Abandon By Kalimyre Rating: R for language Pairing: Ryan/Colin (surprise, surprise) Summary: Colin has a rough time on a job and goes home to Ryan expecting a little TLC, but gets something he wasn't counting on instead. Author's Notes: Okay, this was really supposed to be a ficlet, but it kind of expanded on me. Thanks go to xfphile for screaming so satisfyingly when I sent her unfinished parts of this story and relentlessly pushing me to write more, and of course, for the complete grammar beta. ~~~ "I really don't think I can take much more of his shit." "Easy, Colin... I know he's being a jerk---" "A jerk? That's got to be the understatement of the century! Just what the hell is his problem, anyway?" Don Jornsen, Colin's agent, sighed and shook his head. He placed a hand on the actor's shoulder and guided him away from the overly interested eyes and ears of the support tech who was doing a poor job of pretending to be interested in the camera he was ostensibly fixing. "It's like this," he began, keeping his voice low in the hopes that Colin would follow his example. "The director of this commercial works for a bigger advertising company, and according to their demographics and your fan base, they decided they wanted you. That's why you were offered the job, and of course, you said yes because you're apparently incapable of saying no." "What!" Colin protested. "You're the one who pitched this thing to me so enthusiastically! You're the one who keeps telling me that I should take as much work as I can get, put my face out there, get all that name recognition stuff you're always talking about---" "I know, I know," the agent said soothingly. "And in this case, I'll admit, I was wrong. The commercial itself is a good move, both for your career and for your pocketbook---or have you forgotten the figures that the ad agency put on paper for this?" Colin set his jaw stubbornly, but he nodded. "I haven't forgotten. I'm just beginning to think that no amount of money is worth this crap." "You're right." "What?" Don sighed, glancing around again to make sure they weren't overheard. They were in a secluded corner of the rather complicated set, which included mockups of a doctor's office, a finely appointed living room, a gleaming stainless steel kitchen and a rather overly purple bedroom. The life insurance commercial they were trying to shoot involved Colin speaking in all of those places, and also a few on-location shots in and around Toronto, which were thankfully already complete. They were severely behind schedule, however, due to the very thing that had Colin so aggravated. "You're right about this not being worth the money," the agent said, nodding agreeably in the manner of all agents trying to soothe the ruffled feathers of their clients. "But Colin, babe, you signed a contract, and so did the director that you're getting along so smashingly with." "I hate when you get all patronizing with me, Don," Colin said quietly. "I'm not being unreasonable here. He's been on me non-stop ever since we started this thing. Constant little jibes about my appearance---telling the makeup crew to just `do the best they can'--- little under his breath comments that I'm meant to hear about how I've sold out to American television and think I'm some kind of big star now. And then, the constant, demanding re-takes! No matter how perfectly I do what he asks, it's not good enough. And he manages to act like I'm being deliberately obtuse or something, or just refusing to follow direction because I think I'm too good for this. Which isn't true!" "Okay, okay... I know, Colin, buddy, I hear you. You're totally right; he is being a colossal asshole. You shouldn't have to take that from him or anyone, but at this point, backing out really isn't an option. Can it really be that hard to just finish the silly commercial?" Colin rolled his eyes, deliberately removing his agent's hand from his shoulder. "I'm not a child, Don. I don't need you sweet-talking me. And no, it wouldn't be that hard if he would stop with the re- takes. We *should* have finished this two days ago---it's only a forty second commercial, for crying out loud! But we spend all our time waiting for him to quit screwing around with the lighting and then---and *then* he goes and tells me that I'm being a prima donna. All I wanted was to finish this thing, quick and businesslike. *I* never wanted to spend a whole damn day waiting for the sunlight to be *just* right for that shot in front of the CN Tower. And don't even get me started about all the crap we went through in the Skydome. He's acting like we're shooting a big-budget movie instead of a little commercial." "But the location shooting is over now, isn't it?" Don said persuasively. "All you've got left are a few short lines to do on the set, and that shouldn't even take the rest of the day. Do you really want to back out now, after going through so much crap with this guy?" Dropping his forehead into his hand, Colin sighed heavily and shut his eyes for a long moment. "Hell, I don't know. Right now, I want to go tell Mister Richard Grayson, director extraordinaire, what he can do with himself in very graphic terms, and then go home and sleep for about three days." Don switched immediately from `cajoling agent' to `concerned friend.' Colin could almost see the readout change behind the agent's muddy brown eyes. "Oh, haven't you been sleeping well, Col? Maybe that's why Richard's getting on your nerves so much. I can talk to him about giving you the rest of the day off, maybe start fresh tomorrow, you'll feel better---" "No," Colin said flatly. "The last thing I need is to give him *another* reason to bitch at me. I already take enough crap for my lifestyle and for being too old and too stubborn and too `American,' isn't *that* just the dumbest thing you've ever heard? What does he want me to do, show up wrapped in a Canadian flag and exaggerate my accent until you can't understand a single word that comes out of my mouth?" "Whoa... wait a minute, Col," Don said, still in `concerned friend' mode. "What about your lifestyle?" "You know." Colin bit his lip, leaning back against the wall and stuffing his hands in his pockets. "What I'm wondering is how *he* knew." "It's not exactly a secret." The older man cocked his head to the side, giving his agent a look that made him drop his eyes sheepishly. "What's not exactly a secret, Don? That I live with Ryan, or that we're sleeping together, or that we left our wives for each other? Or maybe it's not a secret that I like to take it up the ass, as my `good friend' Richard muttered rather audibly this morning? Is that the thing that everyone knows about, hmm, Don? Is that what I should just expect everyone to think?" To his credit, Don managed to look embarrassed. "Colin... look, I'm not saying that. You know I've never judged. And if Richard is making comments like that, it qualifies as discrimination based on sexual preference---" "It's not a preference," Colin snapped. "I didn't *choose* to fall for Ryan, okay? It just happened that way." "And no one is happier for you two than I am," Don said quickly. "That's... that's the real issue here, isn't it? You're here in Toronto and he's back in L.A. working on his show. That's why you're not sleeping well, and that's why the director is getting under your skin so easily." Colin narrowed his eyes. "Thanks so much for the psychoanalysis, Don. And yeah, I miss Ryan like crazy, but that has nothing to do with my problem with Richard. *He's* the problem---the man has something against me. Maybe he's homophobic or maybe he's just an asshole; the two are not mutually exclusive. In fact, I've found that they tend to go together. Either way, he's determined to make my life miserable as long as I'm here, and he's doing a damn good job of it." "Hmm," the agent replied, shrugging his shoulders and carefully studying a splinter jutting from one of the support beams behind the living room set. "What do you mean, `hmm?' You're never quiet unless there's something you don't want to tell me." Colin leaned forward, catching the other man's gaze and holding it stubbornly. "I'm right, aren't I? He's got something against me, and you know about it. Come on, Don, spill." "Well... this is just a rumor," he began reluctantly. "Bullshit. You wouldn't be acting like this if you weren't sure. Why else did you come down to the set today if not to check on me? See how I was doing with this guy who apparently has some problem with me?" Don sighed and ran a hand through his hair; Colin watched, barely noticing the familiar twang of envy at the man's full head of mousy brown waves. "Okay, this is what I heard," Don said, and like a gossiping hairdresser, once he had agreed to divulge the secret he seemed to take an almost sadistic glee in the act. "You see, Richard Grayson thinks he's an artist. He wants to direct movies and so forth, and he feels that he should have total control over the cast, the crew, everything. So when the ad agency told him that *they* were going to be calling the shots on who starred in the commercial, he got mad. He nearly walked out, but in the end they held him to his contract, and I think he realized that he needed the money. But, he managed to get a concession from the agency." "What kind of concession?" Colin asked suspiciously. "If you decide to quit for any reason, *or* if you perform so inadequately that the shoot goes drastically over time and over budget, he gets to fire you and get someone of his own choosing to replace you." Colin sagged against the wall, his jaw dropping. "You're kidding me. He's been deliberately sabotaging his own shoot, making it take *way* too long, just so he can get his own way?" "Looks that way." Don patted the older man on the back, and this time Colin didn't bother shrugging him off. "I think he'd prefer it if you quit, actually. He'll take the over time and budget option if he has to, but if he harasses you until you quit, he looks like the professional and you look like the spoiled star who stormed off in a huff." "Shit," Colin muttered, rubbing listlessly at his eyes. He knew he was screwing up his makeup, and that Richard would call the makeup team over to `do the best they could' with him because of it, but at that point, he didn't care. "Man, I just want to go home." "Toronto is home for you, isn't it?" Colin shook his head. "Not since the whole thing with Ryan started. Now, home is wherever he is, and right now, that's L.A. I never thought I'd call that hellhole home, but when he's there..." The agent smiled at him sympathetically. "Are you sure you don't just want to quit so you can leave early and see him that much sooner?" "I'm a professional, Don," Colin replied shortly. "I don't need to run crying to my boyfriend just because I'm not getting along with the current boss. And just because I miss him doesn't mean I can't handle being apart for a while." "Oh, of course, what am I thinking? After all, you're obviously your usual sunny self. I can't tell that you're miserable without him at all." Despite himself, Colin actually smiled a little at the other man's sarcasm. "Yeah, okay, granted, I'm not exactly the most fun person to be around right now. But that has a lot more to do with Richard than it does with Ryan." Don nodded, and then asked, "So what do you want to do about Dick, anyway? Are you going to finish the shoot?" "He hates it when people call him Dick." Colin chuckled, rolling his eyes. "Probably because it's a little too accurate. He made this whole big production of making sure *everyone* know to call him Richard---that is, if you're one of the actors. If you're a lowly crew person, it's Mister Grayson, if you please." "You really don't like this guy, do you?" "Gee, how could you tell?" Colin asked dryly. "And no, I really don't like him. He treats everyone like crap, and he thinks he's better than everyone else. But I'm not going to let him win---now that I know it's exactly what he wants, there's no way that I'm quitting. Do me a favor though, would you, Don?" "Sure, anything, name it." "Stick around the set. If he tries to slow down the production again, I want someone who can back me up when I tell the ad agency it's not my fault." Don smiled and clapped him on the back. "There ya go, that's the spirit. And just in time, because I think the lunch break is over. Now go on out there and show `Dick' that he can't push you around." Colin nodded, but he didn't look happy about it. "Yeah... God, I'm going to be so glad when this is over with." Part 2 "Ryan? Hello, earth to Ryan..." "Hmm? Oh, Drew, hi. What's up?" Drew grinned at his tall co-star, shaking his head. "What's up is that I've only been trying to get your attention for the last five minutes. You're a million miles away today, buddy, what's going on?" Ryan shrugged evocatively, smiling dreamily down at the silver ring he wore on his right hand. His other hand, which had been graced with a wedding band for years, was now bare. "It wouldn't have anything to do with a certain follicly-impaired Canadian, would it?" Drew asked, all innocence and carefully hidden smiles. "Why Drew, I don't have the faintest idea what you're talking about," Ryan replied, proving that he could do the innocent act just as well as Drew, if not better. "Uh-huh... I swear, ever since you two got together it's like watching a scene out of a romance novel. When you're together, it's like you're high on some kind of drug, you're so crazy-happy, and when you're apart, you get all moony and sigh all the time." Ryan rolled his eyes. "You're exaggerating." "Am not." "Do I look moony to you? Do you see me sighing?" Drew smiled. "Yes," he said calmly, his smile widening when Ryan tried unsuccessfully to suppress a grin. "Well... yeah, okay, I miss him, but give me a break here! He's been gone for nearly a month. We've *never* been apart that long." Ryan paused and put a hand up to forestall Drew's objection before it could leave his open mouth. "Yes, I know we've been apart that long before, but that was... before. Things are different now." "Yeah, I guess they are," Drew replied, dropping onto the couch beside his friend and leaning forward to study Ryan's profile. "You know, I still can't get over you two. I suspected for years, but to have it confirmed still surprised the hell out of me. And don't even get me started on how weird it is to see you kissing." "Oh, shut up, you're just jealous," Ryan shot back, nudging the shorter man with his shoulder. "Mmm." Drew gave him a smile that looked a little forced, and then he studied his hands, laced together in his lap. They were conspicuously free of rings. Ryan got the uncomfortable feeling that he had just struck a little too close to the bone, and he backed off, conversationally if not physically. "I've got this big night planned for when he gets back." "Oh?" Drew asked, brightening. Without the thick black prop glasses that he customarily wore on stage, he looked younger and somehow naked. "Yeah," Ryan said. "He's due back on Friday, and I'm going to be meeting him at the airport. Then, I've got reservations at Beau Rivage, the best seat in the house---it's Colin's favorite place and it's also where we had our first real `out together' date. After dinner, I've actually rented a section of the beach---you can do that, you know." "I know," Drew smiled. "I'm the one that told you about it, remember?" "Oh, yeah." Ryan shared a rather suggestive grin with his co- star. "Anyway, it's a private beach, really nice, clean and secluded, and it'll be beautiful Friday night---there's supposed to be a full moon. The guy who actually owns the property charges an arm and a leg, but supposedly, it's totally worth it to be able to re-enact a scene from an old movie without fear of interruption." "Sort of an alternative lifestyle version of that movie, isn't it?" Drew quipped with a sideways smirk. Ryan shrugged. "Hey, it's the new millennium. And the best part is, Colin has no idea I've got any of this planned. He thinks that he's going to get off that plane and have to drive his own car home, because I'll be at work. I'm going to surprise him right at the terminal, blindfold him, and keep him like that until we get to the restaurant. He'll be blown away." Drew chuckled, shaking his head. "Man... hell of a way to get some free publicity, huh? Don't you think you'll draw a little extra attention walking through the airport with a blindfolded man clinging to your arm?" "That's the beauty of it. If security gives me any trouble, I'll tell them that it *is* a publicity stunt. And since we're both on TV, they'll go for it." "I think you overestimate the gullibility of airport security," Drew said dryly. "Why do I get the feeling that I'm going to have to bail you out of jail for this little stunt?" "Because you have no sense of romance," Ryan retorted. "Trust me, even if we do get arrested, Colin will be so touched that I went to all that effort for him it'll be worth it. And besides... handcuffs, jail cells... kinky stuff." Laughing, Drew rolled his eyes and covered his face in his hands. "Oh man, don't put images like that into my head. What has everyone's favorite Canadian been doing all month up there, anyway?" "Just catching up on some projects." Ryan waved a hand vaguely, in that slightly limp-wristed way that he had. "You know, Blackfly, Supertown Challenge, This Hour Has 22 Minutes, and some commercials--- he's been incredibly busy. We've barely even talked on the phone." "Uh-huh..." Drew tilted his head to one side, giving his friend a piercing look. "And that worries you?" Ryan quickly dropped his hand, suddenly aware that he had been chewing on his thumbnail---an old nervous habit. "Well... kind of, yeah." "Why? You don't think he would... you know... do anything behind your back, do you?" "What? You mean like mess around? No, of course not!" he said sharply, genuinely shocked that Drew would even suggest such a thing. "You're the one that says we're like a romance novel come to life, after all. I know Colin would never cheat on me. What worries me is that he might be driving himself too hard. When we do talk, he sounds... not good." Drew frowned, tapping his knuckles lightly against his chin. "Not good? What does that mean?" "You know... not good. Tired, and depressed, and... closed." "Closed?" Drew repeated, trying unsuccessfully to catch Ryan's eye. "Yeah, closed." Ryan sighed, leaning back on the couch and staring up at the ceiling. The dressing room that they were in was actually meant for guest stars on the show, but since the episode they were currently shooting didn't have any guests, it was conveniently vacant, and made a good, quiet spot to get away from the crowd and lights on the set. "It's like... I get the feeling there's something he's not telling me. Like he's upset about something, maybe feeling worse than he lets on, but he's hiding it for some reason. Colin's the kind of guy who keeps things inside, *especially* when there's distance between us. He just doesn't open up over the phone." Drew nodded, absently pulling a mint from his shirt pocket and popping it into his mouth. His predilection for the little `curiously strong' mints was a well-known eccentricity, and his friends had gotten used to it. It did, after all, mean that he always had great breath. "So you think he's been working too hard?" "Could be," Ryan replied musingly. "But he always works hard, and he always takes on too many projects. It tires him out, but it doesn't put that tone in his voice that I've been hearing lately. Especially over the last couple days. When I talked to him last night... I swear he sounded like he was about to start crying or something." "What?" Drew blinked, his frown deepening. Colin was probably the most stable, well-adjusted person he knew, and he couldn't imagine what would rattle his friend to the point of tears. "What did he say?" Ryan sighed again, running a hand through his hair. "It's not what he said, so much as what he *didn't* say. He didn't want to talk about work at all, and... and he didn't want to talk about us, either. It was like he was afraid of touching any sore spots." "You think your relationship with him is a sore spot for Colin?" Drew asked incredulously. "No, no, not like that," Ryan said, waving a hand dismissively. "I just mean... it's like this. If you're upset about something, and you don't want to get *more* upset, you avoid it. He's upset about us being apart, just like I am, but when he first went up to Toronto we talked about it all the time. Told each other how much we missed each other, all that stuff---the kinds of things that would make you roll your eyes and cover your ears if you heard them." Drew nodded, knowing the truth of that statement. "Hell, some of the incredibly sappy things you two say to each other right in front of me make me do that. I can only imagine what you'd say to each other over the phone." "Mmm..." Ryan smiled, a dreamy, faraway look on his face for a moment. Then, he seemed to come back to earth, and said, "Yeah, well, that's how it was. And we'd get kind of emotional talking about it, but it was nice. Last time we talked, though---he didn't even want to get close to that. It was like he was afraid that if he let his guard down and got all emotional, he'd start spilling things that he'd rather keep secret." "I thought you two didn't have any secrets from each other." "Everybody has secrets, Drew," Ryan said quietly. "But generally, you're right, we tell each other everything---in person. If Colin were having some kind of problem, something he felt really bad about, he wouldn't tell me over the phone. He'd wait until I could be right there for him, to listen. That especially goes if he's have a problem with work---he's got this whole complex about me helping him with work related stuff. Ever since I got him on Whose Line, he's been bound and determined to make his own way. Which is not to say he didn't appreciate the help, but... a lot of people don't know this about Colin, but he has a lot of pride." "Colin?" Drew leaned back, shaking his head. "I though he was Mister Humility of the twenty first century." Ryan chuckled, smiling down at his old friend. "He'll be pleased to hear that you said that. He works hard at that image, at being sweet and likable and not some spoiled star. But he doesn't like people to do things for him. He wants to move under his own steam, not ride on someone else's shoulders. When I say pride, I don't mean it in a bad way. He's not a snob or an egomaniac or anything like that, but he's worked hard to get where he is in his life, and he *is* proud of that. And I, for one, think he deserves to feel that way." "Sure, of course he does," Drew agreed easily. "But if it's keeping him from asking for help when he really needs it..." "I know," Ryan said worriedly. "I tried to ask him why he sounded upset on the phone, but he avoided the question. Gave me some line about just being tired---which wasn't a lie, I'm sure he *is* tired with the crazy schedule they've had him on---but it wasn't the whole truth, either. Colin doesn't lie to me, but he does... evade, sometimes. And I've known him long enough to know that pushing him when he doesn't want to talk about something will just make him dig in his heels and resist even harder." "Stubborn streak, huh? Gee, who does that remind me of..." "Smartass." Drew grinned up at the taller man, and then patted him on the shoulder a tad awkwardly. He was never very good with physical affection. "I'm sure Colin's fine. And hey, you get to see him in just two days, and then you can find out for yourself. If you two ever get into a fight to see who can out-stubborn the other one, I get the feeling that you'd win." "Gee, thanks... I think," Ryan said dryly. He started to say something about how it was going to be a long two days, but that was when the door burst open and a very harried looking Bruce Helford stuck his head inside. "There you two are!" the producer exclaimed, sweeping into the room. The man was a mass of nervous movement, pushing his glasses up on his nose even as he tugged anxiously at his thinning hair and fiddled with his watchband. "We've been going crazy trying to find you. What the hell are you doing in an empty dressing room?" "Talking," Drew said, frowning and rising to his feet. "What's wrong? Why is everyone looking for us?" Bruce sighed and began to pace, falling quickly into his old habit of moving whenever he was stressed. "There was some kind of big fuck-up down in editing, and we lost a whole lot of footage. We're talking about nearly four hours of tape, here." Ryan levered himself off the low couch, wincing and putting a hand to his back as his tired muscles protested the sudden movement. "What? Can't you just go back and use the original film?" The producer shook his head, not pausing in his constant back and forth circuit of the little room. The motion was beginning to make the other two men dizzy, and they both found themselves looking away. "You don't understand," Bruce said distractedly. "That's what got destroyed---the original film. The reels from all four camera angles were apparently all threaded into the machine, and it started going crazy, sucking them in too fast---it basically ate them. I've seen it, guys. This afternoon's work is nothing but a big pile of shredded film." "Shit!" Drew snapped, stuffing his hands in his pockets and biting his lip. "Who the hell was running the machine?" "Larry. But it wasn't his fault, so don't go thinking about giving him a permanent vacation," Bruce added quickly. "The machine itself freaked out. We've got some of the techs looking at it now, and they say that some damn gear or another inside of it snapped, and that's why it ate all the film." "Great," Ryan muttered. "What about all the material we got today? Do we have to redo it?" "'Fraid so," the producer replied. "Like, right now, tonight, if we're going to have even the slightest chance of getting the episode done on time. Why do you think we've been going nuts looking for you? We need you on the set, *now.*" "Okay, okay," Drew said soothingly, already moving toward the door. Ryan followed, shaking his head and kissing his plans of an evening spent relaxing his sore back in the tub goodbye. "What about the audience? Have they left already?" Ryan asked as they walked, double-quick, down the hall. Once outside the quiet of the little dressing room, the disarray in the studio was painfully obvious. Crew people ran everywhere, carrying bits of set design, lights, camera equipment and armfuls of wire. There seemed to be a low level hum of nervous chatter emanating from the walls themselves. "Yeah, they're gone, we're going to be using a canned laugh track." Drew paused, shooting his co-creator a dirty look. "You know I hate doing that." "I know, but at this point, we really don't have much choice, do we? Would you rather not have any laughter at all?" Bruce replied hotly, tugging on the shorter man's arm to get him to keep moving. "Fine," Drew grumbled. "Exactly how much are we going to have to re- shoot, anyway?" "Um... just the second scene in the living room, the Drew/Mimi banter about the exploding donut, and... the dance scene." The last bit was mumbled in a low voice, and both Drew and Ryan stopped short, voicing identical groans. "Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding me. The dance scene? *Again?*" Drew said, shaking his head. "How many damn takes did we need to get that thing right?" "Not that many," Bruce replied, trying to sound cheerful. "And hey, now that we've had so much practice at it, it should be easy, right?" Drew shot him a dirty look and didn't reply. Ryan, meanwhile, was staring broodingly at the floor and trying not to think about how much going through the damn dance moves again was going to hurt his back. What had started out as a good day had suddenly gone very badly downhill. ~~~ "I never want to hear that song again for as long as I live," Drew groaned, flopping down on a couch in the green room. Ryan carefully sank down across from him in an armchair, his face a tightly controlled mask hiding the pain in his back. The professionally choreographed dance number had been specifically designed to be easy on him, but filming it twice in one day was rough no matter how considerate the director had been. He felt bone tired, and the nagging throb in his back had invited a friend to come inhabit the back of his skull. "Okay guys, five minutes till we're due on the living room set," Robert Borden, the director, said brightly. He was met with groans and some rather rude and anatomically impossible suggestions, but he was well accustomed to the cast of the `Drew Carey Show' and he shrugged them off. "At least the living room scene is the last thing we have to shoot," Drew said in a half-hearted attempt at optimism. "And it's short--- shouldn't take us more than half an hour to finish it." "Thank God," Ryan muttered, keeping his eyes tightly shut as he gently rubbed at his lower back. "Your back hurting you?" Drew asked sympathetically. Ryan nodded, and then pulled himself from the chair. "Come on, let's get to the set. I want to get this over with." "Okay," Drew replied, suddenly feeling like a jerk for complaining so much when Ryan was in such obvious pain and never whined a bit. He followed the taller man down the hall, thinking worriedly that his old friend looked like hell. Then he saw Colin, and realized that if Ryan looked like hell, his lover looked like something far worse. His gait was slow and stiff, marking him as either very sore or very tired---probably both. He was paler than usual, his eyes looking extra dark with the added circles beneath them. For a moment, Drew thought he'd been in a fight and gotten two black eyes, but then he realized that the discoloration was just the result of prolonged fatigue. "Ryan?" Lifting his gaze from the floor, Ryan blinked slowly, trying to reconcile the familiar voice with the fact that he knew Colin was still in Canada. "Col?" "Hey," Colin said softly, walking toward the other man. "Um... can we talk?" "You're not supposed to be back yet," Ryan said dully. "You were supposed to come back Friday night." "There was a change of plans," Colin replied, his lips tightening. "Can we get out of here? Please? I... some things happened and I need to talk to you." "Guys? Come on, let's wrap this up and go home," Robert called, waving at them from down the hall. Colin's back was to the director, and he didn't recognize the man from behind. "I have to work," Ryan said. "Why didn't you tell me that you were coming back early? I was planning... you should have called." "It's a long story." Colin's voice was weak, and Drew was somewhat alarmed to notice that the older man was slumped against the wall, as if he couldn't stand on his own. Ryan, however, lost in his own fatigue and pain, was oblivious. "Well, you still should have called," he repeated stubbornly. "Now I have to keep working---there was some big screw up with the film, and we had to re-shoot a whole bunch of stuff, including that dance number. My back is killing me, I'm dead tired, and we have another scene to do before we can leave. I don't have time to talk right now." "Oh," Colin said. That was all. Just `oh.' His voice was very small, but very controlled. Ryan brushed past him in the hallway, walking with one hand pressed to the small of his back and the other braced against the wall. Colin stood perfectly still and let him pass, not reaching for him, but not dodging either. His eyes followed Ryan's progress, and his expression was... hungry. And hurt. That was undeniable, although he was clearly trying to hide it. The pain was fleeting though, and then a kind of shiny blankness descended over Colin's eyes, turning the deep sable brown to a dull color, like an old, tarnished penny. Pausing about ten steps after he had passed Colin, Ryan sighed heavily and turned. "Look, I'm sorry, I really am glad you're back. It's just that I'm tired and not feeling so great right now, and---" He stopped when he realized that he was speaking to an empty hall. Colin was gone. ~~~ Part 3 "Stop it," Colin hissed to himself, staring fiercely at his hand. It wouldn't stop shaking, which was making unlocking his car door very difficult. The key was scraping all around the little chrome notch, leaving spidery lines in the dark green paint and creating an aggravating, fingernails-on-the-blackboard sound that drove straight to the center of Colin's headache like an ice pick. "You're not supposed to be back yet," he muttered, not aware that he was speaking out loud until he actually heard the words. His voice was high and shaky, which only made him angrier. "Would you just *stop* thinking about it already? Stop it, stop it!" He jammed the keys against the side of the car, going for brute force rather than precision, and they fell from his trembling grip and landed on the pavement with a metal jangle that sent white sparks shooting across his vision. "Fuck!" he shouted, the word escaping him in a sudden sharp blast of breath. He slammed his fist down on the roof of the car, unaware that he was crying until his vision suddenly got blurry. "Oh, for fuck's sake, would you just stop it? Quit being such a damn baby," he growled, clenching his fists at his sides, his head down, breathing through clenched teeth. "You just dropped the stupid keys, that's all. Pull it together, dammit!" Fiercely controlling his breathing, Colin bent down and retrieved the keys, focusing intently on the task. His vision was still blurring relentlessly, and he kept scrubbing furiously at his eyes with his free hand, hating the feeling of losing control but utterly unable to stop. "You were supposed to come back Friday night, he said. He was *planning* something. Something that made him decide not to finish the sentence. What the hell is up with *that* shit, that's what I'd like to know." Colin was barely aware of his own lips moving, and the voice that somehow crawled out of his throat didn't sound remotely like his own. When he finally got the door open, he slid into the car too fast and gouged his thigh on the handle of the emergency brake. After another creative and completely uncontrollable fit of cursing, he shoved the brake handle down hard enough to damage the mechanism and stared straight ahead, waiting for his vision to clear so he could drive. "Looks like a long wait," he muttered, and then: "Shut up. I can stop crying, dammit. I'm not a fucking baby." "Talking to yourself. Not a great sign." Colin smacked the steering wheel, stinging the palms of his hands and making a snapping sound that seemed to drive splinters into his brain. He'd *never* had a headache this bad, never, never. It superceded even the pain in his back and hips for attention from his nervous system. He felt like if one more thing started to hurt, he would simply overload and short out, sparks coming from his fillings and fingertips, all his hair standing on end in a kind of electric halo. "Just get the hell out of here. Go home... shit. Home. Home is where Ryan is, that's what I told him, but I should've *called.* I wasn't *supposed* to be back yet. Ruined his *plans.* Thought he'd be happy to see me, but nooooo..." The tears, which had never really stopped since he dropped his keys, suddenly bit harder, racking his chest with a sudden sob that was hard enough to hurt his throat and diaphragm, and Colin dropped his head against the steering wheel and let them come for a moment. Then he pulled back, viciously wiping his face, scrubbing at his eyes with the hem of his shirt until they were raw with the rubbing. "Stop it, stop it, you big fucking baby, he had to work, that's all! And you *should* have called. Just because you had the worst fucking day in the history of the universe you can't just come running to him and expect him to drop everything for you. You think he doesn't have things to do?" Colin sighed, a long, ragged sound, and tilted his head back to stare at the cloth-covered roof of his car. Blinking rapidly, he swallowed three times in quick succession. "Yeah," he whispered. "I think he has things to do, but I also thought I came first on his list of priorities. If he needed me this bad, I'd drop everything for him." "You're still talking to yourself." "No shit, Sherlock." Gritting his teeth, Colin managed to shove the key into the ignition without dropping the damn things again, and mercifully, the car started right away. If the engine had given him even the slightest whisper of complaint or reluctance, Colin thought he would probably run away screaming. And dammit, his vision *still* wouldn't clear. The persistent blurriness was back, sliding along the sides of his nose and leaving the taste of salt on the corners of his mouth. He could feel drops clinging to the line of his jaw, and he shook his head in a quick, vicious movement, sending them flying to leave slightly darker spots in on the charcoal gray upholstery of the car. "That's enough, damn you, you want them to find you like this? Sitting in the parking lot, crying like a baby and not going anywhere? Just get out of here. Doesn't matter where, just move!" "They're probably not even looking for me," Colin whispered reproachfully, but he nonetheless put the car in gear and backed out of his parking spot. "After all, they're *busy.* Got *work* to do. And I wasn't supposed to be here until Friday. If I wanted some of his precious time, I should have called, shouldn't I?" "Listen to you lay on the self pity. Quit your fucking whining. It's not like you've never lost a job before---" Colin punched his own thigh, driving his knuckles into the place just between the big muscle on top and the kneecap. "Stop it! Just fucking stop it. We are *not* thinking about that, and we are *certainly* not talking about it, is that clear?" As he pulled out onto the highway, silence reigned in the car, except for the low hum of the perfectly functioning engine and his own non- stop sniffling. The pathetic sounds only frustrated him further, and the growing sinus blockage that he was developing seemed to make his headache worse, if that was possible. He reached over and jabbed the on button to the stereo, and a commercial for 1-800-Start-Over, complete with cheery jingle about rebuilding your credit, blared over the speakers. Wincing, Colin switched the station, only to be confronted with an audio ad for the very life insurance company that he was no longer endorsing. "Shit!" he snapped, turning the volume knob down so hard that it came off in his hand. He stared at the piece of black plastic for a long, incredulous moment before he hurled it against the dashboard, where it failed to ricochet satisfyingly but simply fell to the floor and sat there, seeming to mutely accuse him. "God, I'm fucking losing it," Colin muttered, rubbing a hand across his face. He looked at the volume knob, staring at it as if it might suddenly jump up and try to impale him through the eye in retribution for his violence against the innocent bit of plastic, but it simply sat there, rolling ever so slightly back and forth with the motion of the car. You're not paying attention to the road, a voice in Colin's mind whispered, but he ignored it. The road could just take care of itself for a little while. Something about that little volume knob was... fascinating. Compelling. His view of it doubled, and then trembled as his eyes overfilled, and only when he realized that he was sobbing again---full out, wide screen, drama princess sobbing---did he turn his gaze back to the road. To his surprise and slight confusion, he had made it nearly back to the house that he and Ryan shared when they were in L.A. It was a quiet, residential street, lined with trees, the houses set far enough back from the road that they could barely be seen through the careful and deliberate screen of landscaping. The dotted yellow line that ran down the center of the road seemed to waver, like a desert seen at sunset, shimmering with heat haze and oblique light, and Colin blinked, trying to see it more clearly. Fresh tears just popped up to replace the ones he wiped away. His whole head felt soaked and heavy, as if his tears were not simply coming from his lachrymal glands, but were somehow emanating from the skin itself. He felt almost drowned in them. And now, wasn't this a funhouse, come up on ladies and gentlemen, children of all ages, the fun never stops here, wasn't this just fucking *great*---*now* he could barely keep his eyes open. The exhaustion was all catching up with him, and the ragged, uncontrollable sobbing seemed to be draining the last of his energy with frightening speed. "Should probably get off the damn road before you kill your stupid ass," he murmured, and even his voice sounded wet and tired, like a dud firecracker or bad gunpowder that doesn't make a satisfying bang but only a weak `flump!' Getting off the road was probably a good idea. He could see the soft shoulder to his right, but oddly enough, it grew larger but no nearer. He felt as if he was shrinking. When he felt the gravel rattling under the passenger side wheels of the car, he jerked his head up, opening his eyes and only then realizing that they had been closed. "Holy fuck," Colin whispered dazedly. "Nearly lost it there. Nearly..." A tree. There was somehow a tree in the middle of the road. That couldn't be right. Colin blinked at it, and then shut his eyes and rubbed at them, but the tree refused to disappear like any self- respecting mirage. Instead, it only got closer, looming, larger than life, and there was a branch, reaching for him... "I'm not on the road anymore," he said, calmly, conversationally. It was the same tone he might have used to note that it looked like rain later, or that he felt like Italian food for dinner. That was the last thing he said before the front of the car met with the rather solid trunk of the tree and lost its forward momentum in a crunch of metal. The branch that had been reaching so hypnotically for Colin burst through the windshield and met his forehead with a resounding thwack, hi, how are ya, nice to meet you, and then Colin finally found the deep, dreamless sleep that had been courting him all afternoon. ~~~ Part 4 "This is not good." "No kidding." Ryan paused in his anxious phone dialing long enough to give the other man a dirty look. "Thanks so much for the help, Drew." Drew shrugged, reaching underneath his glasses to rub his eyes, and then taking them off completely and throwing them carelessly on the crafts table. Someone would pick them up later. "What, you want me to lie to you?" Deliberately not answering that, Ryan listened to the phone ring in his ear until he got the answering machine---again---and then he hit the disconnect button and sighed in frustration. "He's still not answering the phone. Where would he go but home?" "Maybe he just doesn't want to talk to you." "You're really helping me not feel so guilty, Drew. Thanks for all the support." The sarcasm wasn't lost on the chubby comedian, but he chose to ignore it. "Look, I said it would be all right for you to go after him, but you wanted to finish that last scene." "What else could I do? You know we had to get this thing in the can tonight, and if I went after him, he wouldn't want me to leave until we got everything hashed out, and God knows *that* could take all night..." "And maybe you just didn't want to face him until he cooled down a little? Could that have something to do with it?" Drew asked quietly, giving his friend a pointed look. Ryan frowned, biting his lip and staring absently at the floor. He was playing with the silver ring he wore---the one that fit together with Colin's when they were both removed, and formed a Celtic knot. As Drew remembered, it had been Colin who went out and purchased those rings, and when he'd presented Ryan's to him, the taller man had been touched almost to the point of tears. "I swear," Drew muttered, "I don't know how you two can be so damn perfect together and then screw each other up so badly at the same time." "I didn't screw him up," Ryan replied defensively. "I just... I was so tired, and my back was hurting like hell, and I was frustrated with doing all those scenes *again* and I had all those plans for when he was coming back that just got ruined because he showed up early and... oh, let's face it, I'm a dick." Drew just nodded silently, his lips tightened into a grim line, and Ryan sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Don't disagree with me all at once, Drew." "Ryan... look, I know you're wrecked right now, tired and your back hurting and all that, and I know you had all those plans that you were looking forward to so much, but did you *see* him? I mean, did you really look? He looked... bad. Really, really bad. And he *asked* to talk to you, he actually came right out and said `some things happened and I need to talk to you' and you *still* brushed him off. If he has so much trouble asking for help, how bad do you think he had to be feeling to practically beg for a little attention?" Ryan groaned, dropping into a chair and putting his head in his hands. "Shit. You're right, okay? You're right, I feel like a total asshole, you don't need to pound it home anymore." Sinking down into the chair beside his friend, Drew reached over and squeezed the taller man's shoulder, the rebuke melting from his expression when he realized how terrible Ryan felt about the whole thing. "So... what are you going to do now?" "I guess I'm going to go home and hope like hell that he's there. I don't know what else to do," Ryan said, shrugging helplessly. "Ah... that's your problem. Lack of information. If you go after him now, not knowing why he was so upset in the first place, not knowing why he came back early, you're likely to screw things up again. I mean, let's face it, your track record right now isn't exactly stellar." "Thanks, Drew," Ryan muttered, not bothering to lift his face out of his hands. "Any time," he replied dryly. "So, now you need to do a little investigating. Find out what happened in Canada---is there someone you can call? Some friends of his up there, someone he would talk to...?" Ryan shook his head dismissively, his forearms swaying back and forth with the movement, his forehead still pressed into the heels of his hands. "There's no one in Canada that he's that close to. If he wouldn't tell *me,* he's certainly not going to tell them. Colin doesn't make close friends that easily, and most of the ones he has are here in L.A." "Okay," Drew said slowly. "Then someone he works with? You did say that you thought whatever was bothering him was work related." "No," Ryan said, starting to shake his head again. "He was on all these different projects, and I don't know most of the people he was working with, so---wait. Don! Of course! He always knows *everything* that's going on with Colin, at least as far as work goes." "Don?" "His agent," Ryan clarified. "He's one of those agents that seems to think the talent needs to be coddled and babied and treated like some delicate glass figurine. When it comes to Colin, he's more of a mother-hen than I am." Drew raised an eyebrow. "I don't think that's possible." Ryan smacked his friend lightly on the knee, but he was smiling. "If it involved Colin's work, Don'll know about it. And I'm pretty sure I still have his number in my cell phone..." He began pushing the buttons of the little phone, squinting in an effort to read the tiny digital lines of print. "You're going to call him now? Isn't it... something like two in the morning in Toronto right now?" Drew asked after a quick glance at his watch. Ryan shot him a level look. "This is important. And besides, he's also one of those agents who took `sucking up' as a minor in college. The minute he hears my name, his lips are going to superglue themselves to my ass whether it's two in the morning or not." Drew chuckled and sat back in his chair, hoping Ryan could get some information out of this Don character. The sooner they knew what had happened to bring Colin back early, the sooner Ryan could make things right again. "Hello?" a sleepy voice answered blearily on the third ring. "Don? It's Ryan Stiles. Do you have a minute to talk about some things?" There was a slight pause while the agent cross-referenced his mental Rolodex and came up with a big star for `celebrity' next to Ryan's name. "Ryan, babe, how's it going! How's Hollywood's favorite tall guy, huh?" Ryan rolled his eyes, and at Drew's questioning look, he made kissing motions with his lips, bearing a rather marked resemblance to some strange breed of fish. Drew snorted laughter and then covered his mouth, still giggling in that squeaky way he had. "I'm fine, Don," Ryan said impatiently, "but Colin isn't. What the hell happened with him up there?" The schmooze immediately bled out of Don's voice. "What? He should be there with you, shouldn't he? Did something go wrong with the flight?" "Not that I know of. And he *was* here, but... look, it's a long story. He's not here right now. What I want to know is why he came back early in the first place, and why he looked like death warmed over when he got here." Pausing for a moment, the agent made a series of creaking noises that Ryan assumed were the sounds of him sitting up in bed. "Did Colin really look that bad? I know he was a little worn out when he left here, but I figured once he got together with you again he'd be fine. That's all he could talk about, you know---he kept insisting that he had to get back and see you right away." Ryan felt the first stirrings of real fear, threading icy snakes through his stomach. "Don... is he sick? Is that what this is about? I mean... seriously sick?" "No, no, no, nothing like that," the other man hurried to assure him. "He just ran into a bad situation on his last job, and due to that situation, the job ended early, which meant that he could leave Toronto early. He seemed very anxious to go home." Covering his eyes with one hand, Ryan hunched over in his chair, his shoulders and head dropping. "What exactly do you mean, a `bad situation?'" "Oh, ah, just some friction between Colin and the director. You know, creative differences," Don replied vaguely. "Don't give me that. I want to know exactly what happened---and don't bother dragging your feet on this one, Don. You and I both know that you're eventually going to tell me, so let's just skip the bullshit and get everything out right now." Don laughed awkwardly, a forced, stilted sound. "Oh, Ryan, that's what I love about you, you're so refreshingly honest. None of that beating around the bush that so many actors indulge in." "And so many agents," Ryan replied dryly. "Now let's hear it--- everything." There was another pause, the agent somehow managing to convey resentment and reluctance without a sound, and then he began. Just like when he was giving Colin the inside scoop about the charming Richard Grayson, once he started to tell the story, he seemed to glory in it. "Okay, here's what happened. Colin finished all his other projects up here, most of them ahead of schedule, which put him about four days ahead of the game for this commercial shoot. And it's a good thing he *was* early, because the director, Dick Grayson, was bound and determined to slow things down. He didn't want to work with Colin, and he made that very clear." "Uh-huh," Ryan said, nodding. "So Colin decided he'd had enough and left?" "Not... exactly," Don replied hesitantly. "You see, I dropped by the set when I heard that the director had made a deal with the ad agency. If Colin quit, or made the shooting take too long, then Dick got to fire him and pick whomever he wanted---which was his goal. He was *trying* to make Colin quit. That's why he never let up with all the snide comments and demanding re-takes and the little under-his- breath insults that Colin was meant to hear." "Asshole," Ryan growled, shaking his head. "No wonder Colin sounded so down when I talked to him. That kind of constant abuse can get to someone after a while, especially someone like Col..." "Yeah, well, it was getting to him all right. When I stopped by the set, he was ready to say the hell with it and walk out, but that was before I told him about the director's deal with the ad agency. *Then* he was determined to tough it out just so Dick wouldn't get his way." Ryan grinned. "Yeah, that sounds like my Colin---a stubborn streak a mile wide when he gets mad. So he finished the commercial?" Silence from the phone. Ryan actually pulled it away from his ear and looked at it to make sure the connection was still in place. "Don? You still there?" "Yeah... um... Colin didn't tell you what happened?" Sinking a little deeper into his chair, Ryan bit his lip and shook his head, forgetting that the other man couldn't see him. "Ah, no, we didn't really talk. It's... complicated. What happened?" Don hesitated, and Ryan thought nervously that for a man who seemed to derive such malicious glee from spreading negative gossip, he sure seemed reluctant to share this particular nugget of unpleasantness. That couldn't be a good sign. "Well," the agent began, "Colin went back in with the intention of just taking the high road and ignoring Dick's little comments. There really wasn't that much left to do on the commercial, and he thought if he'd put up with it for a week, he could handle the rest of the afternoon. But I guess the director figured that this was his last chance to get rid of Colin, and he stepped things up. Considerably." "What did he do?" Ryan rumbled ominously. Sighing, Don said, "First, it was the re-takes. I stayed to back Colin up for the rest of the shoot, since everyone else on that set seemed to be siding with the director. It wasn't just Dick screwing around with him, either, it was the whole crew. They kept messing up the sound quality or the lighting, and then Colin would have to do it *again.* All he had to do was five lines of dialogue in three different rooms, all of them together on the soundstage, but it was taking *forever.* No matter what he did, it wasn't good enough, and you better believe Dick made sure to tell him it wasn't good enough in no uncertain terms." "Bastard." Ryan's eyes were narrowed to slits, his jaw set in a hard line. "You got that right," the agent said darkly. "But, of course, that wasn't the end of things. Colin was trying his damndest to ignore all the not-so-subtle jabs and do the work, but it became clear really fast that nothing he did was going to meet the standards of our dear friend, Mister Grayson. He'd been at it for about three hours, swallowing all the snide comments and insults and `accidental mix- ups' on the set, when he finally managed to get one of the lines of dialogue out *exactly* the way Dick wanted it, with no technical problems." "And then what happened?" Don sighed heavily. "Well, the director just looked at him for a few seconds, and then said `Do it again.' So Colin asked him what the hell was wrong with that take, and Dick told him... he said it was too `faggy.'" Ryan's jaw dropped and then his teeth snapped together with a resounding clack, like billiard balls connecting on a pool table. "You've got to be shitting me. He *said* that? He actually went there?" "Oh, he'd been going there all day. Half of the snide comments were gay slurs. Particularly when Colin was trying to do the line about being a family man... that's when Dick really started living up to his name. But I think telling Colin that he sounded too faggy was the last straw, and Col just snapped. He started reading the guy the riot act, but you know how Colin gets when he's really upset..." "He starts tripping over his words," Ryan said grimly. "He gets all flustered and starts to stutter." "Yeah," the agent agreed softly. "And of course, the director made a joke out of that too, and then he proceeded to tear Colin into strips. I've *never* seen anyone get verbally beat down like that before, not even in rough comedy clubs or debate team in college. Dick insulted *everything,* from his family to his sexual orientation to his looks to his age... he seemed to have an eye for the stuff that really got under Colin's skin, and whenever he got a reaction he would concentrate on that particular thing." "Son of a *bitch,*" Ryan hissed, glaring fiercely at the innocent beige paint on the wall in front of him. "Did Colin even have a chance to get a word in edgewise?" "Nope," Don replied. "He tried, I've got to give him kudos for trying, but Dick just *wouldn't* stop. He must have gone on for twenty minutes, absolutely relentless. It would have been impressive if I didn't know how much it was hurting Colin. By the end, he was actually shaking, and he just walked out of there. Didn't say a word to me or anyone else, and the whole time, that asshole was taunting him about running away, `run crying to your butt-buddy,' that kind of thing." "I swear I'm going to hire a fucking hit man," Ryan growled. Don chuckled weakly, sounding as if he wasn't sure whether or not Ryan was joking. "Don't worry too much about Dick, I made sure he got his." "You did?" The agent laughed with genuine humor this time. "Yeah, I just so happened to have the pocket tape recorder I use for interviews turned on while he was saying all that nasty shit to Colin, and when the ad agency heard that and my report of how he had *deliberately* sabotaged the work just so he could get his own way... well, let's just say he won't be working for them *or* anyone else they know in the entertainment industry for a long time." Ryan smiled grimly. "Good. But I still want to go up there and beat the hell out of him. You wouldn't happen to have that tape on you, would you?" he asked, and then stopped the other man before he could answer. "No, no, don't tell me. If I hear it, that'll just piss me off more, and make me feel like more of a jackass for what I did." "What did you do?" Don asked curiously. Sighing, Ryan shook his head, covering his eyes with one hand. "Never mind. I'll tell you later. First, finish with what happened. Did you talk to Colin after he walked out?" "More like talked *at* him," Don snorted, chuckling softly. When Ryan didn't join his laughter, he cleared his throat awkwardly and continued in a more serious tone. "Well, anyway, I caught up with Colin in the parking lot. I've never seen him look so badly rattled, Ryan. Usually, nothing gets to him, or at least not in a way that you can see from the outside, but he literally looked like he was about to collapse. When he dropped his keys, I picked them up so he couldn't leave---partly because I wanted to talk to him and partly because I figured he shouldn't drive when he was shaking so badly." Ryan nodded. "Good call. So what did he tell you?" "That he wanted to go home and see you, and that's all he wanted. No talking, no waiting, he was going to be on the next plane out of Toronto if he had to hijack the damn thing. I tried to calm him down a little, but he threatened to hit me unless I gave him his keys." "Colin?" Ryan asked incredulously, blinking in surprise. "He said he'd *hit* you?" The agent laughed again, short and brittle. "Yeah, I know, mister non- violent and good-natured threatened to hit me, and you know what? I believed him. He was furious, but he was also on the edge of totally losing it and breaking down right there, which he obviously didn't want to do. So we compromised, and I drove him to the airport." "Did he talk to you at all?" "No," Don replied, shaking his head in his dark, tidy apartment bedroom. "Every time I tried to say something to make him feel better, he just rebuffed me, *hard.* He wanted you and *only* you, and he made it very clear that I should leave him alone if I wanted to keep my head on straight." "Shit," Ryan muttered, covering his face in his hands again. "I *seriously* fucked up this time." "What do you mean?" Ryan hesitated, biting his lip and keeping his eyes shut. He didn't feel like meeting anyone's gaze right now. "When he got here, I... oh, hell, I feel sick even saying this. I was *such* a total asshole to him. I wasn't planning on him being back today, and I had to work, and there were some problems with the show, it's been a long, crummy day, and I... I basically brushed him off. Not in a nice way, either. I distinctly remember telling him that he wasn't supposed to be back yet, and that he should have called. I also said that I was *busy,* and I didn't have time to talk to him." "Oh," Don replied uncomfortably. "That's what he said. Just `oh.' And the next time I looked up, he was gone." There was a lull in the conversation as they both considered what that meant. "Uh," the agent began, "when did that happen?" Ryan glanced at his watch, rubbing his eyes tiredly and fighting back the urge to slam his head against the nearest available wall. How could he have been so damn careless? So insensitive and selfish and stupid? "I guess it was about an hour ago," he muttered. "I, ah... I went back to work after he disappeared." Don was silent for a long moment, and then he said softly, "You didn't go after him?" It was the closest thing he could get to an accusation. Ryan hung his head a little lower, still covering his face with one huge hand. "No, I didn't. God, I'm such a jerk. Colin went through all that crap, flew home as fast as he could because he *needed* to see me, and I blew him off. I don't deserve him." "Well," the agent said tersely. "Maybe instead of drowning in the guilt, you should find him and try to make it up to him, hmm?" "Yeah," Ryan replied sheepishly. "I just... I wanted to find out what had happened, first. I figured if I knew the whole story, I would be better prepared to take care of Colin." Don yawned, obviously feeling the two-in-the-morning wakeup call. "Well, now you know. Good luck---I get the feeling you're going to need it." Ryan nodded grimly. "Yeah, you're probably right. And thanks---for telling me, and for being there for Colin. If you hadn't taken his keys away, God only knows what would have happened." "No problem. Just make sure he doesn't drive anywhere until he's calmed down, okay? I don't want to lose my favorite client." "Yeah," Ryan said weakly. "Sorry for waking you, good night." Don assured him that he didn't mind being woken up and said his goodbyes, and then the call was over. Ryan pressed his hands against his face, leaning back in the chair and staring at the ceiling from in between his fingers. "Ryan? I didn't quite get all of that," Drew began cautiously. "Did Colin drive when he left here?" Ryan asked, his voice oddly flat. Drew frowned, rubbing the back of his neck. "Um... I didn't see, but I'm assuming that he did. Why?" Ryan rose from his chair in a rapid flurry of movement, ignoring the sharp stab of pain from his lower back. "I'll explain later. Right now I have to go." Then he was gone, nearly running out of the room and down the hall. Drew watched him go, and muttered to himself, "I have a bad feeling about this..." ~~~ Part 5 Ryan sped home, but everything seemed to be against him. The lights taunted him, flicking to red just as he arrived at them, while everyone but him seemed to be moving forward. He felt like he was trying to swim upstream in a fast river; he had to struggle just to stay where he was. The icy fear coiled in his guts kept reaching up to land stinging strikes on the back of his throat, filling his mouth with a dry, bitter taste. "He's all right," Ryan muttered under his breath, barely aware that he was speaking out loud. "He's fine, everything's okay, I'm just overreacting and imagining the worst-case scenario because I feel like such a jackass. When I see that he's fine, I'm going to feel really stupid for worrying so much." In this case, Ryan thought that he would welcome feeling stupid. Anything was better than the cold, leaden weight of foreboding that had settled in his stomach. The closer he got to home, the worse he felt. Ryan was beginning to seriously consider pulling off the side of the road so he could throw up. The nausea was a kind of constant pressure, never getting to the point of actually losing the remains of his dinner, but hovering just below that, a greasy, rolling sense of unsteadiness. He was so focused on the road, narrowing his field of vision and trying to ignore the persistent nagging fear that threatened to explode into panic, that he never saw the wreck of Colin's car by the side of the road. It was well after dark, and his headlights only illuminated the crumpled metal for a fleeting second, sending back sparks of reflection from the shattered glass. "He's okay, he's fine, he'll be at home waiting for me," Ryan whispered in a kind of mantra. He began to picture it in his mind--- Colin opening the front door before he could even turn the knob, Ryan welcoming the older man into his arms, both of them crying, Colin releasing everything he'd been going through and Ryan in sheer relief. Even if there was no welcome, even if Colin was angry and hurt, as he had every right to be, Ryan didn't care. He could deal with that, as long as Colin was *okay.* Ryan wasn't sure when the certainty that Colin was not, in fact, okay had crept into his mind, but once there, it showed no signs of leaving. The knowledge came equipped with hooks for hands and a vicious set of teeth, and it tore its way into his self-control, making him drive a little faster and continue to whisper under his breath. "He's okay, he's fine, everything's okay." He was completely failing to convince himself. When he pulled into the driveway of their cozy, secluded home, the first thing Ryan noticed was the absence of Colin's car. "Maybe he took a cab home from the studio," he told himself soothingly. "It could happen. Col's a responsible guy. If he knew he was in no shape to drive, he would've taken a cab." But that didn't add up---Don had said that Colin fully intended to drive himself to the airport, badly shaken or not. Ryan shoved that thought away. Despite the illogic of it, he clung to the idea that Colin had taken a cab home. Sure he had. And he was inside right now, just fine, ready to talk and forgive Ryan for his earlier behavior. Any other outcome was simply not acceptable. Colin was *fine,* dammit. Fine. No one met him at the door. Ryan shrugged it off. Colin had been exhausted; he was probably in bed. Sleeping peacefully. Perfectly fine. No doubt about it. The house was quiet and dark. It didn't feel empty, though, and for some reason that disturbed Ryan more than anything else. The rooms weren't occupied, but they still felt... haunted. Making a low whimpering sound under his breath, Ryan advanced into the agreeably cluttered home, flipping on the light switch absently. The haunted feeling didn't dissipate with the darkness, but seemed to intensify. Everything was as it should be, and yet, everything was ever so slightly out of place. Ryan had the eerie, stomach turning sense that someone had been in the house and removed everything, only to replace it all with perfect duplicates. It made him feel dirty and vulnerable, and he wiped his hands on his shirt. There was the couch, the big, comfortable, overstuffed midnight blue piece that he and Colin often curled together on, talking or watching TV or occasionally something more physical. There was the television itself, one of those giant flat plasma screen types, mutely denying Ryan's vague idea that they had been robbed. The value of their entertainment system was close to fifteen thousand dollars---surely thieves would have targeted that first. "Maybe they were crazy," Ryan whispered. Speaking out loud seemed like a bad idea; some half-formed thought about the intruders who had replaced all the furniture flitted through his mind. Maybe they were still in the house. Ridiculous, of course, because no one had snuck in and replaced all his furniture, that was just his overactive imagination, but he whispered nonetheless. There was the Maxfield Parrish painting that Colin loved so much. Ryan had presented it to him on his last birthday, and Colin had been both amazed and touched---it was an original print, the artist's famous `Daybreak,' and Ryan had purchased it for a rather hefty price from Alma Gilbert's original gallery in San Mateo. Twin columns framed a scene of a sleeping young woman, with a faun-like creature standing over her, while mountains and trees were rendered in the background in stunning detail and color, washed in dawn's early light. They had been walking through a series of small shops one day and Colin had noticed and exclaimed over a cheap reproduction, but Ryan had talked him out of getting it. Colin had been truly blown away when Ryan had remembered his preference for that particular picture and had gone to the trouble and expense of tracking down the original, signed by the artist himself. Ryan stared at the picture for a long moment, remembering how Colin's eyes had lit up, and how the older man had been at a loss for words when he realized what his lover had done for him. "How can I be so good to him and so terrible at the same time?" he whispered. "What the hell was I thinking?" The empty house had no answers for him, and he moved on, walking through the cozy living room and into the modern kitchen. The counters were all attractive speckled granite, the fixtures porcelain and chrome. They had a cleaning service that came in on a regular basis, and the place gleamed, points of light slipping in from the living room and winking off the corners of everything. The rack of copper pots and pans dangling over the counter island in the center of the room was transformed into a thing of decadent beauty by the oblique light. Ryan didn't smile at the view, or think, as he usually did, how lucky he was to make enough money to own the finer things in life just by cracking jokes with his best friend. Instead, he flipped the lights on impatiently, hoping that the illumination would dispel the throat- clenching sense of wrongness. The soft white lights that were embedded in the ceiling flicked on soundlessly, bathing the clean kitchen in luminescence and reflecting in six white suns on the hardwood floor. That was when Ryan stopped dead and stared at something else that the lights revealed. Blood. On the floor, marring the smooth, polished surface. Two drops, close together, wet, only beginning to fade from bright arterial red to maroon. "No," he whispered. "No, no, no..." There, on the counter, a smeared trail, small but still shocking, in a vague comma shape. More blood, spread thin and therefore quicker to dry, a muddy red-brown against the dark granite. "No, no..." On the sink, the faucet handle, fingerprints, red, mute, all too clear in the unforgiving light. The blood seemed to have beaded up on the polished chrome, like the way water will bead on a freshly waxed car, or the way oil will behave in a new, Teflon coated pan. It looked like liquid mercury at room temperature, round and flowing and seeming to defy the laws of physics. Ryan wanted to blow on it and see if it would move with his breath, rolling along the surface of the faucet, but he couldn't. He didn't seem to have any breath left. All the air had been punched viciously from his lungs. "No," he whispered, over and over again. "No, no." On the side of the solid oak cupboard, the honey colored wood that matched the floor, another blotch that might have been a handprint. Here, the blood had soaked in, blurring the lines of definition, but Ryan could picture Colin bracing one hand against the wall in an effort to remain upright all too vividly. He never questioned that it was Colin's blood. People will believe anything, either because they want it to be true or because they are afraid that it is. "This is all my fault," he moaned, and then went back to his mantra. "No, no, please no..." Ryan didn't want to turn the corner into the dining room. His hand actually grabbed at the edge of the counter without his permission, tethering him in place in the kitchen. He leaned forward just a little more, driven by a kind of morbid curiosity and a relentless need to know. The same drive that makes us slow down to look at car accidents. A simple canvas walking shoe, laying on the floor, sheathing a foot, a glimpse of jean-clad leg. A hint of white athletic sock covering an ankle. Colin---he was sure of it. Making a thick whimpering noise in his throat, Ryan leaned forward a little more. He was bent almost double---if his hand suddenly let go, he would spill painfully to the floor. He didn't think about that. More of the leg, the blue jeans spattered with something that looked like paint but wasn't. Not that much, just a few drops here and there, but enough to make Ryan squeeze his eyes shut and shake his head violently, his hair flying out to the sides like a dog's. "No, no, no..." His sweat-slicked palm was beginning to slide off the smooth granite, and Ryan automatically brought his foot forward, shifting his center of balance so he wouldn't fall. His fingers lost their purchase entirely, and he swayed, but didn't collapse. He was dimly aware of the fact that he couldn't feel his legs. His vision was white around the edges, narrowed to thin beam, focused solely on that shoe, that glimpse of sock-clad ankle, the jeans spattered with the few drops of dark red-brown. "No, please, no." Forward a little more. The hem of a shirt, pulled up, exposing a thin line of white belly, soft and smooth and drooping ever so slightly over the waistband of the jeans. The shirt was pale blue, one of Colin's favorite colors, and the spots of blood on it looked almost purple. Ryan made a kind of gagging noise in his throat, and glanced quickly at the sink, wondering if he should run to it. Wondering if he was going to vomit, and almost on the same thought, acknowledging the futility of such an idea. He could no more control his legs than he could control his constant chanting. "No, no..." His shoe, sliding along the hardwood floor, making a thin squeaking sound, bringing him a little closer to the inevitable. More of Colin's shirt, the blood heavier here, making a kind of bib around the neckline, more on the right shoulder than the left. Still fresh enough to be red rather than purple, wet and glistening in the cold white light. "Oh God, Colin, *please.*" Another step, and now he could see Colin's face, the left side clean and clear and heartbreakingly familiar, the eye closed as if in sleep. The right side like something out of a horror movie, coated in wet blood, coming from a nasty gash on his forehead. It was still bleeding, a fact that only registered in the back of Ryan's mind. He stood and gaped, shaking his head helplessly, making a thick mewling noise in his throat. He couldn't even chant `no' anymore---he was beyond words. Colin's right eye was gummed shut with dried blood, the eyelashes sticking together in viscid clumps, but his left eye was twitching. Below the closed eyelid, Ryan could see movement, as in dreaming sleep, and a sucked in a shuddering breath. Colin was alive. Thank you, God, Colin was alive. "Colin?" he whispered, taking another unsteady step. "Col?" No response. The gash, bleeding in a slow, welling way, like a spring bubbling up from the ground. The eye, twitching, the other eye glued shut with blood. The hint of belly, the spattered jeans, the bib of purple-red on the shirt. Ryan swallowed, whimpered, blinked moisture from his eyes. "Colin?" ~~~ Part 6 The other man stirred slightly, moaned, reached for the gash in his forehead but didn't quite make it there. His hand dropped back down to his side, landing on the floor with the soft plop of a clod of dirt hitting the top of a coffin. The sound and movement broke Ryan's paralysis and he stumbled forward, dropping to his knees by Colin's side and shaking his shoulder. "Col? Come on, can you hear me? What happened to you? Are you all right?" Colin groaned again, his left eye squeezing shut a little tighter, and then fluttering open. His right remained glued shut with congealed blood. The sight made Ryan's skin feel cold---he was shivering, whether with chill or emotion, he couldn't tell. The man on the floor slowly turned his head back and forth, making the fresh blood on his forehead drip and glisten in the lights. Ryan bit his lip and swallowed hard, taking deep, controlled breaths through his mouth. He had no desire to smell the warm, flat, coppery scent of his lover's blood. "Ry?" Colin whispered, his voice weak and tiny. "Yeah, baby, I'm right here, just hush... God, what *happened* to you? Did someone hurt you?" Colin started to shake his head, winced, and held still. "No," he whispered. "Car... was in the car... there was a tree..." "I'm going to get some help," Ryan said, rising quickly to his feet and striding across the dining room. "You need to go to the hospital." "No!" Ryan paused when he heard the genuine panic in Colin's voice. Turning back to the other man, he was alarmed to see that Colin was struggling to sit up, although the effort was obviously costing him dearly. "Col, no, lay back down..." He dropped back down at Colin's side and pressed against his shoulders, guiding him back to the floor. "Don't go," Colin pleaded, staring up at him with his good eye. "Don't go..." Tentatively smoothing back the hair on the blood-free side of Colin's head, Ryan took his lover's hand and kissed the knuckles. "I'll be right here, but Col, you *need* help. If you were in a car accident, that nasty cut on your forehead might not be the only injury. Let me just call for an ambulance, and then I'll be right back---and I'll bring something to help clean you up. Would you like that?" Colin nodded, swallowed, and tightened his hand around Ryan's. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "What? Why?" "Made a mess... my own damn fault, wasn't paying attention to the road... I think the car is totaled." Ryan was shaking his head, his lower lip trembling. "No, baby, no. As long as you're okay, that's what matters. Just be still, I'll be right back." "Okay," Colin replied weakly, his eye slipping shut again. Ryan kissed his knuckles one last time and then reluctantly left his side, skidding into the kitchen and nearly pulling the phone out of its mountings in his hurry to get at it. "Los Angeles county 911 operator, please state your name and address," a cool female voice answered when he punched in that emergency number that everyone knows. "Ryan Stiles, 623 Hanford Place, my friend was in a car accident, and he needs an ambulance." He spit the words out quickly, pulling the phone cord to its longest extension so he could keep an eye on Colin. The other man was still lying on the floor, pressing his fingertips gingerly to the skin around the gash on his forehead and wincing. "Thank you, sir, an ambulance has been dispatched to your location, 623 Hanford Place. Please remain on the line until they arrive so we know the address was correct." "No, I can't, I have to take care of him." "Sir, the paramedics can take care of your friend, you shouldn't move him---" The rest of her protest was cut off when Ryan dropped the phone back into the cradle. "Col? I called them, they're coming, how are you doing?" he asked as he ran warm water in the sink, soaking a washcloth. "Okay," Colin answered weakly. "Cold." Biting his lip, Ryan increased the water temperature a little and then wrung the cloth out, skidding back around the corner with the aid of one hand wrapped around the doorframe like a slingshot. "Here we go, you want to clean this up or do you want me to do it?" Colin reached for the washcloth, focusing on it with his good eye. "I'll do it. You'll end up hurting me." Ryan wasn't sure if the words were a rebuke for his earlier behavior or not, but he lowered his head and hunched his shoulders anyway. "You're probably right," he said softly. "God knows I seem to be pretty good at that lately." Gingerly dabbing at the blood encrusting his face and neck, Colin didn't reply, but he did reach out with his free hand and link his fingers with Ryan's, squeezing gently. "I'm sorry, Col... God, I'm so sorry," he murmured. "Don't worry about it. I think crashing the car was kind of an overreaction on my part, anyway," Colin replied, trying on a half- hearted smile. Ryan blinked. "You did that on purpose?" This time Colin really did smile, although the expression changed to a grimace of pain when he pressed a little too hard on the tender, swollen skin around the cut. "No, I just couldn't see the road. I, ah... I was kind of crying," he added sheepishly, biting his lip and lowering his gaze. "Oh." Ryan covered his eyes with one hand, sighing heavily. He didn't look up until Colin squeezed his hand again, and then he realized that he could see into both eyes---the other man had succeeded in clearing the blood from his right eye. The washcloth, which had been a kind of oatmeal color, was now almost completely soaked in blood, and he was pressing it in a kind of sodden wad against the gash. Little rivulets of pink water trailed down his face, but with the majority of congealed blood cleaned off, he looked much better. "You didn't know," Colin said softly. "I should have called." Ryan shook his head rapidly. "No, you shouldn't have to. You were upset, and you needed to talk to me, and I brushed you off. God, I was *such* an asshole, Col, and I am so, *so* sorry, and---" "Hush." Colin smiled weakly at him. "You can apologize later, okay? Right now my head hurts." Immediately clapping a hand across his mouth, Ryan winced. "Oh, sorry, was I being too loud? I'm sorry, Colin---" "Later," he said gently. "Okay?" Ryan nodded quickly, biting his lips to keep silent. Colin almost laughed at the look on his face, but a fresh wave of dizziness drowned all thoughts of amusement. He moaned softly, squeezing his eyes shut and blowing out a shuddering breath through pursed lips. "Col? Are you okay?" Ryan whispered, leaning forward and placing a warm hand along Colin's cheek. His lover's skin was cold and clammy, and Ryan found himself wanting to kiss him, to bring some warmth and color into that too-pale face. "Dizzy," he mumbled. Ryan nodded, and then lifted his head, turning to look toward the front of the house as they both heard sirens approaching. They'll have plenty of room to park, Ryan thought. Since only my car is in the driveway--- "Colin, if you crashed into a tree, how did you get to the house?" Ryan asked suddenly, frowning in confusion. "Walked," the other man replied, his eyelids fluttering as he hovered somewhere between waking and sleep. "What? Why didn't you just call for help from the car?" "It wasn't that far," Colin said, as if that would explain everything. "A branch came through the windshield and hit me, and when I woke up, I walked... wasn't that far." Ryan shook his head. "But... but why would you even do that? What if you fell by the side of the road or something? You might not have been found until morning!" Colin looked up at him, rising out of the sleep that sucked at him like quicksand for a moment. "I wanted to come home to you," he said. Swallowing, Ryan bit his lip and sighed raggedly. "Oh, God, Colin..." Just then, the front door banged open and a man's voice called, "Did someone here call for an ambulance?" "Back here," Ryan yelled, and then winced, covering his mouth and looking at Colin. His friend was undisturbed, however---he had slipped back into unconsciousness. There was the sound of footsteps, pounding none too gently through the house, and then the man who had spoken appeared in the doorway, accompanied by a woman who Ryan assumed was his partner. "What do we have here?" she asked briskly, already shooing him aside so she could look at Colin. "He was in a car accident," Ryan said, backing off reluctantly. He kept his grip on Colin's hand, darting a quick glance at the paramedics in case they had something to say about it. "Then shouldn't he be by the side of the road somewhere?" the male paramedic pointed out. "He walked here after the crash. I... I'm not sure why, exactly," Ryan mumbled, aware that his lie was painfully transparent. It didn't matter, though, because they were ignoring him. "Looks like a moderate concussion, no respiration problems, steady pulse, pupils are responsive and equal, no other gross bodily injuries, non-ambulatory," the woman rattled off quickly as she patted Colin down, checking for broken bones or other sources of bleeding. "Needs stitches," she added. "I'll go get the stretcher," her partner said, and he disappeared from the doorway as efficiently as any stage magician. "Can I ride with him in the ambulance?" Ryan asked. "Are you a family member?" He hesitated. "Um... we live together." The paramedic looked at him steadily for a long moment. Her mixed ancestry, which seemed to include both Asian and African American bloodlines, had blended to her advantage, and her large, almond shaped brown eyes measured him. "All right," she said finally. "But be quiet and stay out of the way." "Okay, sure, thank you," Ryan babbled, his shoulders sagging in relief. Some small, rational part of his mind understood that Colin wasn't that badly hurt, but he was still loath to leave his side. The other paramedic reappeared pushing a wheeled stretcher, and calling his partner a name that sounded like `Ta-tee' he coordinated the brisk and efficient operation of getting Colin up off the floor. Ryan tried to help, only to be brushed away with cool, impersonal impatience. The female gave him a pointed look, and he took the hint-- -he was supposed to stay out of the way better than that. They moved Colin out to the waiting ambulance, maneuvering him cleverly down the steps with only minimal jostling. Ryan followed, feeling very useless and tag-along, like the kid that no one invited. "On three," Tati said, and her partner nodded. They counted in unison, and then shoved Colin forward, snapping the wheels up under the stretcher and sliding him into the ambulance in one smooth movement. Then, they climbed up beside him and lifted, turning the wheeled gurney into a kind of temporary bed, and locking the wheels in place. The man went forward to the driver's seat, and Ryan climbed in the back, wincing as the long, levering movement sent an electric twinge of pain through his spine. "Uh... family members only, buddy," the driver said, fixing him with a steely look. "I said he could come," Tati replied. The two medics looked at each other for a moment, and Ryan got a sense of silent communication. This was apparently a long-standing argument between the two of them. "You know the rule---" "They live together," she replied tersely. Her partner rolled his eyes. "That doesn't qualify as family, and you know it," he started. "It should. You're wasting time. He's already in the van, now let's go." The male paramedic, who was a slight, non-descript man with thin, sandy hair and the suggestion of a pot belly, sighed heavily, made a put-upon face, and started the engine. Tati smiled briefly at Ryan and pulled the doors shut, closing them in the cluttered little space. "Thanks," he murmured, carefully pitching his voice below the hearing of the driver. She shrugged. "Sorry about that. It was unprofessional." Then she deflected any further conversation by busying herself with the insertion of an IV. Colin stirred slightly when the needle entered his skin, and Ryan looked away. He hated needles. "Is he going to be all right?" "He should be fine," she replied calmly. "Looks like the concussion is the worst injury. Was he conscious earlier? Did he seem aware of his surroundings?" Ryan nodded quickly. "Yeah, he was talking to me. He told me about the car and all that, and how he had walked to the house. Apparently he hit a tree and a branch broke the windshield and hit his head--- that's how he got hurt. Then, when he woke up, he walked home... he said it wasn't that far," he added as an afterthought. "Hmmm... okay. Do you know if there were safety belts used in the vehicle? Was it equipped with airbags?" "Yeah, Colin always used a seatbelt, and his car had airbags. It was new. I... I guess it's pretty much wrecked now," Ryan finished weakly. He couldn't seem to think of anything sensible to say. His eyes kept going back to the cut marring Colin's forehead. It was so very *wrong* there, so out of place and unsettling. He had the surreal feeling that he could reach over and wipe it off like so much stage makeup, revealing the smooth, unmarked skin beneath. "Will he have a scar?" Ryan asked anxiously. "Probably not," Tati replied, shaking her head. "Since this cut is on his face, they'll take him to Doctor Meyers. He's a very skilled plastic surgeon." Ryan blinked. "He'll need plastic surgery?" "No, no, but Doctor Meyers will be able to stitch up the cut in such a way that he won't have a scar. Don't worry, he'll be fine." Ryan nodded sheepishly. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I guess I'm not exactly being quiet and staying out of the way." She smiled wearily at him. "No, you're not, but people never do when their loved ones are hurt. We'll be at the hospital soon, and they'll do an ultrasound and an x-ray and some blood work just to make sure, but based on my initial exam, your friend is going to be fine." "Okay," Ryan sighed, leaning back. He traced Colin's palm with his fingertips, and then pressed his thumb against the pulse point in his wrist, feeling that steady, reassuring rhythm. "Hang in there," he whispered, and then kissed Colin's wrist, pressing his cheek into the palm. They rode the rest of the way to the hospital in relative quiet, disturbed only by the rumble of the engine, the muted sound of traffic, and the slow, even susurration of Colin's breathing. ~~~ Part 7 "Colin's in the hospital." "What? What happened?" Ryan leaned back in the uncomfortable plastic chair, rubbing tiredly at his eyes and glancing around the waiting room. It was close to midnight, but even at this bleak hour, the place was busy. The hospital kept the overhead lights low out of respect for those waiting, and tried to make the atmosphere as comforting as possible, but a few generic prints on the wall and some worn tan carpet do not a home make. "He was in a car accident," Ryan replied, propping his cheek up on his knuckles and holding the little cell phone to his ear with limp fingers. "Oh my God... is he all right?" Drew asked anxiously. In the background, Ryan could hear a female voice murmuring curiously, and Drew shushing her. He smiled despite his worry---count on Drew to always find someone to hook up with. "They say he should be fine. He's just getting some stitches and they're checking him out more thoroughly now." "Did someone hit him?" Ryan sighed, shaking his head. "No... he ran off the road and hit a tree. The police said that he wasn't going very fast, which is why he wasn't that badly hurt. Between the seat belt and the airbags, he got off easy." There was a pause, and then: "Police? And why would Colin run off the road?" Addressing the less painful question first, Ryan said, "I called the police from the hospital. We need a report from them so we can use the insurance on the car. They found it just a couple hundred yards from our house. Apparently Colin hit the tree, a branch came through the windshield and knocked him out, and when he woke up he walked home. That's where I found him." "Well, if he could walk home he must not have been hurt *too* badly," Drew said, sounding as if he were reassuring himself. "But why did he hit the tree in the first place? And wasn't it kind of weird for him to walk home like that?" Ryan was quiet for a long moment. Over his head, the hospital PA system constantly chimed and chattered, paging various people whose names flew out of his head the moment he heard them. He shifted in the chair, which was hard plastic designed to be `molded' to the human form, but Ryan couldn't imagine *anyone* being comfortable in it. "Ryan? You still there?" "Yeah," he said softly. "I just... God, this is all my fault, Drew. You want to know why he ran off the road? Because he was *crying,* that's why. Because I was such an asshole to him that he couldn't stop crying, so hard that he couldn't see the road, and he could've been *killed* and that would be all my fault too---" "Whoa, slow down," Drew interrupted. "I'm not saying that your people skills were top notch when Colin showed up today, but under the circumstances... you really couldn't have known." "I should have," he replied stubbornly. "Even you could tell that Col was in a bad way, but I was busy being so fucking selfish about my own rotten day that I just totally... God Drew, he was all bloody when I found him, and I thought..." "Easy... do you want me to come down there?" Ryan shook his head quickly, wiping at his eyes. "No, I'm okay. The last thing I need is you seeing me act like a baby. I just... you don't know what that house was like. I walked in, and I started seeing blood... little drops here and there, smeared on the wall... you don't realize how shocking and out of place blood looks spattered around your kitchen until you actually see it. And then, when I saw *Colin*..." Drew swallowed audibly. "I thought he wasn't hurt that badly." "He has a really bad cut on his forehead, where the branch hit him, and a concussion. Maybe some internal injuries from the crash, they're still checking on that. But you know how scalp wounds bleed, and he was... it was all over his face, and his shirt, and..." Ryan trailed off, making a thick gagging noise in his throat and covering his eyes with one trembling hand. "But he's going to be okay now, right?" Drew insisted. Ryan sighed raggedly, swallowing back the thickness in his throat. "Yeah, they said he was lucky. He was going slowly---if it wasn't for that branch hitting him, he probably would have walked away totally unharmed. But when I found him, he was unconscious, I guess he got to the house and passed out again, and I thought... I thought he was dead," Ryan finished in a whisper. "Are you sure you don't want me to come down there?" Drew paused, and then said, "I'd actually kind of like to see him myself, make sure he's okay and all that." "No," Ryan replied quickly. "I'm sorry, Drew, but... when they say it's okay for people to come see him, I need to talk to him. Alone. I have to apologize for this, and I have to make things right, and I... I need to just be with him, you know? I need to touch him and hear him talk and know that he's okay. Does that make any sense?" "Yeah." Drew's voice was soft. "I understand. Just have him call me when you're done, okay? He's my friend too." "Of course! And... hell, if you really want to see him, I don't have any right to tell you to stay away. After the way I've been behaving, I probably shouldn't be alone with him anyway. God knows I'd just fuck it up again," Ryan said bitterly. Drew laughed, and Ryan could just imagine his friend rolling his eyes melodramatically. "You've really got the martyr bit down, don't you? Quit kicking yourself over this, Ryan. You made a mistake, said some stupid things, but hey, shit happens. The important thing is that Colin is going to be all right, and I bet he's going to want to see you as soon as he can. You know how he hates hospitals." "I understand the feeling," Ryan mumbled dryly. "And... thanks. You know, for everything." "No problem, man. Take care of him, okay? I don't want to be the one to answer to a thousand screaming Colin fans if anything happens." Ryan forced a laugh, rubbing absently at the chill that had cropped up on the back of his neck. "Nothing will happen. God, I hope nothing will happen... what if the concussion caused some kind of damage that we don't know about? Or what if he has some internal injuries or bleeding or---" "Would you quit worrying?" Drew said chidingly. "If they told you that he was going to be fine, then he's going to be fine. He managed to walk away from the accident, didn't he? Pretty soon, you're going to see him, and he'll be his usual `look how adorable I am' self, and you'll want to knock him out again." This time, Ryan didn't have to force the laughter. "Come on," he said, still giggling. "You talk big, but deep down, you know you want to ruffle his hair and hug him. He's just too damn cute." "I know!" Drew replied, heaving an exasperated sigh. "The man is like one of those paintings of a puppy with the huge eyes. I don't know how you can live with him. You must take insulin shots to deal with all the sweetness." Ryan grinned and was about to reply with a wisecrack about how the sweetness made Colin taste good, a remark that was sure to make Drew groan, when a nurse approached him and tapped him on the shoulder. "Hang on a sec, Drew," he said, and then looked up. "Yes?" "Mister Stiles? Your friend is in his room now, and you can see him if you'd like." He nodded quickly and rose to his feet, following the young man down the hallway. "Hey, they just told me I can go see Colin," he said into the phone. "I've got to go." "Okay, man, say `hi' to him for me, and make sure he calls me in the morning." "Sure. Bye, Drew." Ryan flipped the little phone shut and slipped it in his pocket as the nurse led them into an elevator. Pushing the button for the fifth floor, the young man in the faded blue hospital scrubs gave him the sideways darting smile of a fan, which Ryan tried not to notice. That kind of quiet observation, stolen looks and staring, always made him a tad uncomfortable. "Um... you said he's in his room? Is he staying here overnight?" Ryan asked. The man looked at him with a kind of tight-lipped, `I can't believe it's really him' grin for a moment, and then nodded. "Yes, he's being admitted, just for observation on that concussion. It's standard procedure for head injuries." "Ah." Ryan bit his lip and watched the little indicator numbers flick from one floor to the next. As they trooped down the hallway on the fifth floor, he wondered how he could convince these people to let him stay with Colin for the rest of the night. "Say, um... I know this is probably against hospital policy..." "You'd like to spend the night?" Ryan blinked, a little embarrassed that his question had been anticipated so easily. "Well, yeah. Would that be all right?" The nurse smiled at him again, darting his eyes around like a man divulging a secret. "Technically, no, it's not all right, but I'm assigned to this ward until six tomorrow morning, and I won't tell anyone if you won't, okay?" Grinning widely, Ryan nodded, feeling his shoulders sag in relief. "Great, thanks, I appreciate that." "No problem," the nurse said, leading them around a corner. "I know you two are... close." Ryan shot the young man a sharp look, but he was carefully focusing on the door numbers and didn't meet his eyes. Still, his relationship with Colin wasn't a secret, and if this guy was a fan, he would almost certainly know about it. It just made Ryan feel a little odd to realize that perfect strangers were familiar with the personal details of his life. Then they entered a room and he saw Colin, and what the nurse might or might not know ceased to matter. Colin was awake, sitting propped up on an adjustable bed, with a fine line of stitches closing the cut on his forehead. It was already bruising quite colorfully, an angry red at the very lips of the cut, fading to purple, yellow and brown all around it in a corona. "Colin," he said weakly, stopping two steps short of the bed. Behind him, the nurse quietly withdrew, shutting the door on his way out. "Hi," Colin murmured, one hand rising self-consciously to the stitched cut. "Do I look like Frankenstein?" "You look wonderful," Ryan replied simply. "Colin... I..." He shook his head---gingerly---and reached for the taller man. "Don't, Ry. It's okay." "It is *not* okay," Ryan replied fiercely, but he took the offered hand without hesitation. Sinking into the chair beside the bed, he looked at the hand linked with his, gently tracing the palm with his fingertips. "Are you okay?" Ryan laughed hollowly. "Isn't that what I'm supposed to ask you? You're the one who got hurt." "And you're the one who had to find me that way," Colin said gently. "It never would have happened if I hadn't been such a total asshole to you." Ryan lifted his eyes, meeting Colin's gaze with a greedy intensity. "You were lucky, Col. It could have been worse... a *lot* worse. When I saw you on the floor, I thought... I thought you were dead, and you could have been. If you had been going a little faster, or if that branch had caught you in the throat instead of the forehead..." Bringing the other man's hand to his lips, Colin kissed the knuckles, and then rubbed his cheek along the smooth skin. "I shouldn't have been driving at all. I was dead tired, and shaken up..." At those words, Ryan dropped his head again, hunching his shoulders and swallowing. "Shaken up because of what happened with the job in Toronto," Colin said sternly. "Not because of what you did." "I know what happened," Ryan said quietly. "I called Don after you left the studio, and he gave me the full report. I swear to God, Col, you know how much I hate flying but I'd catch the next plane up there and kick that guy's ass in a heartbeat if you didn't need me here." Colin chuckled softly, wincing a little with the movement. The little flinch didn't escape Ryan's eyes, and he frowned, leaning a little closer. "Col? You *are* all right, aren't you?" "Yeah," he murmured. "Just a little bruised and sore, that's all. I have a kind of purple seat belt imprint across my chest. The doctor said I looked like a crash test dummy." Ryan didn't smile. "No matter how much you dance around it, it's a simple fact that if I had been there for you at the studio, if I had *listened* instead of being a selfish bastard, you wouldn't have gotten hurt," he said flatly. "Don't tell me this isn't my fault, Colin, because it *is.* We both know that." Sighing, Colin closed his eyes tiredly and leaned back against the bed. "What do you want me to say, Ryan? That you blew me off when I needed you most? That you were a jerk and you hurt me and I could've been killed tonight because of you? Do you really want to hear that?" "It's the truth, isn't it?" Ryan whispered miserably. With his free hand, Colin reached over and lifted the other man's chin, forcing him to meet his eyes. "No, it's not the truth." "But---" "Ryan, did you mean to hurt me? Was it intentional? Did you start your day out saying to yourself, `I think I'll hurt Colin today?'" "No!" Ryan said sharply. "Of course not!" "Well, that's what Grayson did. He was out to get me. What he did was malicious, what you did was an accident. A mistake, Ryan. Me getting in that crash tonight was his fault, not yours." Ryan blinked slowly, once, twice. "I'm still sorry," he murmured. "I never meant to hurt you, but I did it anyway, and there's no excuse for that." Colin nodded, and shifted on the bed until he was close to Ryan's side. Throwing an arm around the taller man's shoulders, he pulled him close, laying his cheek against Ryan's hair. "How long have we known each other, Ry?" "Twenty years, give or take," he replied, closing his eyes and leaning into Colin's side. "Mmm... and in all that time, have I ever been a jerk to you? Have I ever been insensitive or impatient or just plain mean? And don't say that I haven't, because we both know I've had my moments." Despite himself, Ryan realized he was smiling. Slipping his arm around Colin's waist, he turned and pressed his face against the other man's shoulder, rubbing his cheek against the soft skin there. "Yeah, I guess you're not always the nicest guy," he admitted reluctantly. Colin pressed a kiss against Ryan's temple. "And even though I've hurt you in the past, do you still love me?" "Of course!" Ryan said immediately. "Do you really have to ask?" "No," Colin replied. "And neither do you. We're too good together to let this one thing come between us. We're not perfect, Ryan, and sometimes we're going to do stupid things and hurt each other---the measure of our relationship is how well we can overcome them." Ryan was quiet for a long moment, breathing in Colin's familiar scent and thinking about his words. Then he pulled back and gently held the older man's chin in his fingertips, placing a light kiss on Colin's lips. "Hey," he murmured. "Do you think there's room for two in that bed?" Colin smiled. "Well, I'm not really up for anything... athletic, if that's what you're thinking..." "I just want to be close to you," Ryan said, the laughter gone from his eyes. "I almost lost you today, Colin. I just... I feel like I don't want to stop touching you for a while." Biting his lip, Colin blinked a few times and nodded, shifting to accommodate Ryan. The taller man kicked his shoes off and slid onto the bed, which was large enough to hold them if they squeezed together tightly---a compromise neither man had any objection to. "Is this okay?" Ryan whispered, his mouth against the side of Colin's neck. "I don't want to hurt you..." "It's very okay," Colin replied contentedly. He was already snuggling back into Ryan's touch, drawing the other man's arms around him like he was wrapping himself up in a blanket. Pushing the button on the little bed control, he flattened their sleeping surface until they could spoon together comfortably, and Ryan tugged the blanket up over both of them. "Drew says hi, by the way," he said, suddenly remembering the message that he'd been asked to pass along. Colin lifted his head slightly. "Is he here?" he asked sleepily. "No, but I called him from the waiting room. He wanted to come and see you, but I said he should wait. I wanted to be alone with you." "Good." Ryan smiled, kissing the back of his lover's neck. "Col? Are you... is everything okay now? Are you still upset over what that asshole in Toronto did?" Snuggling a little deeper into Ryan's arms, Colin didn't answer---he was fast asleep. His deep, peaceful breathing, his relaxed muscles, and the little smile on his face were answer enough. Letting his eyes drift shut, Ryan whispered, "Love you," and then he, too, sank into oblivion, cherishing the feeling of Colin, warm and happy, in his arms. ~~~ Finis April 6 to April 9, 2003