* * *

It took a long moment for his not yet fully conscious mind to process what his senses were registering. Strange shadows shifting on an unfamiliar ceiling, odd tickings and hums that set his nerves on fire, the unusual comfort of the bed he lay upon all piled atop one another to increase the feeling of terror the dream he'd awoken from had inspired.

"Crap," he muttered softly, and very nearly jumped out of his skin as something next to him moved. Reality slammed forcefully into him and he could suddenly feel his heart racing in his chest, the sweat lying heavy upon his skin, dampening his hair and the sheets coiled low at his waist. He could now feel the warm body his hand was resting upon, the slight movement as she breathed, the air blowing gently along his ribs.

Lifting his head, sight confirmed what memory was now telling him, as he saw the wild curls of Michele, who lay with her cheek pressed against his side, grumbling softly. He stroked her back gently until she quieted, not wanting his late night wakefulness to disturb her sleep. He shivered in the cool air of the room, 'Chele's warm, familiar presence was not providing the comfort he had hoped.

One last caress and he slid out from under the covers to stand beside the bed gazing down at her. She shifted slightly, as if looking for him even in her sleep, then settled back into a deeper slumber, one far less likely to be disturbed by his inability to remain blissfully unconscious.

He turned away to look about for his pants in the still unfamiliar darkness of the room and found them lying on the floor halfway between the sofa and the bed. Even the reminder of Michele's impatience wasn't enough to chase away the memories, to negate the effects of the dream that took that past event and twisted it, added to it, warped it into something that was nearly as bad as the reality. No matter how bad the dreams sometimes got, the reality was always worse.

She'd left the blinds up, though given how distracted she'd been when heading to bed it was more than understandable. Then again, she might very well leave them up all the time, or had simply figured he'd prefer some ambient light if he awoke during the night. Stumbling about in a pitch-black room was never fun and far worse when you had yet to learn all the quirks and hazards of the place.

Darien pulled his pants on and then wandered almost blindly to the nearest window and leaned his head against the thick glass to stare down at the street below. The few cars driving down the street and pedestrians strolling along the sidewalks gave him a hint as to the hour without the need of finding a clock. Given his "night" job he knew the pulse of the city extremely well after dark, especially those long, silent hours after midnight.

Part of him had known that getting out would not erase what happened, but he'd been hoping that without those gray stone walls about him that it would lessen its grip on him and not tighten it even further. As unintentional as they had been, stray comments from 'Chele as well as her choice of ... position for sex had only triggered the memory over and over all of this long day. With a ragged sigh born of frustration and pain he cracked open that tightly locked door in his mind and let himself remember in hopes of one day being able to forget.

He'd been in three months when it had happened. Not being the fool many seemed to think, he'd quickly discerned the pecking order inside and noted who to stay away from, who not to piss off and who was, comparatively, safe. With some fast-talking and a few self-defense moves 'Chele had taught him over the years, including one he'd nicknamed the Vulcan Nerve pinch, he'd established himself somewhere in the middle of the pack. High enough that he didn't have to put up with crap with the obvious outsiders and low enough to go unnoticed by those at the top of the food chain. Minimum security wing or not, RJD was populated with more than enough bad-asses and hard core criminals, some of which Darien had encountered over the years. His life outside was an odd study of contrasts as he dealt with both the rich and powerful through his job and Michele and the seamy underbelly of the lawless in the great city of San Diego.

He'd been approached and challenged on several occasions, but he'd always succeeded in achieving at least a draw. The few gangs that controlled most of what occurred inside didn't seem to care about him so long as he stayed out of their business, which he was more than happy to do.

Still, he'd managed to piss off a couple of jerks on the rung just below him and they bullied a couple others into administering a little jailhouse justice on Darien. And he, sure that he could skate through his time without a problem, never got the slightest inkling he was in trouble ahead of time.

Darien had been in the midst of that ever-cliched shower, the communal room far quieter than normal, lacking the usual male activities, not the least of which was the inevitable release of sexual tension. The comparative quiet had lulled him into a sense of foolish security and he failed to react when the room suddenly cleared out leaving him alone.

He'd been lathering up his hair with his eyes closed when strong hands grabbed him from behind, one covering his mouth and keeping him from shouting in alarm. Dragged into the furthest corner of the sterilely tiled shower, he was forced to his hands and knees, harsh laughter and raw sexual commentary shocking him even as he struggled to get away, some still innocent and naive part of him unable to comprehend what was happening.

Darien managed to get in a few blows and received his share as well, but in the end the foursome succeeded in getting him in the position they wanted. He very nearly bit through one of the fingers of the hand covering his mouth when the first ... penetration occurred, the pain was so severe.

He'd been lucky, though, the party has been broken up just seconds later by guards looking for one of his attackers. Darien had been sent to the infirmary to treat his bruises, the bastards covering quickly by saying it was nothing but a little disagreement that resulted in a shoving match and Darien hitting his head against the wall to account for the impressive swelling his cheek was already showing. No mention was made by the prison guards about the bruises on his ribs and arms... or the blood.

The doc who examined him knew better and treated his less obvious injuries with a surprising gentleness and assured Darien that the damage was minor and that he'd heal quickly.

'Heal quickly?' Darien thought as he momentarily swam back up from the depths of the memory. 'Physically, maybe. But emotionally?'

Darien had been ten times as careful the remainder of his incarceration, had faced down the four on other occasions and eventually convinced them to leave him alone by making alliances with a couple of the top dogs inside. He'd done favors for them and they kept him from getting jumped and passed around as a play toy. His skill at picking pockets and lifting stuff unnoticed, by even the most observant of inmates or guards, kept his virtue intact the for rest of his stay.

Shuddering, he refocused on the late night cityscape that lay outside the window.

"Bad?" a quiet voice behind him asked.

Darien didn't even bother to flinch; not really surprised that Michele had awoken and noticed him standing silent in the dark. "What makes you ask that?" He didn't even turn to look at her; instead choosing to try to stare at his own shadowed reflection in the glass.

"Darien, don't you think I noticed the way you reacted to some of the things I said today? You may have perfected the broody look, but even you don't get this upset over minor crap," Michele whispered hoarsely.

"You have no idea... can't possibly understand." Darien's voice was tight with frustration, so he was shocked at her derisive chuckle.

"Darien, I am the one person who would understand. Jess, remember?" She tried to keep the reminder gentle, but the bitter undertone was audible to Darien's ears.

With a sigh, his posture relaxed, shoulders slumping as he acknowledged the truth of her statement. She was indeed the one person who might understand; who might not see him as something to pity or be disgusted by. He felt her hand on his back then, making him shudder slightly as long pent up emotions sought some means of release.

"As you told me many, many times, dear one, it'll get better." 'Chele was plainly subdued, his mood affecting hers.

"Is it that obvious?" He was suddenly concerned that everyone he'd meet would see the horror of what had happened to him written across his face or revealed by his eyes.

Her hand stroked up and down, her fingers leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. "Only to those who know you very well. I'm sorry about what I said, it wasn't intended to cause you pain."

At the desperate sadness in her voice he turned about to see her standing there with the sheet from the bed wrapped about her and trailing along the floor behind her, a pool of inky black against the wood of the floor. She was apparently fully aware of his current discomfort with being naked. Her eyes echoed the hurt that he knew she could see in his own. "You had no way of knowing what ... happened." He was shocked at how difficult it was to say those words, to admit it aloud to someone.

She moved no closer, though her hand remained resting lightly on his back, giving him both the space he needed and the limited amount of comfort he was willing to accept at the moment. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asked tentatively.

He froze and was willing to bet his was doing a remarkable impression of a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming semi truck. He shook his head violently. "I don't think I can. I'm not like you, y'know." His final words were harsh, but she didn't seem to notice.

Michele's hand dropped to her side. "It won't change how I feel about you," she stated simply. "If you choose to never tell me, I'll still be your friend. I'll still do everything in my power to help you through this."

"Michele..." His voice was choked with emotion. "I just... Thank you."

'Chele waited patiently while he fought the conflicting needs for comfort and fear of her rejecting him no matter what she might say. Finally the simple fact that she was his friend and had stood by him through anything and everything for so many years won out. He went to her, set his hands on her shoulders and leaned his head down to rest atop hers. Her arms came up to wrap about his waist, which was actually successful in providing some measure of comfort.

"Do the nightmares ever go away?"

"No," she answered, surprising him. "But they do get easier to deal with and eventually come less often." She paused to take a deep breath as if being haunted by the ghosts of her past. "I still dream about Jess; it just doesn't affect me like it used to."

That was not what he wanted to hear, to know that even if he could block the memory while awake that his sleeping mind would be sure to dredge it up in all its Technicolor glory. His hands curled into her hair, his eyes closing as a tiny whimper escaped from him.

It was several long minutes before he calmed enough to stop shaking in reaction. He was so damn tired he couldn't think straight any longer. He'd not had a normal night's sleep since it had happened and he wasn't sure he ever would again.

"Come on, you need to sleep."

He stiffened even as her hands slid upwards to wrap loosely about his neck, fingers playing with the hair in the back.

"'Chele, I don't think I can," he admitted reluctantly, lifting his head so he could look down at her.

Stepping away from him, her fingers trailed down his arms and grasped his hands, tugging gently as she backed towards the bed in a somber version of the activities of earlier. Darien dragged his feet this time, his enthusiasm to be in her bed dampened, which she noticed. She took the time to straighten up the bedclothes before crawling back under the covers, placing the sheet she'd been wearing once again back where it belonged. Her nude body didn't inspire more than a flicker of the reaction it usually did, which proved the depths of his current discomfiture.

She waved for him to join her and he shed the jeans and lay down on one side of the bed, making sure not to get too close to her.

Rolling on her side, she gave him a small smile. "Get over here, you. I want to cuddle."

Darien angled his head to look at her, unable to return the smile, unable to find the strength to move the few inches necessary to be at her side. He just barely kept from flinching when she reached out to run her fingers through his hair. "I don't know how you did it, how you got through it." He shuddered and she drew the covers up a bit more.

"The same way you are, day by day. Plus, I had someone there for me. Someone willing to hold me together when I couldn't," 'Chele said in a soft voice.

Darien shook his head. "That's not what I meant. I... knew what I was risking, knew I might not get out in one piece." He raised himself up and moved closer to her. He wanted to feel the warmth of her body against his chilled one, wanted her to make it all go away even though he knew she couldn't.... wanted that feeling of fearlessness that had always burned so brightly inside him back.

"Dare?" she questioned with a sigh as he rubbed her cheek with his, noting the roughness of the stubble against her skin. "Ack, sandpaper," she groused quietly, her tone only semi-serious.

"Ah, Truth, don't know how well that nick fits anymore. I'm not exactly feeling all that daring these days." He kissed her and then settled with his head resting on her chest, hers tipping down to lay against the top of his head. "It... R...r..rape," He hated that he stuttered so badly on that word. "is meant to break a person. I ... I get that now. From an enemy it's bad enough, but from a friend... I don't know how you did it. How you deal with it."

The slow thudding rhythm he could hear suddenly skipped a beat, then seemed to treble in speed at his words. "Jessup scares me, Dare, more than you can ever imagine, but not because he betrayed me, not because he raped me. He did the one thing few others have, at least on such a grand scale. He changed me, profoundly, and I hate and fear him for that."

The dark subtle terror in her voice was audible, flowed from her tense posture like black treacle. Darien knew the truth of her words, had watched her struggle for months as she tried to find herself, tried to find Michele, who had become so very lost in the fear and pain that one vicious act, inflicted upon her for no visible reason, had caused. "I know, baby, but it didn't change how your real friends felt about you."

She took a deep breath and released it slowly, the beat returning to something near normal. "Ah, but the way I saw them had changed. And I had never been overly naive about the realities of the world. You will always be my Dare." Her hand moved to rest on the back of his neck, her fingers trailing through the hair in a way that was quite pleasant. "Truth or dare?"

"Truth," he responded uncharacteristically, and he could feel her surprise at his choice.

"Has it changed you?"

He borrowed her word to answer, "Profoundly."

She sighed deeply, her breath warming his scalp. "How?"

One word, but heavily laden with possible meanings. He took a moment to think, to look at himself both before and after the events in question, but still responded with the only answer he could at the moment. "I don't know."

He yawned then, her presence and the gentle movements of her hands calming and relaxing him. For the first time in months he felt he might be able to sleep without having to jerk awake at every little sound, without having to be alert for anyone looking for some payback. Dreams were another issue entirely.

"Sleep, D, I'll keep the dreams away." She kissed the top of his head and then began to hum softly.

"'Chele," he mumbled, exhaustion taking hold, but wanting to ask her if she'd stand by him while he tried to muddle his way through.

"Whatever you need, my love. Whatever you need."

And on those words Darien slipped under and into the waiting arms of the Sandman.

The sound of humming was the first thing that registered upon his mind, the same languid tune he'd fallen asleep to during the early morning hours. He realized with some amusement that it was also what she'd been humming during that one particular sexual act, which caused an immediate response with a certain part of his anatomy. Touch kicked in next; naked skin pressed against naked skin, the soft cotton of the covers lying across his body and providing additional heat retention, the temperature change occurring about mid-chest. The comparatively cool air of the room caused his nipples to tighten in reaction. One of his legs was draped across hers, his arms wrapped loosely about her torso, the one underneath her miraculously having retained blood flow and still usable. Her fingers still stroked through his hair, still soothing away the harsher images his mind often dredged up these days.

For a change he felt completely rested; what few dreams he remembered had been far more innocuous that those he'd become used to. Opening his eyes, he was greeted with dual views, both of which he'd gladly wake up to for months to come. First was the bright blue sky he could see out her windows, clear and unfettered from even a wisp of cloud. What direct sunlight that streamed in the window was angled away from the bed and brightened the room without being glaring. Second was the swell of the breast he lay near, smooth tanned skin and peaked nipple greeting him to another day.

Shifting, he kissed the curve of flesh and mumbled, "Good mornin'."

'Chele chuckled softly. "Almost afternoon, bub."

Darien groaned. "Of what day, is the question."

"Thursday," she responded, nuzzling the top of his head. "Why?"

He moved his hand to idly stroke the breast he was still observing. He was awake and aroused, but not feeling any great rush or need for sex. "I'm not late, then. Have a meeting with my parole officer bright and early tomorrow." he explained.

"Mmmmm," she commented effusively. "Wouldn't wan' ya to miss that."

Her words came out slurred and Darien lifted his head to look at her. She had dark circles under eyes that were verging on bloodshot, yet she was smiling at him. "You didn't sleep?" he asked as the realization sank in.

She shook her head. "Nope. Said I'd keep your nasty dreams away. Can't do that while unconscious." One hand slipped around to rest against his stubble-roughened cheek, fingers tracing along his lips, which made him close his eyes and sigh in contentment.

For all he wanted to admonish her for staying awake while he slept, he knew he'd needed the peace, needed the chance to sleep like a human being again and not like the caged animal he'd all but become while in prison. So he opened his eyes and simply said, "Thank you."

"Welcome," she replied, then grimaced.

Darien realized then that the long night had caused her more than just a few hours of lost sleep. "Gave yourself a migraine, didn't you?"

"'Fraid so, but it was worth it. You needed a peaceful night's rest." she insisted, making it plain she was not going to have him feeling guilty over it.

"Yeah, I did," he agreed, then leaned in to kiss her lightly on the forehead. "Tell you what, you take your meds and crawl back into bed and, if you'll let me borrow your Jeep, I'll hit Ralph's to get us something other than cold Chinese to eat."

"Sounds like an excellent plan to me," she said as she wrapped her hands about his neck and drew him close. "And if it weren't for the fact my head is currently sponsoring an elephant tap-dancing lesson I'd take complete advantage of your wakefulness." She shifted her leg against him so that he understood exactly what she was talking about.

Darien snickered. "'S'alright, I'll let you take advantage of me later." Untangling himself from her hold, he slipped off the bed, nowhere near used to this 18 inch off the floor futon. He helped her up and held her steady once she was upright, the headache smacking her a good one as the blood flow shifted from horizontal to vertical. "Damn, really bad one ain't it?"

"Uh-huh," she whimpered, then staggered forward towards the bathroom door with Darien following her to make sure she made it in one piece and didn't pass out from the pain. He'd seen her do that a couple times when she'd waited too long to take her meds. Even with all her reassurances over the years that she was fine, her headaches still frightened him and he lived with the underlying fear she would one day drop dead in his presence because of them.

Michele headed for the linen closet and pulled out her small black kit bag, carried it to the dressing table in the generous closet and began prepping a syringe. That told him that the headache was extreme, as she usually preferred taking the pills to poking herself with needles. Sitting on the chair, she attempted to get the strip of rubber tubing about her upper arm, but with no success. Her hands were shaking too hard at this point.

Crouching next to her, he took the tourniquet from her. "Let me."

She held out her right arm and he got it wrapped about her biceps with a practiced efficiency. This wasn't the first time he'd helped her with this. Ripping open one of the small square packets, he used the alcohol wipe inside to swab down the crook of her elbow. Knowing she couldn't give herself the shot easily at the moment he lifted the syringe and prepared to do it for her. He'd lost a few friends over the years to so-called recreational drugs, which had caused this deep-seated dislike for drug dealers and drugs in general. He had avoided that path even though he could easily have strode down it given some of the people he'd met, interacted and worked with over the years while thieving.

Almost as if she knew what was rolling through his mind 'Chele said hoarsely, "I can manage, Darien."

"I'm good," he replied even as he slid the needle into the vein bulging out conveniently, almost as if demanding the clear liquid in the syringe he held. He depressed the plunger slowly and the drug made its way into her system, causing her to groan in reaction. She'd explained years ago that the stuff might work to counter the cause of her migraines, but that didn't mean its effects were the least bit enjoyable.

She hissed as he withdrew the needle, untied the tubing and set both on the dressing table, knowing what was coming next. Her entire body stiffened in reaction to the drug, her pupils dilating wildly for a few seconds, before finally relaxing, her body going slack and very nearly falling off the chair. "Easy, sweets," he whispered, brushing her hair away from her face. "You gonna make it?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine," she said around a huge yawn. "Lemme snag a quick shower, then it'll all be yours."

"Michele," Darien began, getting to his feet and helping her up. He knew the shots had some serious side effects for her, which is why she only used them when absolutely necessary. "It's your place, remember?"

"Oh yeah," she lilted, the drugs plainly leaving her tripping quite merrily, and stumbled her way towards the bathroom. He heard the water start, the glass door slide shut and a yelp of irritation. "Bloody cold water."

Darien laughed softly and debated the merits of joining her with the sole intention of making sure she didn't pass out or hurt herself, but instead set about disposing the syringe. It took him a couple of minutes, but he found the biohazard container in the laundry room. Then he returned the tubing to its place in the bag and put it back in the linen closet. 'Chele stepped out of the shower just as he was closing the closet doors. He tossed her a towel, which she wrapped about herself.

"Thanks," she said softly. "You doing okay?"

Towel in hand for his turn in the shower, he walked towards her. "Well enough. Glad to be out, that's for sure. How're you?" While she looked better he could tell she was exhausted and it made him wonder if she'd lost more than just one night's sleep recently.

She shrugged. "In need of some rest, and, no, it's not your fault. Work's been ... stressful recently."

He reached out to run the knuckles of his hand along her cheek. "Go get some sleep. I'll take care of the other stuff." When it looked like she was debating being stubborn he added, "Please. I need to do something to make this seem real, okay?"

"It don't get much more real, D. We'll deal with this together, right?" 'Chele took his hand into both of her own and looked up at him, her eyes pleading as if concerned.

"Right. Just like we always do." He leaned down and kissed her lightly. "Go on."

She nodded and released him, walking into the closet to get dressed. With a sigh, Darien turned the shower back on and waited for it to warm before stepping under the falling water.