Roy wrought a promise from Johnny to come see his son Chris' Little League game. They stopped by Johnny's apartment on the way to the baseball diamond, intending to give him a ride. Johnny had just come out of the building as Roy pulled up.

"So, are you ready? Everyone is waiting in the car."

"Yeah. Let's go."

Chris and Susan enthusiastically greeted Johnny. "Uncle Johnny! Uncle Johnny! Sit by me!" "No! Sit by me!" "He sat by you last time" "Did not!" "Did too!" "Mo-ommm! Chris said that Uncle Johnny sat by me last time!"

Johnny smiled and held up his hands, trying to ward the rambunctious children off. "Sorry, kids, I'm going to drive my own car."

"Can I ride with you?" two voices chimed together.

"No, you two just stay in our car," responded Joanne.

"Aww, Mom!" two voices whined in protested.

"I wanted to sit by you, Uncle Johnny," pouted Susan.

Johnny reached in the window to ruffle her hair. "At the game, sweetheart. Okay?"

As they walked to the bleachers, the children regaled Johnny with tales of recent events. They had not seen Johnny in nearly two months. Chris talked about his Little League baseball, and baseball in general; he could quote all the statistics. He soon ran off to join the rest of his team for warm ups.

As they took their seats in the bleachers, Susan wanted to know if Johnny still had all the pictures she crayoned for him, whether he liked her new doll, when he was coming over to read her a story, when he was coming over to see her new playhouse, if he liked strawberry Popsicles, and other concerns of the young and innocent.

The June day waxed hot and windless. The morning sun beat down upon spectator and player alike as Johnny sat in the bleachers with Roy, Joanne, and Susan. The little girl slept in his arms, the game and the hot sun having combined to put her asleep, despite all the yelling, clapping, stomping and cat-calls going on. Holding the sleeping child felt surprisingly comforting, like holding on to a cherished teddy bear. The weight of her body and the feel of her breath on his neck were soothing. He hadn't realized how much he missed touching and holding another person. At work, he couldn't stand for the others to touch him, to brush against his shoulder in passing or to stand too close to him. Even with Roy, he found himself handing objects to him so as to ensure minimal contact between their hands. Oddly enough, he didn't seem to mind physical contact with victims in the field as long as he acted well within his role of paramedic, as long as he controlled the touching. He rocked the sleeping child gently as he held her and kissed the top of her head. He hadn't been on a date since the assault, either. There wasn't anyone he wanted to go out with. No one interested him right now.

At the bottom of the ninth inning, the score was tied at three to three, with the bases loaded. Chris stepped up to bat and he hit a high fly over to left field. Johnny tracked it with his eyes, then stopped breathing. Stopped thinking. Stopped existing. He thought he saw Toby Barnes standing just outside the left field line, near the street. Was it Barnes or not? He stared at the man, unable to see clearly enough to know for sure.

"...Johnny?" Roy's voice finally registered in his ears and the rest of the world came rushing back in a riot of sight, sound and sensation. The light shone too brightly; the crowd roared too loudly; the heat bore down too heavily. It felt like the sun had burned off all the oxygen and his heartbeat pounded through every inch of his body. He had to get away. Now.

Handing the sleeping child to Joanne, he mumbled something about needing to get out of the sun. He just wanted to get away. He managed to make it out of the bleachers without stumbling, then blindly made his way toward the parking lot. Roy caught up with him halfway there and reached out a steadying hand to the elbow. "Are you okay?"

"Don't touch me!" Johnny hissed, jerking his arm out of Roy's grasp.

Roy observed Johnny's pale and sweaty face. "You don't look real good. I think you need to sit down in the shade and drink something. Come on over here." He tried to guide his partner over to some shade trees behind right field.

Johnny gagged and put a hand to his mouth. "I'm going to be sick." He vomited into the nearby bushes.

"I think you maybe have heat exhaustion, Johnny."

"Leave me alone." The words emerged as a mere moan while the retching continued. Finally, his system purged, there was nothing left to vomit. Trembling and weak, he allowed Roy to lead him to the shade, where he sat against the cool tree trunk, eyes closed.

"Wait here. I'll be right back." Roy left to get some cold compresses and some water to drink.

Sitting in the shade began to make him feel better. By the time Roy returned, he physically felt pretty good and the color returned to his face. Having decided that the man must not have been Toby Barnes after all, he grew irritated and embarrassed by his behavior. He had told himself the last time that he wasn't going to react this anymore. And now here he was, spooked by a stranger.

"Well, you look a lot better now." Roy commented, handing over the compress and a cup of water to which he had added some salt.

"Yeah. I guess you were right. Too much sun." Johnny avoided both Roy's hands and his eyes, giving his full attention to the objects being handed him.

By this time the game was over and Joanne walked over with Chris and the now awake Susan. "Are you okay?" Concern sounded in her voice.

"Uh, yeah. I haven't been out in the sun much lately. Too much sun." He stood up, shakily handing the cup and cloth back to Roy. "Look, I'm going to go home now, okay?" He needed to get away from the field, away from Roy, away from the spectre of Toby Barnes before he did something else to disgrace himself.

Roy nodded.

"It was good to see you, Joanne. Thanks for inviting me. Sorry I have to leave early." He started backing away. He paused, kneeling down to give Susan a hug. "Bye, sweetheart. See you later. Good game, Chris!" As he squeezed Chris's shoulder, he realized that he didn't even know which team had won.

Johnny answered the knock at the door to find his partner standing outside.

"Hi. Can I come in?"

Johnny's gaze met Roy's eyes for a second before darting into the hallway beyond, seeming to search for someone.

"Isn't everyone waiting for you in the car?"

"No. I took them all home after the picnic." As Johnny moved aside to allow Roy to enter the apartment, Roy commented about the deadbolt. "I see you got a new lock."

"Uh, yeah." Johnny's words tumbled out quickly. "You remember how it always used to stick when it rained? I finally changed it."

"Oh," said Roy, fishing his ring of car keys out of his pocket. "Well, I guess I can throw this one out, then?" Roy removed the old key from the key ring in his hand.

Johnny looked at Roy's hand, nonplussed. Then he said, eyes averted, "I had to give the extra key to my landlady. I've been meaning to get a key made for you. I just keep forgetting." He closed the door and turned around. "You want anything to drink?"

"No, I'm okay."

The two men sat down in the living room. Roy noticed a hole in the wall and the absence of the television set. "What happened to your TV?"

"Broken. Couldn't be fixed."

A strained silence stretched between them. Roy took a deep breath, determined to broach the uncomfortable reason he had returned to his friend's apartment. "Johnny, I know you're still bothered by getting mugged last April. I want to help you. Let me help you."

After a few more moments of silence, Johnny admitted, "Roy, you do help me… I know you're there… But, I…" He stopped, swallowing hard, blinking. "I'm sorry I've been such a piece of shit, lately. You deserve a better partner."

"I've got the best partner I could want, Johnny." Roy cleared his throat with embarrassment. He began to appreciate why Johnny didn't seem to want to talk with him. Or, go to see the shrink. It was hard to talk about feelings, especially with another man. It was easy to talk about them in the abstract, the way they were presented in the textbooks. Or, to whisper 'I love you' to your wife, safely shrouded in the ethereal shadows of the night. But in the harsh light of day, when they were dumped in your lap like a plate of cold spaghetti, when they were staring you in the face, when they were your own emotions, it became harder than hell to talk. He would rather fight a seven-alarm fire at an oil refinery.

He cleared his throat and said, "I think you're suffering from PTSS."

"What?"

"Post-traumatic stress syndrome. It's a normal reaction to a traumatic event, like getting mugged."

"Yeah, I know what it is. Vietnam vets get it."

"No, not just vets. I read about it in that new paramedic manual."

"Look. All that happened was I got beat up. It's no big deal. It used to happen to me all the time growing up. So somebody punched my lights out. No big deal."

Roy gazed at Johnny. He hadn't known this about his partner. Johnny rarely mentioned anything about his family and almost nothing about his youth or childhood. This knowledge fit in with everything he had read about PTSS. "Well, I think it's a bigger deal than you think. There's no shame in asking for a little help in dealing with it."

Johnny's eyes narrowed. "I can deal with it."

"I know you can. I'm just saying that sometimes we need a little help."

"I'm not going to see a shrink, Roy."

"I didn't say you should. But, you're keeping everything bottled up. I, uh… I wish you'd talk to me. Or to someone."

"There isn't much to talk about, Roy. I don't know what to say."

They sat in silence for a moment.

"So, it's in the manual?"

"Yeah. RTFM, Junior," Roy said with a small, frustrated smile as he stood to leave. He didn't feel like he had helped Johnny any, but at least they weren't yelling at each other like the last time Roy had come over to try to help Johnny with a problem.

"Roy. Thanks for coming by."

"Any time, Johnny."

Johnny leaned his back against the door after he closed and locked it. Post traumatic stress syndrome? No, it was no big deal. He had just gotten beat up. That was all. No big deal. He could handle it. He would show everybody he could handle it. He would show everybody he was a man.

He crossed to the telephone and lifted the receiver from the hook. The dial tone droned like an irritated bee, impatient for him to make up his mind. He dialed the first three numbers of an exchange and then hung up the phone again. There weren't a lot of options for what he wanted to do, but he chose what seemed to be the best one.

The red of a neon light bathed the room with its obscene glare, pulsing in a regular rhythm. The man sat on the edge of the bed, putting his shoes and socks back on. His face appeared handsome in profile. Sure, it was just another job to her, but it always seemed more pleasant with an attractive client. She felt kind of sorry for this one, though.

The woman reached out and began to rub a small circle on the man's back, then quickly withdrew the hand when the man flinched. "I wouldn't worry about it, honey. It happens all the time. Trust me. It will be better next time," she said as soothingly as she could.

He turned and looked at her. Something flashed in the black depths of his eyes, and she shrank back, afraid. He left the room without a word and without a backward glance, relieved that he had chosen to try this anonymously, with someone he would never see again.

He prowled the streets where the hookers plied their trade, heedless of where he went. He just needed to be moving. The area he traversed would never be called a really good part of town, and by being there, it was almost as if he were inviting another mugging. A few of the working girls called out to him as he passed. He ignored them, and they retreated from his dark expression. A couple of panhandlers tried to hit him up for a handout, but after seeing his face they quickly apologized for bothering him. Whether it was something in his walk or the look in his eyes, no one tried to accost the lone man haunting the streets that night.

Angry and confused, his thoughts ran into dead ends and blind alleys. Who was he? What was he? The things Barnes had done to him and forced him to do were revolting to him. It nauseated him, and just thinking about it made him gag. He was not attracted to other men. And yet, he had no explanation for what had happened, for how he had responded. Had he enjoyed it? He shuddered. He thought he was still attracted to women. But what good was that? He had gone to the prostitute, looking for answers. Well, he had gotten them, all right. When he was with the woman tonight, he could do nothing. Nothing. This had never happened to him before, and he now felt sure that women would no longer be attracted to him. Attracted to someone who was less than a man.

The eastern sky had begun to lighten when he finally got into his car and drove back to his apartment.