Note from Author: Finally! Getting this one up. So sorry for always taking so long. Thank you all for reading. Please please let me know what you think, how you feel. How you're doing? Strange strange times, my dear friends. Hugs to all of you!
Caged: Reclamation
Chapter 20
The humidity interrupted dreams of the convent, a sister singing the yellow fluff's song, sorting dancing-star seashells by the window overlooking the glass-water fountain, and eating a homemade-bread sandwich that tasted like love. He woke up confused as to where he was. Took a long minute to recognize the Miami motel. Abram was at the door, waiting to be let out.
Todd checked the clock and it read seven and he scoffed at having slept for over twelve hours. He glanced woefully at the burner cell wishing Téa called and knowing that was ridiculous but did see texts from Jed wishing him a good morning with pictures of beautiful Reese and Lucia, grinning in innocent joy, and his impish Esperanza. That last one made him smile, tears pooling in his eyes. Seven-month old Espy, as Jed called her, stared at the camera, round shining hazel-colored eyes, same as every one of his other children, no expression on her delicate face, with one index finger in the air making some wordless fiery point. All Jed offered in explanation was: "LOL Espy got words for you."
No doubt.
An hour later, Todd hit the road but not before he fed a bit of dog food to Abram and ate dry cereal from the motel's "continental" offerings. When he stepped out into the sunny day, he popped into the lobby where he'd purchased the burner phone. He wanted another cap. The guy at the front desk watched him as he walked in, eyes hard and curious. Todd picked up a Marlins baseball cap and a studded belt because his Levi's were riding a bit low. He put both items on the counter. The attendant lifted his dark eyes as he rang the buy up. The gaze lasted a few seconds too long.
"You got a question," Todd grumbled as he peeled off bills to pay.
"Nahh…all good. You want to wear the belt…now?"
Shit. Sounded like Cuban Spanish and sweat broke out on the back of his neck. He nodded and the attendant clipped the tags off the hat and the belt. Then without a lot of thought he grabbed the belt and threaded it through the loops, buckling it fast. His black tee fell below his waist line so like a kid he had been holding the hem with his teeth. When he looked up, tee-shirt falling back into place, the guy had been staring, shaking his head and getting suddenly busy behind the register. Todd then realized his MK tattoo must have been visible.
Fuck.
Todd grabbed the hat and put it on, stuffed the receipt and change in his pocket, and bent down to gather Abram's leash. He rushed out the door, hustling to the Jeep around the corner near his room. He opened the driver's side door and Abram hopped up, maneuvering himself happily onto the passenger side seat. He chuckled at the heavy dog panting in that pit-bull-smile way of his... and then didn't laugh at all.
He wasn't alone.
He heard a huff and something told him the guy from the motel lobby stood behind him. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Swung around to look at his stalker. Searched his neck and exposed arms for tattoos, fully expecting this to be it, that he was made. He was either MK, MK ally or enemy.
Spanish then flew at him…
...and it wasn't what he thought. A grin cracked across the man's 40-something-ish features. "I knew you spoke Spanish. God, you're beautiful. I could not watch you leave without a word."
Todd grunted… the fucking belt. He had taken it in response to the man asking if he wanted to wear it, understanding the Spanish natural as hell, forgetting to pretend English-only since he landed in Miami.
A hand reached up and caressed Todd's cheek, his trimmed beard. Another hand settled on his waist band, the belt, cold fingers touching skin under the shirt. Todd found himself strangely frozen, light eyes glued to the dark ones lit with obvious lust, the affection itself reminding him of a hundred times such love came from Rico. The words though, the blanket sound of a predator made him think of Caro.
The man lost his smile, his expression dissolving into a gentle frown.
"You are surprised?"
"I gave you no… invitation," Todd said quietly.
The man moved closer, "You do not have to. The way you looked at me, the way you move. You are a man who knows his body well." He smiled now. "Your room is still open. Let us go there."
The hand on his belt slipped down and gently searched the front of the jeans and then found and squeezed the resting cock. One squeeze, two squeezes, three. The near-black eyes widened in obvious delight. Todd let him, curious maybe to see if his body would react apart from his mind, wondering if he could follow through. If he would actually consider going back to the motel room. Wondering if he'd instinctively return the favor. Wondering how far… he'd go.
Pictures bounced in his head. A Havana room, humidity not unlike here in Miami, rain pelting windows. Wetness pulsing across hot mocha skin. But other images slammed up against the sweet. Underground rooms, slimy drippings down the concrete brick walls, hard hands fixing themselves where he did not want them to go, a fan above him in his childhood bedroom, breath held, waiting for intrusions to be over. Bitterness flooded his mouth, the taste of love and hate and it made his eyes water with intense emotion he could not control.
"I thought you would enjoy this," the attendant said, breathing fast. "Come. Let us go to the room. I want to fuck you for hours."
Todd wasn't surprised his dick got hard, too long without sexual touching, too many easily accessible memories, indeed his dick was well demanding that jeans get unbuttoned to hurry this up… but he was surprised at how fast his hand shot up around the guy's throat.
How hard he had the man in his vice-like grip.
Todd leaned in at hearing the choked gasp, at feeling the man finally release his cock. Growling through gritted teeth into the man's ear, in Spanish he said, "I did not... invite… you… to touch me."
At that, he slammed his knee right up into the man's crotch, getting him good. Hitting the mark. The man crumpled and Todd let him fall, watching him tighten into a ball on the ground at his feet. Towering above, after a minute of coldly observing the agony, he took his foot and shoved the man away so he could get into the car. Slammed the door shut. Once seatbelted in, Abram secured in the other seat, Todd started the engine and rolled down the window. Glanced at his suitor lying on his back like a flipped turtle, legs pulled up to ease the pain.
The guy eyed him. Said, "I am sorry. I thought…"
"What? That I was someone you didn't have to... ask?"
The man just groaned.
"Yeah," Todd sniffed, "next time, cabron… fucking ASK. Can I touch your cock, sir, can I do that with my... um... hand, sir, can I, can I? That's what getting..." Paused. The word playing hide and seek... "That's what permission sounds like. Who knows? I mighta said... yes. Or NOT."
He put his sunglasses on, then put the Jeep in gear and rolled out, tires spitting gravel. Eased into the main road's traffic. The incident didn't bother him to any great degree, but it did leave him paranoid, eyes repeatedly on the rear view mirror, the feeling that Miami Cubans were onto him, making his skin crawl. He had to get the fuck outta Dodge.
As he made his way up the Florida coast, he started to let go of the fear, feeling it seep from his pores, slide to the floor and then shoot right up and out the window of the Jeep. He smiled at Abram hanging his big head out the window, tolerating the seat belt awkwardly holding him down. Dog was happy and how could Todd be anything less so? He was off the grid and very much flying like a bird, alive, anonymous, no fucking drama.
Going home.
They stopped in a park, grabbed more food, and finally quit their drive at another low-profile motel in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. He'd never visited before, knew beautiful beaches waited nearby, but he wasn't gonna be staying for the bus tour. Ordered pizza and beer and collapsed without texting or calling a soul.
Didn't dream much either.
The rest of the trip was uneventful, a slog up the interstate with a distant anxiety about what he'd find once home. He bandied about plans of arrival, who to talk to, thought about sleeping, eating, he was hungry he realized, wanting the Cuban food he'd grown used to, but also thinking about burgers and chips and Big Gulp Coke and hot dogs and all the worst of the famed American diet. He settled on a diner in a small town right at the edge of Pennsylvania where he had a cheap but flavorful steak and fries followed up by a real homemade cherry pie.
He sat outside after on a bench, watching Abram eat leftovers the waitress gave him and then for dessert a raw bone from the kitchen. He couldn't fight the want of a cigarette. He pulled the pack out of the Jeep and returned to the bench. Lit up. Two smokes later he stood up and stretched and pulled out the phone.
Dialed Pedro.
"You are close?" Pedro's smile carried across the airwaves.
"At a place called Marge's… I'm two hours away. Where do I go?"
"To your home, my son. My home. I have cottages in the back and one is ready for you. Drive up to the gate, enter the code 5790, and park next to the black Mercedes. I will meet you when you arrive."
"Ok," he said. "Um…" He glanced all over, Abram still gnawing on the bone. He breathed and heard words coming from Pedro but nothing his brain wanted to untangle. He cleared his throat and concluded with, "See you then."
When he hung up, he looked at the bright stars and the heavy moon. Téa could see that same white light, he imagined. Eyes watered again, and he almost dialed her number. God, he fought it. Cursed at last, calling Abram over to him. He wasn't sure he could ignore the ache in his belly, his heart, to go home. His real home. To be so far and yet so close… he was pretty sure he'd die if he kept away for long.
He climbed into the Jeep. Started the engine. Next stop, home.
Téa Delgado typed an appeal on a denial of one of her marijuana dispensaries by a city near Philadelphia. She sat in the study that used to be Todd's study, kids sleeping, Jed out again after he put Rose to sleep. After he urged Espy to sleep. She had her own office on the other side of the house but that had been taken over by Jed for his endless pursuits of all things Jed-like.
She'd changed most of the furniture to reduce the memories but the desk was the same, an early 20th century chunk of wood attributed to a newspaper mogul… Hearst? Scripps? Who knew? All she knew was that it was a monster of a desk with a ton of drawers and truthfully… she hadn't touched them. They were still full of him. She couldn't do it. This was his heart and she simply couldn't look.
She didn't need the drawers, her work primarily digital. Any actual paper she handled at Method Makers headquarters or the downtown office she still maintained.
Sometimes she'd slide open the top drawer at her belly. She'd just scan the notes, the scattering of pens and pencils and paper clips and a barrette Lucia wore before he knew her up close. A tiny pink plastic butterfly the prison guards let through the mail. It sat in the midst of the mess, baby Lucia represented. One of the few things he brought home from Statesville.
Téa opened the drawer just to see the butterfly. Caressed the little thing, tightening her jaw in fury. How could he? A man who kept a precious memento like this is a man who LOVES. Sighing, she closed the drawer gently. Gave the side eye to the other drawers. She eased open one of them on the side. Staples. Stapler. Packs of Post Its. Envelopes. Fancy letterhead paper. She shut it. Opened another one, paralyzed a beat or two.
Slammed it shut.
Oh Jesus.
A letter. An envelope with his handwriting that said Téa. A line underneath it. Emphasizing it. He left her a letter. When? WHEN?!
No. No. No. No. Uh uh. Not gonna.
When she looked up she saw him on the couch. The ghost of him quietly gazed at her. In sweats and a soft shirt. He wore that the last time they cuddled in bed… ages ago. Before the shooting. Before she killed him. He faded into nothing, noise in her head interrupting her. She heard too quickly, too vividly, the sound of him coughing up blood and trying to breathe, blood pooling beneath him, eyes on R.J., shocked eyes, as R.J. held hands over the bleeding bullet holes, cursing him to stay alive. One time R.J. said that look was of someone dying, eyes that held his hard and said a lifetime of words. Everything they were to each other, a look saying to take care of his family. Apology, forgiveness. A look R.J. grew silent over.
I've seen that look too many times, woman. Don't got any desire to see it again.
She swallowed and studied her fingernails. Guilt inching into her gut. R.J. wasn't talking to her these days, too angry at her choices with the Method Makers trajectory. That look…
Don't wanna see it on you, Téa. You workin' your way… to that look.
Well, whatever. It is what it is.
A chime sounded out and she turned her head to her cell phone. Rolon. Picked it up and read the text.
Can you meet? I pick you up. Your team can come
What is it? I don't feel like leaving
You need to see something
See WHAT
The phone rang and she answered. "Rolon… come on."
"Consequences, Téa. You need to see it."
She huffed. She wasn't a child. She knew what she asked of the former MK men in Method Makers was dangerous. It was the only way though to cripple Pedro, to cut out his soul for what he did to Todd, not Blanco, sweet loving father and husband who smiled with real joy, with boundless love that he didn't know he had, love that was… was…
Fucking stolen.
Blown to kingdom fucking COME.
From him. From her. From all of them.
"Téa…"
"Send me a picture. Send it—"
He hung up. He wasn't going to listen to her. He had a show-and-tell to do and she wasn't going to stop him. Yeah, he was coming to the house, goddamn it. She stood and slipped her feet into her sandals. At least she was dressed for a field trip. Jeans, dark cotton button-up from a London tailor that fit her like a glove. Buttons undone as usual. Plunge matching black bra. She walked slowly towards the front door. Opened it. Victor was there on a seat.
"Rolon is coming," she said. "Who's here?"
"Just me and Tony of the personal crew. It's Monday…day off for the other two. What do you need?"
They rotated Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday so all four bodyguards had two days off a week. She insisted.
She didn't have time to explain. Rolon drove up in one of their bullet-proofed black SUVs and just stared icily at Téa through the open passenger window. Tony walked up too.
"Get in," Rolon rumbled, "todos."
All of you.
Victor and Tony both looked to Téa for direction. A field trip was obvious. But was she willing? She shook her head, rolled her eyes, and pulled open the back door. The other men got in after her, Victor next to her, Tony riding shotgun.
It was late, near eleven. The inside of the car was quiet as they snaked out of the neighborhood, heading to Llanview proper. They drove through and beyond the city limits. They then soon hit the city next door, definitely poorer suburbs. Definitely old MK territory that got taken over by Los Muertos. Method Makers had a dispensary here that was booming. They rolled slowly past an abandoned factory complex that was nothing but trouble. Shot out windows, gates hanging on broken hinges, square mile of used-up wasted space. It was dark and under any other circumstances, Téa would be turning the car around.
They drove onto the property, slowly, slowly, passing the buildings, war-zone milieu, until she saw the scene. Smelled it. She closed her eyes as Rolon turned the car so his headlights shined on the four ravaged bodies that still smoked from the pyre someone created.
Four men killed and burned. Not sure what order that all took place in.
"Gang war," Téa said. "It's a real shame.
In the rear view mirror, Rolon looked at Téa. "Your men did that. Took out Los Muertos dealing here."
The smell drifted into the car, through the vents. What could she say?
"Any proof?"
Rolon groaned, "MK don't leave proof. And neither does MM."
Tony turned to Rolon, "She got the picture. Move."
He glowered at Tony, "Nah. She needs to see this. Remember it. Feel it."
"I'm sure it's self-defense," Téa mused. "I'm sure the neighbors will be happy. Maybe this place should be bought up and turned into a grow-complex."
Rolon flashed fiery eyes at her.
"Hell," she snapped, "we already got fertilizer."
Rolon grunted and slammed on the gas. Beyond words. Disgusted. After a minute, they were back on the road.
"Take me to Method headquarters," Téa said quietly. "Now."
Rolon said nothing but made a shift onto another street and before long they were at the old farmhouse turned marijuana empire. Tony and Victor talked quietly at the entrance as Rolon followed Téa up the stairs to the small apartment she kept on the most upper floor for just these occasions. She unlocked the door and it opened to a cozy one-bedroom suite that occupied half the floor. The other half was the research library. Different locked door on the other side of the staircase.
She went into the small kitchen area and dug into the freezer. Pulled out a bottle of vodka and poured some into a chilled glass that also had been in the freezer. She then sat on the couch indelicately, knees apart, drinking the vodka in one gulp, and pouring herself another helping. She shot hard eyes to Rolon and pointed the glass in his direction.
"What was that display supposed to do… Lopez?"
In Spanish, he spat, "How does it feel, woman? You feel powerful? In charge? Like a god in control of the elements?"
"I don't feel anything other than dragged out of my house." She chugged the vodka and poured another. Sipping now. Signing with relief despite the rage.
He yelled wordlessly, huffing her name at the end, of it, "Téa! Do you know what comes next?! Your men paying the price! Do you understand that?! That's how this shit works!"
"No witnesses, no proof, it's not us. So why would they target us for revenge?"
"Because we're there to lock up that territory. Or our allies who never bothered before. They'll know it's you, chica… they'll know. And they'll come after you next." His voice cracked at the end and he got next to her on the leather couch shipped in from Germany, a wildly extravagant piece he knew got featured in magazine articles. Fucking museum magazines because it was the last of some big 1950s designer. Just more insanity is what this coño of a couch was.
He studied her face, her eyes on the blackened windows. "Mamita… look at me."
"He's going to cry when he realizes all his men and their women have turned to me. That they'll do for me what they wouldn't do for him. He'll cry when he has nothing left. When MK is in the history books."
"Ain't that the case now? MK has fizzled, new alliances made, MK still exists but none of it includes Pedro."
"Not enough. Our warriors want to own these territories. End the bad work on their terms. End Los Muertos with their own hands."
"At what cost?"
Téa closed her eyes a moment, unable to answer. Somewhere she knew he was right, that she'd lost control. That maybe… just maybe—
She heard and felt him get up and walk out of the apartment. The door closed and locked. Conversation pointless. When the click of the door disappeared into the past, the sound gone, the memory of it gone too, Téa finished her drink and then shook out all the cigarettes from a pack onto the coffee table. She lit one. An unfiltered. She tasted it and smelled it and suddenly felt very alone in that perfectly appointed apartment with the low lights on the very top floor.
No, she thought, no.
Pedro is paying. At what cost? At the cost of everything he values. And then his men will finally turn on him. Kill him. To make sure MK will never rise again.
She laughed bitterly.
Yes, that's exactly what will happen.
She looked for Blanco's ghost and didn't see him. She felt him though, behind her. Felt his deep rolling laughter inside of her, felt his hate inside too. She felt her crotch and pressed the split… hate lurking there. Fucking hate. She stood a long time at the window. The trees stood just as still as she was in the moonlight. Funny… how the apartment smelled like those burned bodies. Couldn't seem to escape that smell.
She opened the window and let the cigarette drop all the way down into the dirt.
Todd drove his Jeep through Llanview, passing every building that mattered. The courthouse, the police station, Sixteenth Street, Sun News, the Penthouse. He didn't drive into the suburbs, didn't dare go to Viki's house, or to his own. He felt empty, like he was dead. A ghost. He knew this feeling. He'd been in this same place before. Two times before people thought he was dead. Once he'd fallen into a river and another he'd disappeared in Ireland.
Both times he re-emerged much to the shock of everyone who'd moved on.
And just the same as with the other homes he didn't dare pass, he couldn't get himself to Pedro's house. Just couldn't do it. Abram was in the back seat, passed out, his doggo engine off at night. Todd texted Pedro and said he'd be there late. Later. Maybe not until morning.
That is fine. Call me when you arrive.
What a man. What a fine, fine man.
He had to slam on the brakes because for all the "good" Pedro had done, for all the life-saving Pedro had heaped on him, Todd was a fucking ghost. He hit the steering wheel over and over and finally just rested his forehead on the wheel. For the first time since Havana, heroin said…
Peek-a-boo! Remember me?
He lifted his head in disbelief and hissed, "Fuck you, Princess. You don't get me this….time."
Todd then got moving again and drove out of Llanview, deciding to head to a place he knew he could go, where he knew he would be safe, that was totally private. A place that absolutely was not Pedro's house. He drove the winding quiet road until he saw the house and he nearly cried at the sight of it.
He parked and sat in the car for a long while there under the trees and watched the lights of the city in the distance. He climbed out of the Jeep and he walked the long driveway up to where the house was with its English garden around to the side, where the cars were, where the little gate was that led to the back porch and that garden.
He unlatched the gate and it squealed at its being opened and closed. He followed the trail to a bench that reminded him of the convent benches in their garden. He sat down and just as he remembered, just as he thought, surprised anyway, a cat jumped up on his lap, a grey cat that immediately started purring in Todd's hold.
"Hey, kiddo, look at you. A real grown up cat."
He'd found this feral cat with the chewed-up ear when she was just a kitten, found it in an alley the day he dumped his steel toed boots, the day he moved into a sober living facility for a short while, before he headed to Fayetteville to find Jed.
Before Statesville.
Yeah… that cat. Starr had her for a while but she ended up bringing it here. The cat was wild, preferring the outdoors and the city was too busy for such a cat and Blair and Dorian weren't pet people. He knew it would work out here. Just knew it would. He smiled at the cat and petted her until the cat leaped away into the bushes. She'd found her world here. Probably plenty of creatures to hunt and he bet this garden even had catnip somewhere. Todd pulled out a cigarette and lit up and stretched his legs out as he tipped his head back and studied the stars.
He ignored the tears rolling down his cheeks, in a new kind of agony. Didn't know how he was going to fucking do this. He should just go to Téa. But then that meant going to the kids. And that meant going to the cops. And that meant prison.
Fucking hell.
He huffed and sniffled when he heard the back door open and then swing shut with a squeal not unlike the gate to the garden. A few footfalls taken. He lit up another cigarette, the flame flaring brightly then not. And as he puffed, he watched the shadowy figure slowly come off the porch, stopping at the bottom of the stone steps. Hulking slow steps followed, a definitive walk because of a husky body.
Todd had tossed the cap back at the Jeep. He had no need for sunglasses. He was well exposed in the moonlight. He knew he was.
He heard the soft gasp and the sighed curse when the owner of the house stopped the advancement.
"Jesus Christ. Oh what the hell."
Something split open inside of Todd when he saw the man step into the light, the reddish curls shining, that husky body just as he remembered. He couldn't stop looking at his favorite person in the whole world other than his kids and Téa and Viki. He managed a smile of sorts.
"Hey Superman… I really… um… needed to see you," he croaked, a sob threatening to break out, to tear him apart. He carefully put the cigarette out on the ground before sitting up straighter, before sniffing back tearful snot.
Dr. Timothy Graham reached out a hand and without being able to stop, he dropped to his knees just the way Jed had fallen, a hand slammed onto his mouth. He choked back his own crying and said, "Awww kiddo… awww shit."
Todd laughed a little and then didn't because… God, it was good to see the doctor again, the man who helped him through every dark tunnel in his life, seeing him kind of like being less of a ghost. Recognized out of invisibility. He got up, tall, and strong and… everything he shouldn't be.
Alive.
He shrugged. "You gonna stay down there or... you gonna give me a… you know… a… a hug."
Tim laughed oh-so-sadly and stood up and grabbed his forever-patient into the hardest hold he could manage. The doctor shook with love, an unmatched love that was impossible to describe, that he would never bother to analyze, the "why" just not mattering anymore. He loved this patient more than any friend or family, almost as much as he loved his beloved husband, Shane Lansing.
"Todd… kiddo… oh my god. You're real, you're here. You're alive! Oh my god. I can't—I can't… oh God," he whispered at the last, "a part of me had died with you."
And at that, the doctor felt a desperate hot kiss on his neck, the kind of kiss Todd only ever gave when he was the most lost, the most hurt. And Tim cried just a bit harder at it and held Todd just a bit tighter.
"It's okay, I'm here," the doctor said, "and I'm not going anywhere."
Todd weakened at the words, gripping Tim like a lifeline, almost collapsing with a shocking need he didn't realize he had. He remembered seeing the doctor once in prison and this was almost exactly the same, just as wanted, just as relieving. Only he rejected the doctor back then.
Not this time.
"You promise? Yeah?" he gasped the almost childlike words.
"Jesus… yes, yes. I got you, it's okay."
When they finally separated Tim couldn't stop staring. Couldn't stop touching this man who had affected him so deeply. He held his cheeks between his warm hands and looked into those light eyes and he knew this was Todd because he leaned his head into that touch just as he always did, just like that wild cat in the garden would, just the same as he did since the very beginning of their friendship.
"How?" Tim asked. "Where have you been? Does anyone else know you're here? Are you using heroin? Are you okay? Were you in Cuba this entire time? Why did you stay away for so long? Why, why?"
"That's a lot… of… um…" The word escaped him. And he rubbed his head and licked his lower lip, waiting for his brain to make the connection…frustrated that it would sometimes never happen.
"Questions. Lots of questions."
Tim knew what it was right away. Second time he seemed to not find a word. Jesus… aphasia… from a brain injury. His heart hurt at an obvious two-plus-two realization. Oh God. Téa had said it but then retracted it at the funeral.
That bastard blew himself up.
But the newspaper reports said something else about Todd. Another cause of death. Heroin. There had been a bombing though. And it had involved the child pornography project Tim knew Todd had been working on.
No, no, he had nothing to do with that. I mean…he blew his life up with a heroin overdose. That bastard. Blew our lives up. How could he?!
Tim had to assume Téa would be truthful. A heroin overdose was pretty goddamn likely.
But aphasia? It was possible he had been in a coma from the overdose and this was the result. Except… Tim noticed the shaved hair and even from here, saw a scar on his scalp. A surgery to help reduce brain swelling that came from severe concussion, or skull fracture.
"You were in the bombing," Tim said quietly. "You must have gotten a traumatic brain injury… because… that's a symptom, trouble retrieving words." He glanced at Todd's body…up and down like a parent. "Oh kiddo. You were hurt, really…hurt. Recovering somewhere."
Todd nodded, tears welling at the feel of the doctor's heavy hand on his head and his voice repeating, "Awww kiddo, awww shit." He eyed Tim and just hugged him again, practically throwing himself at his doctor, loneliness and sorrow at where he was, reluctant to let him go. He was almost afraid that if he truly stepped away, he might really disappear. Really be a ghost.
"I messed up," Todd rasped.
"Come on, come inside," Tim urged. "Let me feed you. You can tell me what happened… at your pace. Tell me everything."
"Long story, Doc. Lots of… fucking… words."
"I know. But I'm here. We have all night, all day tomorrow. I'm here just as I've always been. I'll help you. You're safe. We'll figure this out."
Todd smiled, hands tight on the doctor's thick biceps, tears running afresh.
"Okay, okay."
As they walked up to the porch, the cat meowed in the distant dark, a weeping call.
To be continued...
