Fulton's POV:

With a kind of wry envy, Hazel realized that Bigwig was actually looking forward to meeting the Efrafan assault. He knew he could fight and he meant to show it. He was not thinking of anything else. The hopelessness of their chances had no important place in his thoughts. Even the sound of the digging, clearer already, only set him thinking of the best way to sell his life as dearly as he could.

"Fult?"

I looked up from the book I was reading at the sound of Portman's voice. This must be love, I thought to myself, nothing else would be able to drag me away from the beautiful world I had been lost in moments ago.

"Mmm-hmm?"

"I'm bored. Talk to me."

I had to smile. I had read Watership Down more times than I could count, and I never seemed to tire of it. Bigwig had always been my favourite character, and I had finally figured out why: he was Portman, inside and out. Big, strong, loyal, brave, outspoken, highly impatient and with a natural dislike for authority. It was uncanny really, and when I looked at it like that, I began to see similarities between many of the Ducks and the characters in the book. Charlie was Hazel, the leader, Averman was Bluebell the joker, Banks was Fiver, even down to his frequent injuries and closeness to Hazel, while Kenny could be little Pipkin and Julie, the confident Hyzenthlay. Luis had Dandelion's speed, and Dwayne was like Hawkbit, kind, but a little slow. Who was I, I wondered. Blackberry? Buckthorn? Blackavar? None of them fit me very well. Typical.

"What do you want to talk about?" I asked, marking my page and tossing the book aside as I sat up on the bed and turned to face Portman.

"I dunno. Whatcha reading?"

"Watership Down."

"Again? How can you read a book more than...wait a minute. That's not the one about the rabbits, is it?"

I grinned. "Yeah, it's one of my favourites. There's this rabbit named Bigwig who's just like you--"

He looked at me with a mixture of both mock and genuine condescension. "Do the rabbits wear clothes and drive cars and go to the mall?"

"Of course not! They...oh never mind. Are you done your math?"

"Yeah."

"Liar. Need any help?"

He stared at me for a moment, then looked down and shook his head in a way that struck me as slightly odd.

"You alright?"

He shook his head again, as if to clear it, and when he met my eyes he was normal again, and I figured I must have imagined that last part. "Course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"

He was right. Our lives had certainly been altered in the past little while, but not nearly as much as I had expected. After Adam and Charlie came out to the Ducks, I had been worried that it wouldn't ever be normal between us again, but it didn't seem to be working out like that at all. The first practice had been pretty weird, but it was all stares and whispers and awkwardness, and even though it was the least we could have expected, I could tell Charlie was hurt. Banksie on the other hand, had seemed pleasantly surprised by the benignity of it all. Dwayne still didn't seem to have a firm grasp on the situation and Luis didn't say a word to any of us, but that was fine with me.

The first game after the announcement could have gone better, it was very uneasy, pretty low energy and no one played very well. Luckily it was against a terrible team and we still squeaked by with a win. The interesting part came afterwards, when Luis approached Adam and Charlie in the locker room. He kept shifting his weight and wouldn't look them in the eye as he said that all his friends and family disliked gays, but that he'd never actually known any until now, and that he'd found himself unable to hate either Charlie or Adam once the initial shock had worn off. He apologized for his behaviour and said that he would be able to get used to them being gay just so long as they didn't start making out in the locker room or anything. They both promised they wouldn't, and after that, things had been pretty much okay. It was still weird, but each time we had a practice or a game, everyone got a little more relaxed. I think some of the Ducks had been waiting for Charlie or Adam to start "acting gay," and when they didn't, they began to forget about it. Goldberg even made a crack about dropping soap in the showers, and though it was dismally unfunny, I took it as a sign that he was getting used to the idea.

After the crazy locker room celebration, Kenny had begun to hang out with the seven of us, and I secretly thought that he was greatly responsible for helping to turn the tide of feeling against Adam and Charlie. Certainly he had helped with Luis, and I had seen him talking seriously to some of the other Ducks as well. I was especially happy with this development; I had always really like Kenny, and now it seemed I was going to have the chance to get to know him better.

As for Portman and I, it was unreal how seamlessly we had carried our relationship to the next level. There was no awkwardness or uncertainty, just a feeling that this was right, more right than anything had ever been; he filled a hole in my life that had been there for so long I'd almost forgotten about it. It had been over three weeks since the Trail of Dead weekend, and now Christmas break was only a few days away. In that time we'd told no one about us, and if anyone suspected, I was oblivious. This was however, entirely possible, as I had been oblivious to pretty much everything besides Portman. The past few weeks had been a dream from which I had been awakened only briefly and occasionally by hockey and the whole coming out debacle. Portman and I seemed to be having a hard time going through the motions of a regular day-to-day life. We had missed an obscene number of classes and broken an even more obscene number of curfews because of our need to spend time alone together, but wasn't that the way it was supposed to be? Portman had drawn an amusing parallel between us and that '80's song, I Think We're Alone Now, and while I hated the song, I had to admit I found the comparison strangely apt.

"So, you wanna go home for Christmas or head up north with Banksie and the others?" Portman asked, breaking the silence.

Adam's parents were embarking on a month-long Arctic cruise, and had told Banksie that he and "a few friends" could spend the holidays in their hunting lodge upstate, as a reward for leading the league in goals while keeping an A average. Adam hadn't asked for clarification on the definition of "a few friends," and since his parents hadn't offered any, he had invited the seven of us, including Kenny, our newest acquisition, to come along.

"I dunno man, sounds like fun, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, and I'm dying to see what an actual hunting lodge looks like. Do you think it'll have a big fireplace with antlers and shit on the walls?"

"Probably, maybe even some moose heads too. Bunch of savages. What's with rich people and killing things, anyway? So you want to go?"

"Well..." his voice trailed off and I could tell he was thinking about the same thing I was. None of our friends knew about us yet, and so we'd have to keep it platonic if we came along. Given the current state of affairs, however, I'd say we stood a better chance of walking on water.

"We could tell them, I suppose."

"Yeah. I mean, we'll have to sooner or later, right?"

"Right. I just don't want it to be the sole topic of discussion for the entire trip."

"Me too."

I wondered why we were waiting so long to tell the others. Given what we'd said to Charlie and Adam, I felt a bit hypocritical. At first we'd held off until after those two came out because we figured if it didn't go over well we'd be in a better position to patch things up, but now that that excuse was gone and we still hadn't said anything, I figured a re-assessment of the situation was in order. Part of the reason I was reluctant to come out was the idea of everyone staring at us like they did with Charlie and Adam. That sort of thing made me real uncomfortable. I couldn't imagine it bothering Portman though, in fact, he might enjoy it. I hoped he wasn't holding back for my sake, so I asked him.

"Are you kidding? Of course not!" he cried.

Methinks the lady doth protest too much. "You're sure? Cause if you want to tell people--"

"I do want to tell people, but I'm not sure if I want to just yet. I mean, it'll be different for us. We're the Bash Brothers."

He was right, and he had hit on the second reason for my wanting to keep quiet for a little while longer. The stigma associated with being a Bash Brother was considerable, and I was having too much fun to want to have to deal with the repercussions of that right now.

"Do you think Banks and Charlie have told their parents yet?" Portman asked thoughtfully.

"No way. You think Banksie's dad would let him spend two weeks in a remote cabin with a boy he knew his son was dating?"

"Yeah, you're right. So what do you think about telling our parents?"

I had thought about this at length, and while I wasn't sure the answer I had come up with would satisfy my better half, I decided to give it a go. "To be honest, I don't really care either way."

"What do you mean?"

"It doesn't really matter to me if my parents know I'm gay. Not like the Ducks; I care what they think and eventually I'll want to sit down with them and discuss it, but my parents...But listen man, if it means anything to you, I'll totally tell them," I finished quickly.

"No, it's alright. I think I get what you mean, too."

"How about your mom, you wanna tell her? How do you think she'll react?"

"I dunno, I don't think she'd care that much unless her boyfriend did, and I'm with you, I don't really care either. So, does that mean we tell them or we don't?"

I smiled. "I think it means that we don't tell them, but we don't go to any great lengths to hide it from them, because if they found out, no one would give a shit."

"You're saying your father wouldn't care if he found out?"

"No, he'd care, it's just that I wouldn't care about how much he cared." Funny how if you use a word too much, it loses its meaning. Care. Strange.

"Really? Wouldn't it be hard not to care when he's beating the shit out of you?"

I laughed, then saw Portman's serious look and stopped. "I guess. So we won't tell my dad. He's not very observant, so we won't need to worry about him finding out on his own."

"Fult, your dad--"

"--is an asshole, I know, but I'm stuck with him, so why worry about it?"

Portman frowned, and I knew he wanted to talk about this some more, but what was I going to do, spend the night crying on his shoulder about every bad thing that's happened to me since I was two? Ick.

Portman thinks that since I don't talk about things, I suffer silently. The truth is that I never talk about stuff like that because I never think about it. Well, almost never. I think it's pointless dredging up unpleasant things so you can bitch and moan about them. I mean, what does that change? Who does it help? It does nothing but make me feel extremely uncomfortable, no matter who I'm talking to, and it has a tendency to open the floodgates, inundating me with unhappy memories I'd rather forget. The trouble is, I can't forget. I remember everything, and while the anger or hurt or whatever fades away, the memory does not. It just tucks itself away in the recesses of my mind, waiting for me to be stupid enough to take it out and relive it, and why the hell would I want to do a thing like that? It's not like I'm desperately repressing memories on a daily basis, I just think that when something bad happens, you deal, you get over it, you move on and you never, ever dwell. I knew I should tell all this to Portman sometime soon. I mean, he deserved to know, but it didn't have to be today, right?

Portman smiled at my words, but it was a rueful little smile. "Okay, we'll come back to that one. So, is anything that occurred over a year ago off- limits with you?"

"What do you mean?" Great, play the ignorance card.

"Oh come on Fult, you never talk about anything that happened before I met you, except for a couple of Duck stories."

"That's because nothing much happened." Fulton, you're an asshole, he deserves better than this.

"But I want to know about the nothing, don't you see? I want to know everything about you, what you were like, what you did, what you felt, everything. I finally had to pump Charlie for information, but I want more, and I want to hear it from you."

I sighed. I had been expecting this. "Look, there really isn't much to tell. My life began with D5. I was nothing before them, just some big quiet kid in the back of the classroom. I didn't hang out much with other kids, I was by myself all the time. All I ever really did was read and shoot pucks in the alley."

"Yeah, Charlie told me about that. Was it like you do now, with a suitcase and stuff?"

"Yeah, since I was eight. It just felt real good, so I kept doing it, and then the Ducks came along and changed everything." Damnit Fulton, if you want to keep him, you'd better give him something better than that. And then I had it. I stood up and grabbed his arm. "Come on."

I led him down the hallway and across the football field until we reached the forest that bordered the entire left side of the school grounds. "If you want to know me, then know that while I may not always be forthcoming about certain things, I will never lie to you," I said as I began to push through the dense foliage that obscured a thin, winding, barely visible path. "If you really want to know something about me, ask, and I promise I will always tell the truth, no matter what. Just don't expect me to provide you with it on my own, because no offense, but I really hate that shit. I understand why you want to know though, and you deserve at least that much. Okay, we're here."

Here was a clearing of sorts that ran alongside a large pond, or small bog, depending on how you wanted to look at it. The air here was cool, and the ground was soft and damp. A jay scolded us from overhead and a little brown squirrel darted past and disappeared into the underbrush, but aside from that, we were alone.

I led Portman closer to the muddy bank that sloped down to the water's edge on a steep incline. A gnarled old oak tree grew right on the edge, many of its roots poking out of the cliff face of dark earth leading to the water. The tree had grown strangely. Hardly upright, it stood nearly 45 degrees from the vertical, so most of it hung out over the water.

I began to climb the tree, and Portman followed easily. Even though there were no low branches, it grew at such a strange angle that you could almost walk up it like a ramp. The bark was rough beneath my skin, and my hands were soon sticky from the sap as I crawled out onto a thick branch running roughly parallel to the ground, leaving room behind me for Portman before sitting down, my legs dangling over the still, murky waters of the pond.

It wasn't your typical cigarette ad nature scene, but I loved it. Everything was dark and damp. Marshy reeds lined the muddy banks and I thought I saw a wood duck peeking out from between a thick clump of them. As my eyes adjusted to the dark I could make out water bugs skimming the pond's surface, navigating between the dead sticks and leaves that floated everywhere, and I could hear the sounds of the bullfrogs beginning their nighttime chorus lines. Long strands of moss that draped like curtains from the branches of the trees were illuminated from behind by the glow of a crescent moon.

Without turning around I spoke. "I came here every day when you were gone. I'd bring stale bread I snaked from the cafeteria to feed the ducks and squirrels, and I'd just sit here for hours and think about stuff. I tried to figure out why I missed you so much. See, before you came along, hockey and the Ducks were all I needed. But you changed that, and when you left I realized that I couldn't unchange it. It wasn't enough for me anymore. I needed you then, just like I need you now. It scares me sometimes that I can't seem to live without you. It's dangerous to feel like that, I know, but I can't help it because I--"

"I love you," he broke in, then looked at me apologetically. "Sorry, I just wanted to say it first."

I turned to face him then. The moon cast thin wobbly shadows from the tree branches across his face. "I love you, too."

His smile seemed to leap off his face, and I was so happy I nearly shook. "You know, I always thought I'd have a hard time saying that. I thought I'd either say it and not mean it, or not be able to say it at all, or something. But I knew I loved you before we even kissed, so it's different somehow. It's easy. I love you, Fulton Reed. See? I love you, you beautiful little hockey goon genius with a violent streak. I love you."

I reached out my arms for him at the same time that he leant forward to kiss me. I knocked him in the face with my hand and he lost his balance. I grabbed his shoulder to steady him, but it was too late, and we both plunged into the pond.

The fall wasn't far, but when I tried to stand up, I found the water was too deep. I couldn't swim, so I tried to relax and lie flat, but I kept sinking and swallowing water. I could hear Portman splashing around, but I couldn't see him as I tried unsuccessfully to tread water. When Portman grabbed me under the arms and hauled me over to the bank, I was grateful for the darkness, so he couldn't see me blushing in embarrassment.

We scrambled out of the water and up the bank with some difficulty, and sat on the ground for a moment to catch our breath and laugh at the folly of it all.

"My, that was romantic," Portman chuckled.

"Oh yeah, straight out of a Meg Ryan movie. Next time we'll try it without clothes."

"First you'll have to learn how to swim, loser," he said as he stood up and helped me to my feet. "Drowning in that nasty swamp would be pretty pathetic."

"What do you mean, nasty swamp?" I cried indignantly as I followed him back out of the forest.

"Oh, I'm sorry, was I unclear? I mean that swamp you dragged me to was dirty and gross."

"I'd take a look at yourself before you go making snap judgments about picturesque little ponds."

"Exactly, I'm filthy, and it was your stupid swamp that got me like this."

"It's not a swamp, it's a pond, and you're saying it had nothing to do with you being so overwhelmed by my charms that you fell head over heels?"

"In your dreams, queerboy!"

"Ah, yes, in my dreams. Nice wet ones where you're wearing a leather--"

"Aaahhh! You're disgusting!"

"Does this mean you don't love me anymore?"

"Yes! Yes! God yes, I take it back!"

And so it continued as we returned to our dorm. We stripped off our soaking clothes and shoes and took a quick shower together before tossing everything in the bathtub. The laundry could wait until morning. I came out of the bathroom after dumping our muddy clothes to see him standing in the middle of the room, looking at me mischievously. "Why Dean Portman, you're not wearing any clothes!" I cried in mock shock.

"Neither are you."

I looked down at myself and feigned surprise. "I guess I'm not. My my, what are you going to do with me?"

"Kiss you," he said, moving in and taking me in his arms. And kiss me he did. He started with the top of my head and began to work his way down, kissing my forehead, nose, lips, neck, nipples, bellybutton. Down, down, down. When he was done he pulled me down to the floor of our dorm and an hour or so later we were laughing at our carpet burns.

*My readers may have noticed my reference to some of the Ducks spending Christmas break at Banks' hunting lodge. I know that this has been done countless times before, and by better writers than I, but it's a highly tempting opportunity to get some things out in the open quickly and easily while exploring the group dynamic. I am shamed to say that I even have plans for a game of truth or dare. If anyone thinks this is a tired, cliched cop-out, kindly let me know within a week or so, which will give me time to find a new setting for the next installment, otherwise I will probably go ahead as planned, though I will do my best not to cover the same ground as all the others who have gone before me. Kudos to quimby for picking up on my little nod to spiders in the last chapter; it's always gratifying to know that someone notices the little touches I'm fond of tossing in.*