pictures otherwise I wouldn't remember what she looked like. But I have memories, feelings about her. Rocking me. Singing. She and Levi laughing and Malachi chasing her flapping his wings. Laughter. Lots of laughter," Zeke's face had a faraway look as he slipped into the pictures of his own mind. "It was a hemorrhage. Maybe brought about by the pregnancy. Both she and the baby died. They didn't realize I was an empath then, I was so young, not quite two years old, and the pain of my eema and avi was more than I could understand. I shut down completely as it overwhelmed my senses. Both were so lost in their own grief, they didn't know until it was almost too late that my quiet was a complete withdrawal.
"It was Tirzah, you see. She was—is—a teacher and they had left me in a child center quite a bit. The pair of them carried on with work and acted as if they were coping, but they were hiding their grief around others while gushing in torrents with one another—and exposing me. As empaths, when we lose control of our emotions, it can be very harmful to those around us. Mal had no idea how much he was projecting on to me and I had no way to block the assault of the loss both my parents were feeling. They just knew I was quiet, and they could grieve without the squalls of a toddler. Tirzah recognized what was happening and finally convinced them to bring in another empath to help them, help me. They tell me my emotional state was damaged severely, and I think there are times those scars still open up. I sometimes grapple with anger and this sense of bleakness that I can't explain.
"Tirzah. If you think Mal's look could freeze a fire. Tirzah burns with a fire he can't control when she sees a need for action or a just cause that needs a voice. She'll fight like a hellcat to protect us but don't be on this side of hell when you borrow her oil paints to decorate the wall."
Pete's laughter blurted out. "Are you telling me you were a naughty angel?'
"Busy," Zeke countered. "And in constant need of new amusements. Mal and Levi bonded with her a little over three years after Esther's death. Joshua was born another three years after that."
"It's good you have a strong family, Zeke. Mine is…. was… whatever, I gave up on that a long time ago, but only one sad story a night. That was the deal."
Zeke used his foot to nudge Pete's on the floor, "Ok, but I want you to know you can tell me everything."
People in love tell each other everything. Pete stiffened as a shudder coursed down his spine.
"I just mean I want to know everything about you…" Zeke went on sensing his disquiet.
Like where you were born where you went to school
"Pretty boring stuff," Pete said out loud jumping up. His skin was crawling as a chimp with glasses leaned her face toward his.
"Hey," Zeke rose slowly hoping to change the subject to something less cerebral and a lot more physical. He couldn't help but appreciate Pete's handsome face and feel attraction for his lean, athletic body pacing with an energy he wanted to harness for a different purpose. He rested his hands on the man's restless shoulders with a touch of soothing reassurance. "Enough confessions. How 'bout a little something for the confessional?" He lay a gentle hand at the nape of Pete's neck. The man forced himself not to jerk away at the electric shock that coursed through him as the huge hand pressed him forward toward… don't think about that!… the silky voice… you need more lessons…
Pete found the strength to remain under Zeke's touch then the courage to bring his forefingers to brush along the angel's cheek. "Maybe, we can just be together? Maybe go for a walk? Look at the stars? Perfect Date Two material."
"Date Two, is it?" the angel allowed a hint of disappointment but stepped back with a broad gesture toward the door. "Lead the way. I will follow."
The pair found an easier conversation balance as they rode the lift to the arboretum and wandered along the trails to a secluded area free from other visitors and the overhanging branches of the wooded center. Zeke laid out a wing for Pete who lay with him side-by-side pointing out the stars that remained and those that had moved in the thousand years since he knew them by heart. He showed him the direction of Alpha Centauri which he had glimpsed not so long ago, that still turned on its own axis light years away. They chatted about inconsequential things for hours as the moon crossed overhead and then they tapered off into drifting sleep, neither wanting to be the first to move. Zeke rolled over draping his arm around Pete, drawing his other wing around them like a blanket. As if drawn into the current of surging river, Zeke tumbled headlong into Pete's unguarded mind…
…He found himself outside a cabin, near an open barn door. He heard voices. He knew this was not his dream. He knew he had slipped effortlessly into Pete's thoughts, and he knew he should bring himself to wakefulness and leave but the hushed voices drew him like a thief. He followed them inside walking along the corridor between the stalls. His eyes narrowed as his eyes adjusted to the darkness and he recognized a chimpanzee—Galen—leaning hard against the wooden divider of the last narrow stall, his legs crooked to one side, one hand pressed against his mouth, his eyes wide with fright but the image faded in and out as Zeke approached, as if the memory didn't quite belong or uncertainty about where it fit in the image.
His eyes jerked up as he saw the flash of blond hair approaching the entrance to the stall as he walked through him—Alan—opening his mouth to attempt levity as he stood in the opening but jerking to a stop, his body tense, his face jolted by fear that he quickly replaced with a false calm. Zeke moved beside him to see what he saw, and the angel shared the human's sudden dryness of mouth, heart leaping in his chest.
Pete! Pete was pressed in the far corner of the stall, but he had something in his hands, turning it over and over. It was dark, hard to see but Zeke's denials were shoved aside, and he had to admit it was a knife.
"Pete?" Alan whispered. Zeke looked frantically at the older man begging him to do something. When he wrenched his attention back to Pete, he saw that his grip shifted on the knife, and it was now held underhand, in front of him.
"Go away, Alan." Zeke was confused by the contradiction in Pete's tone that was both hollow with emptiness yet adamant with determination.
"No can do, Pete." Alan shook his head. He stretched out his hands in front of him. Zeke could see the tremoring of his fingers as he edged toward his friend asking, "What are you gonna do with that knife, pal?"
"Go away."
"No." Alan slid into the stall another couple of inches. Zeke stayed on his heels.
Pete held out his right arm, the pale, exposed flesh of his forearm toward them, and pressed the knife against it.
"Stay the hell back, or I swear to god, I'll do it." Zeke gasped seeing the blood dripping from his outstretched fist.
Zeke was shoved aside with a lurch and felt a rip through the image as a jagged piece was torn away as if even in sleep, Pete had it guarded, inaccessible. He swirled back into the stall. Zeke grabbed the wall, the worn wood offering a stabilizing surface as the sight and sound of the man from the past who fell into his life cringed in the corner.
Pete's breath came fast and ragged, both his arms raised like he was about to do some serious damage. Alan wavered back and forth on the balls of his feet, knowing he should try to rush him, try to get the knife away, but like Zeke, he was transfixed, frozen in place by the surreal scene.
Pete fingered the knife again, and moved the blade minutely, repositioning it. His chest heaved, like he couldn't get enough air. Alan and Zeke watched as he made another abortive attempt to cut into his arm, and another, and another. An anguished cry escaped from his throat as he flipped the knife into an overhand grip and plunged it into the dirt between his outstretched legs.
Alan moved so fast, before Zeke could even think. He was with Pete in a frantic moment, yanking the blade out of the dirt and tossing it across the stall. Zeke's eyes followed the shimmer of the blade as it flew by him then wrenched back as Alan dropped to his knees behind him, pulled the dark head against his chest and wrapped his arms around him while his body was wracked with silent sobs.
Zeke jolted awake. Pete's face was clenched, his breathing harsh and shallow but he remained in a dream state. Zeke rolled off of him breaking the deep read but lay a gentle hand on his forehead and whispered, "Sleep. Peaceful, sleep." Pete sagged as his tense muscles released and he snuggled against his shoulder. Zeke knew he should have pulled out sooner, but he rationalized that he didn't enter Pete's mind on his own—their connection just happened. They had talked about the torture by the chimpanzee Wanda and the near catastrophic surgery desired by the gorilla Urko earlier. Was this memory because of that? Was this the secret Pete made Alan promise not to tell?
The angel infused them with an aura of well-being, of comfort. Once Pete's breathing returned to a normal rhythm, he first stole a soft kiss hoping he felt the caring in his touch, then he shook his shoulder. "Hey, wake up."
Pete's brown eyes fluttered open causing Zeke to smile. He brushed his dark hair back from his forehead as he soaked in his face. "We fell asleep," the angel whispered.
"Oh," the human sat up rubbing at his eyes with one hand, an embarrassed half-grin showing no sign that his dreams lingered. "Well, this is awkward. Camping out isn't supposed to happen until at least Date Four or Five."
Part of Zeke admitted that sneaking around to visit Pete's friends was not the bastion of trust he wanted to build, but with Pete's resistance to talking and quick temper when Zeke found himself saying things all the wrong way, he justified it as clarification that he would explain later.
"Come in," Alan called from behind the closed door of his quarters. With a deep breath, Zeke pressed the control and took a tentative step into the orderly living room. The astronaut sat at the dining table, several tablets spread out in front of him. "Zeke, what brings you by? No Pete?" the man leaned back in his chair with a warm smile.
"No, I came alone," the angel felt his wings droop as his stomach churned. He shielded Alan from his anxiety over the vivid scene from last night's accidental read of this man's best friend.
"You just caught me. I'm headed to Gabe's workshop for more lessons in electrical engineering. What Pete calls 'the finer points of thirty-first century techno extreme.' A lot of new material to soak in since I walked out of the classroom. I have a couple of minutes," he proffered a hand toward the chair across from him as he began to gather the tablets in front of him.
The angel slipped into a chair and ran his nervous fingers along the edge of the table. "I needed to ask you about something Pete shared with me…"
"Good. I'm glad you two are talking. I know he has been seeing Mal. He's still unhappy with me for not warning him about the memory that resurfaced the day he…. the day of the incident and he needs to talk to someone."
"He told me about the chimpanzee, the one who tortured him—about Wanda—," Zeke paused over the name. Alan raised an eyebrow but lowered a wall across his face.
"Zeke, I am not going to discuss these things with you without Pete being here. And I doubt he would discuss them if he were here," his voice was firm.
"Alan, he told me… about what happened to him. I knew the apes could be cruel, but to be so… indifferent. I understand that he would want to forget. The savagery that some apes inflict, and claim is justified. I didn't know how bad it was. Wanda, she still haunts him."
The human crossed his arms across his chest saying nothing. Zeke doggedly continued.
"What I wanted to ask you about was something I saw in his memories. In a barn, with a knife…"
Alan's eyes narrowed, a steely glint warning him, but the angel's eyes wandered wildly along the table edge as he tried to still the hammering in his chest.
"He, umm, he tried to umm—"
"He didn't," the edged voice cut off any further stammering. Zeke lifted his eyes meeting the cold blue from across the table. Alan pointedly stood as he pulled the tablets into his crooked arm. Zeke found his feet but continued to hold onto the edge of the table.
"The day—that day he ended up in the medical center—this is what he remembered, right? What he wanted you to hide from me?" the angel persisted.
Virdon's face set like granite while Zeke felt his crumble. He felt the emotional denial Virdon projected despite his physical attempt to hide it.
"That wasn't it? There's more?" he was incredulous. "Alan, how much more? You have to tell me," Zeke pleaded, following as the human walked to the door with committed steps and jabbed it open. He turned back to the angel, the unyielding steel in his tone unmistakable.
"Zeke, accept what Pete is willing to share when he is willing to tell you." The door slid open and Virdon took a step out before turning back to fully face the young angel. "Hear me on this, loud and clear. He has survived more than his fair share of violence and reliving it opens more wounds for him than you can imagine. He doesn't need to be blindsided by someone he cares about questioning his actions because of it. If you can't handle that—stay away. Don't hurt him, Zeke, or you'll answer to me." The firm words matched the uncompromising stance as Alan spun and marched away, the door sliding shut. Zeke rocked on his feet uncomfortably recognizing that Pete's best friend had walked out of his own quarters leaving him more disconsolate than when he arrived.
"I don't want to hurt him, Alan," he whispered to the walls. "I think I'm in love with him…"
It was the sound of the water first—the steady drum against a hard surface. He then became aware of the chill—his skin prickled from the drizzle of tiny drops splattered on his face, his chest. Finally, his senses acknowledged the bright light emanating from above his head. His eyes blinked slowly. A jolt shot through his body jerking him into consciousness.
Pete gasped. He felt unbalanced and reached back grabbing the countertop of the sink and vanity. He was standing in his bathroom wrapped only in a towel staring into the running shower. The chill deepened when he realized he had lost time. He had been to the training facility to work out on the weight machines completing his normal rounds through both the cross trainers and ellipticals, repetition lifts with free weights and concluded with a three-mile run. He needed to shower before spending the afternoon preparing for dinner. He returned to his quarters—his work out clothes were tossed on the floor by the toilet. He had paused outside the shower stall gripping the towel at his waist, waiting before he allowed it to fall to the floor—if he dropped it to the floor. He remembered sometimes he showers with it on.
His mouth flooded with saliva, his breaths grew short, he swallowed repeatedly to stave off the nausea at the thought of stepping under the water. No, it wasn't the water. Inside the shower stall. That's where the memories were—that's where he was standing when the blinds flew up, the door slammed open, the whole damn house of cards tumbled down letting everyone see inside. That's where Phelan returned. "Well, mouse, are you ready to submit?"
"He's not here, damn it. Get over it," Pete hissed aloud, flung the towel onto the sink leaving him naked. I will tell you what to do, where to go, what, if anything, you can wear. "Go to hell," he cursed through his clenched jaw. He moved into the shower stall. He pressed both hands against the wet plastic wall, lifting his face directly into the stream of warm water. He let the water flow over him until his heart slowed and his head cleared.
He reached into the shower caddy taking the blue washcloth then poured liquid soap onto the fabric covering the palm of his hand. The woody scent of cypress and cedar, with a splash of citrus and lemon peel filled the stall. He drew the washcloth across his chest leaving a thin layer of suds. It smelled fresh, clean. But he was still dirty. He pressed harder. He rubbed along his arms, his shoulders, his waist. The dirt wouldn't come off. His feet, his calves, his thighs, his genitals. He couldn't remove the filth. He scrubbed until he was raw but still could not cleanse the loathsome stain that clung to him, the malignant odor that permeated through his flesh. He couldn't wash deep enough. With a wail of desperation, he fell back against the wall and allowed himself to slide to the floor. The water pelted at his bowed head.
Quiet now. Just take your lesson, mouse.
Pete wrapped his arms around his knees and sobbed, but the water failed to carry away his tears.
Using the need to have his healing shoulder checked as an excuse, Zeke wandered into the medical center to find Jed hovering near a monitor and tapping at the keys in quick succession. The ginger-haired angel didn't need to be an empath to see the misery in his ahuvi'scountenance when he flung himself onto the nearest exam bed before begrudgingly asking, "Am I interrupting anything?"
"I am writing an article on the catastrophic injuries and creative intervention methods used, leading to the near complete recovery of Patient B. Hanael wants to add it to the curriculum of study for the current class and test their own ideas for approaching unfamiliar and unexpected medical presentations," Jed admitted with a glow in his voice. "A once in a lifetime case and exciting success story."
"Uuuhggg," Zeke flung his good arm over his eyes. "I'm so glad you are basking in success with Patient B. Every intervention I try to bring us closer just digs a deeper hole keeping us apart. I'm going to lose him, Jed."
"Not the best one to ask about relationships here," the healer admitted with a red-faced shrug. "Take your shirt off. Let me take a look at that shoulder."
"Oh, don't let anyone see us. They may get the wrong idea," Zeke snarked in reference to Pete's previous accusation of Zeke hiding a romantic relationship with Jed from him, not understanding the complexity of the closed society of the underground city.
"Are you mad at Pete about something?" Jed raised an eyebrow as he pulled off the back side of his friend's shirt.
"No… Yes… I don't know," the brown-haired angel slumped back against the raised mattress once the shirt fabric was withdrawn, and Jed began the meticulous removal of his bandages. "He keeps his feelings so closed off. He never talks about himself. He doesn't open himself up to anyone, except Galen—and Alan."
"So, you're jealous of his friends now?"
"No!" Zeke scrunched his face before it reddened and he groused, "A little. I've seen a lot of what they went through since they crashed here. But he either blocks things out or refuses to talk about—"
"Or doesn't remember," Jed interrupted gently. "His memory loss is a continuing part of his trauma."
"I know, but when he does remember or does talk about it, Alan is always there. He's like a rock that he clings to, like he knows Alan will always hold him up, never let him down."
"What's the problem with that, ahuvi?" Jed rested his hand on Zeke's upraised knee.
"The problem is, Jed," Zeke felt his throat tighten as he morosely confessed, "as much as I respect their friendship and the importance of it, I want to be the person that Pete believes will stand by him no matter what and I can't even get him to tell me his middle name."
"James."
"What!?" Zeke popped forward almost hitting Jed in the mouth as he medicated the healing gunshot wound at his shoulder.
"Peter James Burke. His middle name."
"He told you—?" his friend was crushed, the hitch in his voice painful to hear. Jed rubbed at his friend's back just below his wing joint.
"He didn't actually tell me, ahuvi. He was unconscious and muttering about getting something called a driver's license and he didn't need a license to drive a car when he could just steal one—"
Zeke lowered his chin to his chest with a groan as his wings drooped behind him. His friend patted his shoulder and remarked with a sardonic grin, "You always did fall for the bad boys—"
Zeke was greeted with aromatic and exquisite aromas as he neared Pete's door for their third dinner in as many nights. The astronaut had promised a meal prepared not by the servitor but one of his own recipes from ingredients pulled from the service device while borrowing an oven and stove in one of the Alban restaurants. Chefs were a special breed in the city as the efficiency of space did not allow for the types of kitchens Burke and Virdon and on a different technological scale, even Galen, were familiar with in individual domiciles. But the skills were not lost; a few large kitchens existed throughout the city, most located near the few active gardens. One typically needed weeks long reservations to claim a seat. Burke had to trade his recipe for the cook time he needed and had finagled a double burner and a couple of skillets for the finishing touches in his quarters.
Pete's exuberance washed over Zeke as he met him at the door with an unexpected quick hug.
"Come, come. You're right on time for Burke's Own Beef Bourguignon with freshly made sour dough bread and fresh churned butter. Ok, ok, I didn't churn the butter, but I folded in the crushed garlic and you are gonna thank me for dinner," he prattled maneuvering to the heated skillets stirring the warming mixture of beef, bacon, carrots, onions and other ingredients Zeke couldn't pinpoint. Pete splashed in some wine before pouring two glasses and presenting one to Zeke with a flourish.
The angel made no attempt to hide his grin at the table covered with a white cloth preset with gleaming silverware and crisp napkins. Two tapered candles burned in the center of the table.
"Is this the norm for the Third Date?" he wanted to know.
"There is nothing normal about a meal prepared by these hands," Pete waggled his fingers over the hotplates.
"I look forward to the other luxuries offered by those hands," Zeke teased under his breath causing a red sheen to rise up from his host's collar. Although Pete remained debonair throughout the evening charming the angel throughout the wondrous meal, a dark niggle ate at the edges of Zeke's thoughts. Hard as he tried, he couldn't sidestep the ire steaming in his gut that this man whom he wanted in his life seemed determined to cut him out of certain aspects of his own while sharing with his friends and even Zeke's own eema. A frown was forming at the thought of Alan, Galen, Mal, Jed, even their now common enemy Urko knowing things—important things—about one Peter Burke that influenced his thoughts and actions, and he had no clue. For a moment, he felt trapped in the storage room that had been his shelter and quickly became the symbol of his seclusion, only this time it was Pete locking him away as he carelessly left him behind.
Pete tossed the dirty dishes into the servitor noting, "The Jetsons may have had Rosie but who needs her when we can kick butt with Ser-Vi-Tor." He enunciated the three syllables with a baritone flourish as if introducing a Superhero. "And who needs to be an empath when that hangdog look on your face screams out I'm not getting any Michelin stars tonight."
"Umm…what?" Zeke's hazel eyes revealed true confusion.
"You didn't like my cooking," Pete shrugged. "It's okay," though the hint of dejection Zeke sensed admitted it was not. "I'll keep on until I find something you like."
"No, it was wonderful," Zeke wrapped an arm around his friend's waist and lowered his chin against his shoulder. He felt Pete stiffen unable to relax, so Zeke squeezed and stepped back. "It's—that… you tense when I move within a foot of you and I don't know…"
"It's not you," Pete's face fell and the joviality he had maintained crashed into recrimination. "It's me. I'm sorry. It's just…"
"It's just there's something out there that everyone seems to know about but me," the words struck with a venom Zeke had not intended. Pete flinched.
"Zeke, if I had my way, I would have gone to my grave with—that—and it's not like I ever told anybody exactly."
At the time, Zeke was not aware he did it and only later recognized that he influenced Pete with subtle pressure against his defenses, suggesting he should reveal what he was hiding. Yet another slash of guilt he would contend with in the hours that followed.
"Whatever it is, Pete, there's something that you won't tell me, and it's this chasm between us. I can't even touch you without you shoving me away. I don't know if you want to be together or feel embarrassed by the two of us. You didn't want Alan to know like we were something to be ashamed of. I asked you if it bothered you how I look—"
"No…, Zeke. No," Pete clamped his eyes shut, his arms tight around his chest to calm the bruising pounding against his ribs. "I don't wanna remember this," his voice was hoarse. Those weeks, those three weeks were locked behind barriers, thick and impenetrable, or so he hoped. You aren't stupid, but you definitely lack understanding right now of your situation. You may have never been a slave before, mouse, but you are one now. And by the time I'm done with you, you will understand that deep in your bones.
Zeke felt Pete's walls rise and pushed back. The angel suddenly clung to a notion that any future between them rested in this moment. His own need forced a blindness of his friend's sickly pallor and uncontrolled tremors; Pete clung to the back of a chair to stop himself from dropping to his knees, his head tucked in subservience. Lost in his own confusion, Zeke pounded at him. "You trusted Alan and Galen. Why can't you trust me?"
"I didn't tell them," Pete tried to explain. "And neither of them knows everything…"
"But they know!" Zeke moved inches from the man, the space between them a raw wound. "Even my eema knows. I don't want secrets between us, Pete. I will share everything with you. Can't you do the same? I want this—you and me. You don't have to tell me everything but at least don't leave me wondering why they look at me with concern and damned understanding and I don't even know why!"
"Only two of us know everything," Pete's voice broke. Anger swelled as his cheeks grew hot and he heard a thousand curses trying to break out from the resentment of being pushed but he saw the hurt in Zeke's expression, felt the pain of exclusion that tore at this person he lo…. He wanted this—he wanted him—more than anyone in his entire life. He wanted him and remembered Alan talking about sometimes you have to give up the things you thought you needed or wanted to get to the real thing. Maybe hiding his past and projecting the image of the strong, impervious, hell, soulless bastard wasn't how he wanted Zeke to see him.
"I don't think I can talk about it," Pete admitted, the pain of his throat nearly cutting off all sound… it was the screaming….
"Then we're in luck," Zeke projected confidence. "You can show me." Zeke continued to send suggestive thoughts as if shoving him toward a raging torrent with Zeke the only lifeline. Pete took a tortured breath then grabbed Zeke's hand. He fell to the couch pulling the angel beside him, and stared into his eyes as he lay one hand against his cheek.
"Come in, then. But the water's rough—."
"Trust me, Pete," Zeke assuaged with a soothing touch, words that would later burn his throat with bile when he had to face his utter failure.
From the first time Zeke had inadvertently entered Pete's consciousness, he discovered he could slide into his memories with an ease he found in no other. It was as if they could be one in the same. This was no different. As Pete allowed him to enter, he was plunged immediately into Pete's first moments with Phelan hanging from a beam with his toes barely touching the floor as the whip struck his back again and again and again.
With no respite, he was thrown into the immovable posture in which he was tied to teach him to bow to his Master, the hours in darkness spent with unseen creatures, his wrists and ankles unable to move within the grain box, and his one attempt at escape that ended so very badly as Phelan taught him that he was nothing but an object to be used. The searing pain of that experience was Zeke's own as Phelan pounded his flesh inside his damaged body removing all hope. Hours of agony slammed into a few moments of ragged breath assailed Zeke as he fought to keep his footing in the tumult of Pete's imprisonment at Hoffa's farm.
Zeke's awareness blended as one in Pete's skin and he knew every hurt, every fear, and was lost in his despair. He tried to lift his head, stepping back from the rolling fabric of the memory, finding an open space in the smothering threads. His corporal hands were aware of the short, jagged breaths and trembling of Pete's flesh. He fought to find the distinct lines of his own awareness and infuse them both with an aura of peace; but an unopened orb of Pete's consciousness, wrapped in a pulsing dark casing tore itself open as it approached like a bullet. A shell of obsidian that trapped the memory in an intentional ward exploded, throwing Zeke deeper into the folds and he was aware his own body gulped for air as the threads thickened into ropes tying him to this place of hopelessness. When he heard the voice; it was Pete's voice wrapped in his own that spoke as one sharing the inescapable nightmare:
It was happening again: Phelan's weird transition from the teacher of my lessons on my new life as a slave to an almost tender lov… no, never that, but he forced an intimacy with a gentle hand that was relief from the pain. Not the rape. The rape never hid the violence of it, but the caresses and soft touches were a suggestive retreat that my damn body relished even if my mind screamed against it.
I never wanted it, but that was the point of the lessons, right? What I wanted never mattered. What mattered was submit and obey or go back to the hitching post where I was bound stretched bent over the rail and his whip flayed my back while my feet were spread to the opposing posts with my groin pressed against the rail leaving my backside open for him to enter as he willed, destroying mine. I never once lasted until he was done, never once was aware when he untied me from that place and carried me to his cot.
Hard to wrap my head around the goddamn truth that those soft touches were welcomed because they weren't pain and if I closed my eyes, it could be another hand stroking my skin evoking a sense of fuckin' bliss—bad word choice there. And after his touches, he lets me sleep. But not this time. He wants more—so much more—
I wake up from the hitching post cradled in his lap being rocked—rocked—as he strokes my hair and when my eyes flutter open, he says, "There you are little mouse. I was waiting for you to get back. What a beautiful mouse you are."
Before I can move to find any position where my welted back isn't pressed against his arm, he flings me up and positions my legs on either side of his lap. I realize my wrists remain bound in a strip of rawhide that are tossed over his head behind his neck. I am naked as he has left me for weeks. He is stripped down to nothing, too, and my junk sits over his. He rises and falls and swivels beneath me, one hand stroking my flank, the other clenches my hair bringing my neck to his mouth as he nuzzles just beneath my ear.
His velvet voice whispers, "I will tell you what to do, mouse, one time. Only one time." His hands run up and down my sides rubbing the welts and bruises into new levels of agony. I hear tiny squeaks that I realize are the screams caught in my throat. His mouth nestles against my neck and suddenly his tongue creeps toward my mouth and he breaths the word, "Kiss," as his mouth covers mine and thrusts his tongue inside.
And I kiss.
The taste of onion and radish overpower me while his hands force my hips down as he pushes up in a steady grind. Just when I think his enlarged tongue will choke me as he presses hard into my lips, he pulls out allowing me to gasp, my eyes squeeze shut begging any god who will listen to make it stop. His tongue traces down my neck and he puts both his hands at my screaming back and pulls my chest up. His teeth grip one nipple and wets the surface before he nips painfully.
With a sudden movement, he grabs a tuft of my hair and pushes my mouth against his chest over his nipple, my hands still hung over the back of his neck.
"Suck."
And I suck.
His hair is as much a part of my mouth as his pointed nipple, but I suck and try to think of someplace, anyplace but where me and my mouth are engaged as his hands now grip my ass and force his grinding to rock faster against my genitals. I feel him harden beneath me. And wouldn't you know my damn dick stiffens and stands at salute with shocks rocking through.
When he yanks me to the other side, I remember his warning and he doesn't have to say it again as I minister to that nub of flesh surrounded by blond hair. With his fingers latched through my hair, he draws my face back to his and I knew what I had to do. Damn me to hell, I try to make him like it cause if he likes it maybe we stay here…
When he has enough of that, he suddenly lifts me again removing my hands from his neck so that he can arch my flaming back upwards. He bobs my torso up and down with one arm at my back, his tongue and teeth making their way along my chest with the other hand latched onto my dick. My head and arms fall toward the floor as he pushes my nipple into his mouth, his hips moving in a steady rhythm against my groin. He bites my pectoral muscle drawing blood and I moan a meaningless response.
Groaning with pleasure, he pulls himself to the edge of the cot. He is so quick, so strong and in a fluid motion I am dropped with knees on the floor, my chest against the frame of the cot. One huge hand runs along the tender skin at my neck and shoulder while the other tangles in my hair. He pushes me to his dick and utters, "Suck."
I freeze. I resist. Involuntary. Reflex.
I feel my head push away from him before I even recognize the direction and intent. And cold terror grips my heart and wilts my own undesired hard on when his silky voice chastises in an oddly sad tone, "Oh, mouse. You still won't learn."
My feet scrabble uselessly against the dirt floor as my voice pleads and begs but he drags me across the ground by my bound hands and tosses me against the hitching post to return to the punishments since I forgot to learn. My body twists trying to escape but he grabs me under my arms with ease and slams my groin against the rail and I think I hear the throes of pain that tear through my throat.
I am bound in the familiar pose for my lesson as the whip falls on already bleeding flesh. I am fascinated by the splotches of blood that remain in the dirt from the last time just an hour or so ago as new drops drip from my sides, the liquid causing a warm trail along my flanks. He is patient, waiting for one scream to give up into a whimper before he lands another strike. He wants my attention. He wants me awake. And all I want is for the stress to my flesh to reach the point that I black out. It is my only escape.
My head is hanging. I have no strength to hold it up. When the blows stop, I can't breathe. He comes behind me to my outstretched legs, and I tense knowing what comes next. He stops. My heart skips with jagged palpitations thinking maybe, just maybe he wants something… different.
Instead, he walks away across the barn. I hear him moving, rattling. He raped me the last time. Maybe he prefers together time back on the cot. Maybe he will carry me there. He returns to me, his bare foot steps into one of the blood puddles. He lowers himself to where my eyes face the ground, sweat and tears joining the darkened splatters in the dirt. He shows me his face. The mop of unruly blond hair hangs down but his piercing blue eyes demand my obedience. I try to hold my eyes open for him, to prove I can listen so the punishment can end.
He waves the ax where I can see and says, almost in pity, "You brought this on yourself, mouse." He moves so quietly, so quickly. I don't even know where he goes until he rams the handle in my ass plunging it in over and over tearing flesh already seared. My screams sound so far away and yet shake through every sinew until I go away for awhile. The blessed relief of my tortured mind calling it quits and saying, you're done.
I wake up back in his arms. Again, he strokes me until I stare into his cold, blue eyes. When he is sure I am awake, he caresses me gently and leans into my ear cooing, "So beautiful but such a naughty mouse. You must learn your lessons. Your Master grows impatient. So, you will submit my lovely little mouse." His fingers are gentle on my face.
"I'm sorry," I hear my voice croak. God, how I despise myself.
He lifts me to his mouth, and I remember. I kiss. He leaves to bite at my neck as one hand rubs my groin. He flicks his tongue in my ear before he nips the lobe then softly tells me, "Next time, it will be a blade."
He didn't have to tell me again...
He performs acts to my body and I to his. I won't, can't call it making love or making out or getting off or whatever the hell I once called intimacy. It is what he did to me, and I did back to him. But I can't deny what I did either. I gave in. And when he drops me to my knees, opening his legs before me, my mind leaves me for a while. My mind leaves but I suck.
Once he is pleasured, he demands satisfaction. He devices a new torture. My bound hands are tossed onto a large hook, one of several along the barn wall for hanging tools. I flop face to the wall, my toes finding little purchase on the ground. He comes behind me, his hands rubbing my torso as he licks my neck and when he is ready, one large hand wraps around my traitor dick that has stiffened from his foreplay, one cups my balls and as he drives himself inside me, he pistons my body in rhythm with his thrusts. I have no part to play. He controls every aspect of my shrieking flesh.
I thought that he had achieved the height of agony but as he forces his way into my flesh already torn by the ax handle, my screams pronounce there are always deeper places to plunder.
When he climaxes, and even in this torture I ejaculate over his hand, he remains inside me as he wraps me in a hug, both arms tight around my chest. He is a vice that threatens to break my already blistered skin and battered ribs. He buries his head into the crook of my neck to whisper, "Your Master has spoken and allowed me this pretty little house mouse for my own."
I don't stay around after that. Everything just turns off for a while. The body's gift to the conscious mind. You've had enough now. Yea. I was done. But not before Phelan's words fill my head. …you will understand it deep in your bones. Yea, I understand it. Phelan envelops me, his smell, his touch, his crescendo of moans of pleasure and I am his tool, his meat, his property—only then did I go to the empty place.
Somehow, I become aware as he tucks me in a rough blanket, needles digging into my ravaged back. He sees my eyes cracking open filling with dread not knowing what new torment he plans for me. He lifts me roughly with one hand, the other squeezes my cheeks forcing my mouth open.
"Scurry home mouse, but always remember, you belong to your master who will use this meat as it suits him." He forces his tongue inside and I think I obey but I welcome the blackness and go there for a while…
Zeke ripped out of the suffocating bindings of the memory, escaping not with a gentle release but a violent rent leaving a gaping hole. He tore out back to himself, back to the room, back where he was Zeke and Pete was Pete. Pete's face was slack, empty, his own filled with horror. Both were pale and drenched with sweat, nerves sparked about to ignite. The angel pushed himself to his feet. Brown eyes followed him, scorched in pain, blown wide with despair, and filled with desperate need begging him to return. With an outstretched hand, Pete pleaded, "Zeke?"
The empath didn't have the words or energy to explain. The sensations flooded him beyond his capacity to manage. He couldn't contain the fear, anger, torment that assailed him and staying risked throwing it back like a bolt into the open wound he had left when he yanked away from Burke. Overloaded with the enormity of the revelation, the angel who knew his inability to control the deluge of emotions croaked, "I can't."
He stumbled to the door, and he fled.
Though he had no recall of how he got there or how much time had passed, Zeke found himself flung awkwardly across the couch in his quarters, his wings wilted to the floor. The fury battering against his damaged senses launched in waves from the blond-haired human, fist clenched, threatening like a torrential storm pelting what remained of his shattered defenses.
"What the hell happened, Zeke!? Galen found Pete collapsed on the floor. He said two words, 'Zeke knows.' Now he can't or won't respond!"
Zeke tried to face him—Alan—. He knew it was Alan, but his blue eyes burned, and the face of Phelan taunted him, "…pretty little house mouse…"
"I'm so sorry. He showed me—what that monster did—I don't know how he bore it alone," he rasped through his raw throat choked through unshed tears.
"Is this about Hoffa's Farm? Tell me!" Zeke had never heard Alan yell before. He nodded miserably.
"Zeke, I warned you to stay away from him if you can't handle it because Pete has no choice! The last thing he needed was a kick in the teeth for something he has to live with the rest of his life—. He was assaulted, Zeke! He was tortured then assaulted in the worse way possible and you assaulted him again!
"You dragged him back to where he was the day we found him. He may not have the physical damage, but he has shut down completely just like before. Jed is with him now although I don't think he has the skills for Pete's injuries," the man's voice dropped to a dangerously low timbre. "You threw him in that creature's hands all over again and then you left him!"
"I couldn't… I couldn't stay… It was too much! I can't bear it," the empath slumped unable to explain the anguish that had become his when he endured the experience with their friend.
"Then stay the hell away from him, Zeke. I thought we had a chance to bring him back, really bring him back from that trauma. Not another 'Pete Burke stuffs all the shitty stuff away and pretends it doesn't matter' solution. And if you destroyed that chance…," Alan shook his head, his face strained red as he forced back his exploding rage with the sheer discipline of years of command. Zeke soaked it all in as it diffused through the air buffeting his weakened system. "I mean it, Zeke. Stay away. You'll come through me before I let you harm him again."
Alan spun on his heel and left, his anger trailing behind in an ebbing wake. If the doors in Alba swung instead of slid, Zeke knew he would have slammed it. He felt like his head was caught between the door jamb and the door as white light torched his eyes. He buried his head back in his arms.
"Zeke?" a familiar voice reached him, laying a soothing hand on his bare arm.
The angel gasped raising red-rimmed eyes to Jed's welcomed face. "Ahuvi, you shouldn't be here. This mess I've made… the raw feelings…, " he trailed off. The crackling in his voice caused Jed to brush back his friend's light brown hair caught in the sheen of sweat on his forehead.
"You and me, we've been here before, ahuvi. I think I can weather the storm."
"Pete?!" Zeke sat up abruptly. "You saw him? You took care of him?"
"It's good you sent Galen to check on him," Jed evaded the question. "He found him and immediately called me and Alan." The healer omitted that Burke was crumpled on the floor locked in a fetal position that took a sedative to unclamp.
"I sent Galen?" Zeke's brow rose.
"You don't remember?"
Zeke shook his head. "Is he…? Will he…?"
"Physically, he's stabilized, but Zeke, his problems are not… well, there's not much more I can do." Jed held back the chiding at finding his miracle patient practically catatonic. "Malachi is with him. He sent me here to check on you."
The empath groaned. "Once again the old bird must wade into one of my disasters and clean it up. And this is the worst yet, Jed. What if I've caused permanent damage? What if Pete doesn't recover? How can I live with what I have done?!"
Jed listened sympathetically as he ran the medical sensor over Zeke's head and torso. He remained in healer mode as his friend's emotional state continued to push against him, causing a rising headache of his own. "Your vitals are highly elevated," he pulled the distraught angel up and directed him toward the bedroom and began to pull at the back fasteners of his shirt. "You are going to take a cool shower, take an analgesic, and go to bed."
"Oh, great decision! Let me attempt to destroy the man I love then go hide in a corner," he jerked away turning back to face Jed's raised eyebrow as they entered the room. "I love him, Jed. If I wasn't sure before I know it with everything in me now. How will I ever get him to love me back when he won't want to be in a room with me ever again?!"
Jed gave him a gentle smile. He laid his hand over his chest using his gift to slow his heart, ease the tightness of his muscles. "You know you must stay away from the man you love while you are in this state. And you will find him later when you can explain how being an empath doesn't make you flawless. Before that can happen, you must cleanse yourself of this emotional tirade which means shower, drugs, sleep. What was that phrase Pete said? 'Take two aspirin and call me in the morning.'"
Zeke choked out the words, "Oh, Jed. I fucked this up so badly. I don't deserve either one of you," as he fell into Jed's strong arms.
Hours later, when his front door swished open, Zeke was laying on his bed in the darkened room staring blankly at the ceiling unsuccessfully batting away the recurring images of Pete's prolonged abuse. His body twitched and moaned in shared agony. He tensed hearing Malachi order the computer to engage the light of the living room, which cast a glow onto his bed through the open door. His parent stopped in the doorway blocking the light causing a halo around his form. Zeke sat up on his elbow, his throat constricted.
"Ezekial," the deep voice intoned.
All of his adulthood disappeared in a cloud of wretchedness. Zeke reached out and buckled against the wide chest and into the embrace of his father who crossed the room in moments to catch him. The young man's sobs rode on jagged crests crashing down as his body heaved in uncontrolled misery. The experienced empath braced against the flood of his son's unfiltered emotions which assailed him, directing the rush around them like water flows parting for the rocks before journeying downstream.
"Find yourself, son," he spoke softly guiding him to the first step of his own healing. "Separate what is yours from what is his. You must reestablish your distinct self."
Over the next hour, Malachi traveled with Ezekial back through the tragedy that had become his own when he joined with Pete unprepared for what followed. He sat back, exhausted, his gray wings limp at his back. Thankfully, his time with Zeke used large brush strokes, an artist restoring a canvas to its natural vibrant color. His time earlier with Burke required a surgeon's touch applying meticulous sutures to repair the shreds of emotional damage as if it were lacerated flesh. The healing would be no less painful.
Zeke lay semi-prone on the mattress, his head tucked between his wings resting on the headboard. "I am such a fool," he breathed out. "And because if my foolishness, I have lost everything."
Mal repositioned himself to fully face his son. Time for instruction would come later. Now it would be heard only as recrimination. Instead, he remarked, "You should have told me what you were doing so I could prepare you. You were too close, too emotionally vested to assist in facing such a trauma. Those without our gift cannot fully understand how we absorb their pain, that it becomes a part of us as real in the moment as it is for them. They don't understand that we also need time to grieve, to heal from it. They don't understand that we must carry it from them until it can be safely expended and when we are overwhelmed, we are as much a hazard as a help.
"Peter doesn't understand that you left to protect him. That the pain you took would be given back to him tenfold had you stayed. He only knows that you left. When he laid bare the most heinous assault that he wraps in shame and guilt, you left. He thinks you despise what he sees as his failure, his fault, his weakness, his willingness to accept what was done to him."
"He must hate me."
"He hates himself."
Zeke squeezed his eyes shut, tears brimming beneath the closed lids. "I have to fix this."
"Yes, you do."
Late afternoon in the domed arboretum provided a horizon-to-horizon view of the brilliant blue desert sky streaked with brushed ribbons of thin white clouds. Zeke nodded casually at the few Alban residents he passed as he walked purposefully through the green lined pathways of the extensive gardens. He came to a rock wall with a metal staircase scaling along its surface, taking the steps at a rapid clip. At the top of the stairs, he slipped through a gap in the railing that ran along the edge of the wall onto a flat space stretching about fifteen or twenty feet of open space where the dome met the wall. The angel stopped at the opening, his hand resting loosely on the rail. A few yards down the walkway, a lone human stood with one hand raised above his head pressed against the transparent aluminum of the wall, his dark head leaning on the surface staring out into the landscape of the harsh desert.
Less than a day had passed since Zeke ran from Pete's side. His time with Malachi had eased the angel's distress allowing him to move safely around others without engulfing them into his malaise. In addition to the time his eema had spent with Burke last night, he had given him a couple of hours this afternoon. They would resume their regular sessions to address his on-going recovery for the foreseeable future, but at least he had lifted him from a near comatose state back to the point of functionality. Zeke swallowed hard. He sensed Pete's feelings of loss, sadness, dejection, loneliness even at this distance.
As he approached, Zeke pulled from his memories of Burke the first day he had brought him to this very spot full of elation and excitement and he projected those feelings. Pete lifted his head and glanced in Zeke's direction. For the barest of moments, a smile flickered on his lips before the dour look reinserted itself. The angel was taken back by the dark circles under his eyes, the gaunt look of his cheeks.
"Hi Pete. May I talk to you a minute?"
"It's okay, Zeke. You don't have to say anything. I understand. Not your fault. Mal explained about the emotional overload thing. Why you had to go. Kinda what you get if you're gonna help lug my baggage around," Pete leaned his head against his outstretched arm, his eyes downcast at his foot that kicked at a bolt fastener on the floor.
The angel eased closer with halting steps, "Pete, what happened is my fault. I was pushing you to prove to me that I could trust you—oh, because I had nothing to fear on that score. Whatever it was, no matter how terrible, I could handle it. I could take it all in. You gave me your trust but I stomped all over it."
"Zeke, you deserve someone… else. I'm not worth it."
"Pete," the angel leaned his head down to catch his eye. Pete tilted his head up to meet his gaze. Zeke went on, "You are worth everything and more. You are so strong, so incredibly amazing. All you have lived through, and you still put yourself out there. You put me to shame."
"Zeke, …"
The angel placed his fingers gently over Pete's lips, a mere touch accompanied by a shushing sound before he stroked his cheek. He allowed his hand to drop, staying close but no longer touching him. "Pete, I was terrified and angry and… lost simply watching what you experienced. And despite it all, you still care about others. I didn't even have the strength to care about you and ran to get away from the memory.
"After what I did to you, I don't deserve another chance to be with you but I sure as hell want one if you can forgive me," Zeke pleaded.
"I don't want you to be with me out of pity," Pete grimaced but kept his eyes locked on Zeke's hazel eyes glimmering gold as the setting sun beamed through the dome.
"Oh, good god man, I started falling for you in the medical center when you opened those mesmerizing eyes," he wriggled his fingers at his face, "and you began stroking my wing and asked if that's how we kept the ceilings so clean."
Pete turned crimson. He straightened and moved to face the angel. "I don't remember saying that. I'm sorry."
"Miriam was most apoplectic," Zeke shrugged. "I was smitten."
The young human tried to look away but the angel refused to release the magnetic hold. Pete stammered, "I told you before, I have so many issues. You deserve bet—"
"Pete," Zeke interrupted. He drew near, offering himself by sending an aura of comfort and acceptance and desire. He stood quietly, inviting him. Phelan had forced him. Zeke resolved not to do the same. Pete had to choose.
His heart began to pound in his ears as the two stood frozen, inches apart. After a lifetime of hope, Pete tentatively ran a finger along his lips, hesitated, committed, and started a kiss which Zeke pressed into with passion. He felt his partner stiffen. Zeke stopped, pulled back, but left their lips touching. He waited, nervous, his eyes closed.
Pete's hands moved to Zeke's hips, cautious. He rejoined the kiss. Zeke responded more gently following Pete's pace. When Pete pulled away, his grip tight at the angel's waist, Zeke lay one hand around his neck pulling their foreheads together.
"Pete, what you lived through, what you had to face—you will never be alone in that moment again," Zeke pronounced, his throat tightening but conveying his promise. "Whenever the memories, the feelings, the torments come, know that I am with you, and we will face it together."
"What a pair we make," Pete breathed softly. "I don't wanna talk about it and you won't shut up."
Zeke grinned but he felt the tremors under his hand, sensed Pete's watery knees, and pulled his friend to the floor directing him to rest, leaning against the dome and gestured toward the sky. "We can just sit," he whispered. Again, he left him space to decide. The angel's face beamed when Pete allowed their shoulders to touch, then leaned against him. Zeke gently lay his arm across his shoulders, their heads together. They absorbed the spectacle of the sunset painting the clouds a vibrant red, orange and pink as the sky paled to a soft gray that deepened to an indigo with pinpoints of light pricking the growing darkness filling the quiet until Pete's stomach rumbled.
He lay his hand over the offending body part chuckling, "I wasn't up to eating today and don't know where it's coming from, but I smell cinnamon. Just realized I'm famished."
Zeke blushed unseen in the dim light, his wings wriggling shyly. "Would you let me walk you back to your quarters?"
"Sure."
As they moved onto the lift, their hands brushed causing a desirous chill to run through Zeke but he continued to let Pete lead. When they reached his quarters, Pete opened the door, and they both stood outside looking in.
"I guess I need to let you get something to eat. Sounds like you have a busted piston in there," Zeke teased.
"Umm, I still have a skillet and I grill a pretty mean 'burger," Pete offered, "if you wanna try one."
Zeke nodded and followed him in. "I'd like that. Besides," he sheepishly admitted, "after yesterday, Jed and Malachi chewed me up and spit me out. Alan threatened to nail my wings to his wall, and Galen won't talk to me. I could use the company."
When it came time for Zeke to go, he rose from the sofa where they had been chatting. Pete grabbed his wrist reminding Zeke of the time in the Medical Center after helping Pete restore some of his memories that the handsome astronaut had expressed interest in his company.
"Don't go," Pete met his gaze. "Please. Stay."
"If you want me here," Zeke didn't stop himself from lifting his other hand brushing gently at his thick, curly hair, "I'll stay."
Pete lowered his eyes, hesitation gripped him, but the words leaked out as Zeke both felt and sensed his trembles. Pete visibly shivered as his voice shook, "I want this, Zeke. I do. But I can't—not yet. Can you just hold me and let me hold you?"
"As long as you'll have me," Zeke promised. Using the grip Pete had around his wrist, he pulled him to his feet, wrapped his arms around him and held him tight, his head nestled in his neck. Pete guided him to the bed, where they stretched out, Zeke at Pete's back, arms around his chest. Pete placed his arms atop Zeke's and leaned back, letting some his pain as well as the feelings of his desire to be with him, to be together flow into him. In turn, Zeke projected safety and warmth and the same desire to be with him, no demands, just together. One wing folded down to cover them both.
In moments, Pete, exhausted, drifted asleep as a lone tear ran down Zeke's cheek. He pulled him closer burying his face into his dark curls.
"Good-night, Ahuvi," he whispered, discovering the word belonged in this place, nestled between them.
END