Title: Sensations Author: bk Rating: Honestly don't remember! Say teen and up. Ain't mine, no harm intended, heck this was written three years ago. I may have intended harm then, who knows? I had no idea where the feelings came from, they just hit in a sudden rush like a ton of bricks that floors you and leaves you sagging underneath it's weight, unable to breathe. I didn't even know what the feelings were; I couldn't explain it, couldn't make sense of it, and couldn't reason with it. They hit with a flash, then the intensity was gone, leaving behind a subtle aftertaste of possibility. It was driving me mad. I knew that I was in trouble. That fateful day of filming started like any other, with script revisions, busted lights and camera problems, and a clock that ran faster than the crew. "Eugene! I thought you were with Mr. Wick!" I turned, fully in character, and faced Drew. "I was, but I had… other things on my mind" I gave Drew my best flirtatious smile, the one I usually reserved for a chance encounter, but I was getting paid to use it this time. I coyly walked up to him and fingered his tie. "You know what I mean." Drew was uncomfortable, and fixed me with his classic look of disbelief. "I hope not." "Now Drew…" I quickly pulled away as "Oswald" and "Lewis" walked onto the office set, and the scene continued. Standing back from the action I was able to watch my friends at work, Drew expressing his comic insecurities with his usual flair while Oswald countered with a stubborn childlike confidence. Lewis stood back, interjecting a comment on occasion, but for the most part the scene was between Drew and Oswald. At least it was, until Drew started chuckling, which of course sent Oswald into a fit of laughter. It was contagious, and soon everyone on the set was at least smiling if not outright guffawing. There was no stopping those two once they got started; I have never seen two men enjoy pure laughter as much as Drew and Deidrich. I smiled at Ryan who now stood with his arms folded and a look of resignation on his face. He shook his head and sighed, trying hard not to smile as he walked off of the set for his bottled water. I shuffled around in my spot until the hilarity died down, wondering what had started it in the first place. With those two there was no telling. "All right, places everyone, let's do this again." Ryan resumed hisplace and the scene was re-shot, this time without a hitch. We took a break for lunch, running over the afternoon script for the filming that evening. I wasn't in that scene, but wanted to stay and watch regardless. It wasn't like I had a whole lot to do back at the hotel. I probably should have just gone to the hotel. Then these feelings would have drifted in the air and found some other victim to latch onto. That evening the seats were full, and the filming was behind schedule. The cast was feeling the pressure and walked about with serious expressions with very little ribbing between the actors. Take after take was captured on film. I stood in the shadows, not wanting to be recognized by the audience, and watched. Ryan looked especially serious, chewing on his fingernail as he waited for his cue to enter as they shot the final scene of the night. His red shirt was untucked and made him look impossibly tall, even for him. Drew was standing in the entrance to the kitchen, talking to Oswald, and berating him for something to do with a letter he had found. Oswald was putting up a good defense, basically saying that he had no idea what Drew was talking about when Ryan's character entered through the front door. "Lewis" put on a look of bewilderment, then shame as he produced the letter in question. Drew snatched at it, but was unable to counter Ryan's height, so he brought the tall man down to his level by tackling him onto the sofa. That was when it happened. I felt my stomach tighten, as if one particular muscle had been singled out and pulled. It wasn't a painful sensation, it was awareness. That awareness spread through my chest and settled rather embarrassingly in my groin as I watched Drew pin Ryan down and snatch the piece of paper away from him. He sat solidly on Ryan's chest as he read while "Lewis" threatened him with everything under the sun if he didn't get off. Drew finished the letter and questioned "Lewis", not letting him up while fending Oswald off. Finally he stood while Lewis inhaled in exaggeration, only to sit Oswald down, telling him to keep an eye on his roommate while he made a phone call. And so the scene ended. I found I had been holding my breath. For a moment I was insanely jealous of those two, and I had no idea why. Deidrich was teasing Ryan, not getting up until Ryan shoved him off onto the floor to the audience's delight. Their laughter brought me out of my haze and I jumped, seeing Ryan stand and adjust his shirt, then rub his chest and walk over to me. "Man, I'm glad that was a one-take." He grimaced then gave me an odd look. "You okay?" I must have been staring at him. I quickly looked down at my shoes. "Yeah, I'm just getting tired I guess. Been a long day." "Tell me about it. I hope this wraps things up." Ryan opened his water bottle and downed the last bit. "Why don't you go and rest? You're not needed on the set, and with any luck that was the last shoot. You look like you need a good night's sleep." "Gee, thanks," I groused. "You know what I mean." Ryan glanced back at the set, sighing as Drew beckoned to him. Tossing the empty bottle into the plastic trash can, he walked off, calling back over his shoulder, "You are still coming over tomorrow night, right? Need to know what to get at the store." "What time?" I asked. "Uh…about 8:30." "I'll be there." I gave Ryan a nod as he waved and went to confer with Drew, but I didn't leave yet. Instead I watched him as he bent his head down over the paper Drew was holding. His long finger traced out a line of the script, his hair barely touching Drew's short cut. They could probably feel each other's breath, being that close. I glanced back to the sofa, remembering Ryan being forced down onto it and felt that odd sensation again. Snatching my jacket from the back of a metal folding chair I hurried to phone for a taxi. *** Surely I should cancel. I couldn't bear seeing him, I didn't want to be near him, yet I couldn't stop thinking about him. I couldn't deny the jealously that has burned through me as I watched the others interact with him. Why? After all these years of working so closely with him, why this? Why now? Ridiculous. He's kissed me for god's sake, and I never flinched. Maybe I should have flinched. Maybe the fact that I didn't isn't a good sign. I lay on my bed and thought back to our years working together, and several memories surfaced. One was during Whose Line in England, before I stared performing "helping hands" with Ryan. At the time Greg was his partner, and I remember watching and feeling, well… odd. I dismissed it as nerves surfacing at the time, because I knew that damn march was coming up next, the predecessor to the "hoe- down". I hate those games. Ryan does as well, and I remember us teasing about it later, about how one day we were going to lose our composure and stick those blue cards right up Dan's ass, along with the ridiculous props he often saddled us with. I remember trying my hardest to get Ryan to join us on our tour of the city, and how he flatly refused, stubbornly staying in his room. I remember when he was injured and filmed anyway. I remember him laughing when he told me about Chip poking him in the eye. I also remember my alarm as Chip jumped on his bad back and the half-smile on Ryan's face as he tried to blow off the pain he obviously felt. Then there was the neon light. I still can't believe that happened. I think Ryan is still embarrassed by it. And yes, I laughed. I couldn't help it. It was funny, and he wasn't hurt. That moment went down in history, as well as "the kiss", that one prolonged kiss that was so different from the others. The breath mint. Bastard. When we first filmed in Hollywood he had called me his best friend, a title I hoped I lived up to. He really surprised me that day. I think I surprised him too when I hugged him. I realized there weren't many times when I would reach out to him, yet he never hesitated to reach out to me. It never occurred to me to wonder why; I had no problem touching anyone else. Ryan didn't seem to care one way or the other, except possibly for that one time when he put his arm around my shoulders during a recent filming. I was startled, and must have given him an odd look because he sheepishly removed it in an exaggerated manner, causing the audience behind him to chuckle. If I had hurt his feelings he never said. Come to think of it, he never says much. We talk about our lives, but we never really talk. We can sit in silence for hours and watch TV and be perfectly comfortable. I've seen him walking around in his boxers. He's seen me. We didn't care. Hell, boxers are just loose shorts anyway. Now briefs…I'm not sure that's something I'd want him to see. That thought brought "the sensation" again. I gritted my teeth, willing it to stop, because I was beginning to recognize the feeling, and I didn't like where it was heading. Sitting on my bed reminiscing just intensified the emotion and I ended up switching on the TV and ordering a ham sandwich to be sent to my room. A hockey game managed to distract me until I finally dozed off. I'm of the firm opinion that whoever invented the telephone should be shot, and that the wait staff should be required to check the volume of the ringer between housing guests. I was sure I'd have to get out of bed and find my heart. Snatching up the receiver I barked at the unfortunate soul who dared to call. "Yes?" "Damn, Col, you're worse than me when I wake up. Did you have a woman in your room last night?" "Ryan, what on earth? Do you know what time it is?" "Do you? What aren't you up yet?" Eleven-thirty flashed angrily from the clock display. I rubbed my eyes. "Shit." "I was getting worried." "I must have been more tired than I thought." There was a hesitation as a voice sounded faintly, then Ryan muttered something unintelligible and returned to me "Look, I've gotta go, I'll see you tonight?" I bit my lip as all the feelings that had attacked me the day before resurfaced. Already? I just woke, I was hoping I had left all that in "yesterday". I swallowed hard. "Look, Ryan, maybe I shouldn't…" Ryan's voice seemed clearer. I could picture him shifting to block the noise behind him. "Why, what's wrong? Are you feeling okay?" No, I thought, but didn't say it. Instead I said, "Maybe we couldreschedule, I just need some more rest. I've been a bit pressed lately." Ryan's sigh was barely audible, and I winced, hoping I wasn't disappointing him. "Are you sure?" "Yeah, look, I'll see you on the set tomorrow, okay?" There was another hesitation. "Ryan, I just need to relax a bit. You understand that, don't you?" "Of course. Sure. Just…just call me if you need something, okay?" "You know I will." Would I? "Okay, well, look I've gotta go…are you sure you're okay?" "I'm fine. Go work." "Okay…bye…" "Bye, Ryan." I hung up and sighed. The conversation seemed so short and stilted. He would know something was wrong. Wonderful. I scrubbed my hands on my face and reluctantly pulled myself up by bracing my hand on the headboard. I felt like I had a hangover. Must not have slept well at all. I dragged myself through a shower and forced myself to dress, then sat on the bed. The day loomed ahead of me and I saw myself marching a lonely path through it. After a moments thought I decided to walk along the beach and take in the sights there. Pulling my baseball cap low over my eyes I threw on a pair of sunglasses and grabbed my room key. The sea air was wonderful. I was able to find a nice spot where I could sit and watch the waves as well as the beauties frolicking on the sand. It was a nice view all around. I must have stayed there for hours, thinking, resting, and thinking some more. The problem was that my thoughts kept circling with no end, no resolution. Even those women and young girls, as tempting as they were, couldn't distract me from my dilemma. This was crazy. Nuts. Overworked, not at home much, this was all just a result of loneliness and stress. I kept telling myself that because it sounded good, and because it kept me from facing the truth of my need. I needed Ryan. I wanted him. I shouldn't have him. I shouldn't feel this way. I didn't deserve this, and neither did he. It would ruin us, our careers, our relationships, everything. Avoiding him wouldn't help. Being with him might make things worse. Maybe in time it would fade, a crush that evaporates as the smitten becomes familiar with the object of affection. But…I am familiar. And I think these feelings have been around for much longer than I realized. I watched the couples play and felt a longing for something I didn't dare take as my own. I respected him too much for that. I…loved him too much. It was hard enough for me to deal withthis; I didn't want him to experience the pain of realizing… what? He didn't feel like this. And there I sat, acting as though he did, as though he would have to go through the agony of realizing he had feelings for another man. His agony would be in knowing that his supposed best friend had those feelings for him, maybe even making him question the reason for our friendship. It wouldn't be just best buddies, there would be a physical attachment involved, and that changes things. He'd think I just had a crush, that my friendship was purely meant to get closer to him physically, he'd think that all this time I wanted something from him, and he wouldn't be willing to give it to me. It would ruin everything, change the parameters, and I wasn't willing to do that. No, I could admit to the feelings, but they were mine to give, and I was selfishly keeping them to myself because I didn't want to lose him. *** The TV flickered in the dark room. I stared at it with blind, unfocused eyes, seeing the blurry images dance about but having no idea what I was looking at, nor caring. It was some time before I noticed the knock at my door. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and practically limped over to the door as the blood rushed back to my left foot. Greg was leaning against the outer wall, smelling of stale cigarettes and alcohol and looking rumpled. I frowned. "Greg? What happened to you?" "I'm sorry Col," he muttered, "I was at the bar down the street… shit…" he adjusted his glasses. "I had several, you know…" He was doped again. Great. I sighed and took his elbow. "Good thing you aren't working right now." "Why do you think I went to the bar?" I winced. Whose Line wasn't scheduled to be taped for several months, leaving a hole in some of the player's schedules. Apparently Greg was trying to fill his. "Couldn't you have done this at home or something?" He knew my view on his habit; there was no point in lecturing. Besides, it wasn't like I hadn't tried it once myself. And in the older days Ryan had been known to join him for a smoke, but never did anything heavy. Like me, he didn't find much pleasure in it. Greg lived for it. "Hey, it was offered." Greg stumbled across the carpet and landed on the edge of the bed. I watched as it sagged under his weight. "How many drinks did you have?" He was already laying back, glasses flung to the side as he rubbed his eyes. "Too many to drive home." "No taxi?" "Uh…no money." "Greg…" I sighed. "You spent all your money at the bar?" "Uh-huh." He seemed perfectly shamed by it. I walked across the room and sat on the bed, looking down at him. "I suppose you'd like to stay here until your head clears." "If it wouldn't be a problem." "Problem? I ought to put your ass out on the street." Greg glanced at me, then eased himself up the bed and rested his head on the pillow. "What is this crap on TV?" I looked blankly at he screen. "I have no idea." Standing I glanced at the clock and turned off the television, then turned to see Greg passed out, his body spread out over the entire mattress. My shoulders sagged and I resigned myself to the chair and tried to doze. Fortunately I was either too tired to care about discomfort or the chair was suited to me. I slept rather well under the circumstances, waking only once to hear Greg retching in the bathroom. He collapsed in the bathtub and I regained possession of my bed. He was gone when I woke at ten, leaving note of apology and thanks on the bedside table. I was due on the Drew Carey set that afternoon, so I showered and headed out for a bite to eat. "Jesus Colin, you look like shit." "I love you too, Drew." I tossed my jacket aside and picked up my script. "Hey, you mean I get more than five lines this time? If I'd known that I would have come in earlier. Don't think I can manage seven." "Sarcasm doesn't become you." Drew looked over my shoulder. "We may add more in. I think they want to establish Eugene's character this season." "What is there to establish? He's gay." I felt my chest tighten slightly as I uttered the word. "Yeah, but why?" "Does there have to be a reason?" "I guess not. But they want to dig deeper into the character." "Why can't they dig deeper into Oswald's? Or Lewis?" "Because they have no character?" A new voice joined the conversation and I turned to see Ryan leaning on the doorframe of the reading room. My heart jumped and I tried to swallow it back down. He was wearing a simple green T-shirt and jeans, nothing spectacular, but something about him glowed. "Hi, Ryan." "Drew, would you excuse us for a moment?" Ryan shouldered himself upright and stood aside, allowing Drew room to leave. "Sure. Colin, let me know if you need something, bud." Drew patted my shoulder and edged past Ryan, holding eye contact with him as if he were trying to read his thoughts. Ryan gave him a playful push and shut the door behind him, then walked towards me. "Feeling better?" "Some." I smiled then turned away, hoping the sudden heat in my cheeks didn't show. This was ridiculous. "You still look tired." "Greg came over last night. So I guess I didn't sleep as well as I would have liked." "Greg? Why didn't you ask him to leave?" "I couldn't. He was…you know…." "Oh." Ryan raised his chin, then nodded. "No, I guess you couldn't really turn him away then." He turned from me. "Guess it was a good thing you were there." I saw the tension in his back, along his shoulder blades. "Ryan, I'm sorry about last night, really. I didn't mean I didn't want to come, I just…" I had no idea what to say. I stared at the floor. "You should have told me it was important to you." "Important?" Ryan spun. "Shit Col, we hardly see each other anymore. Not taping Whose Line just makes it worse." He sighed heavily and tucked his hands into his jeans. "I know you need your time alone. I shouldn't resent that. I guess I wouldn't have if Greg hadn't shown up." I stared at him. He sounded…jealous? "Ryan, if I can take that rain check, I'm free tonight. After filming, of course." I hesitated, still trying to figure out the tone that had crept into his voice. Ryan nodded again. "That would be fine, if that's what you want." He faced me again. "I don't know, we used to see each other a lot and talk. I guess I miss that." Oh. So much for getting my hopes up. "Me too, Ryan. Look, let's get ready for the shoot, okay?" The filming went very smoothly, so smoothly in fact that we were able to leave a half-hour early, something that was a rarity according to Ryan. He was perfectly happy with the situation and drove me to his house in high spirits. We spent the evening laughing and discussing the antics that went on while filming, our recent disastrous dates, and our plans for the future. I was finally able to relax around him, thankfully, and didn't once slip up to reveal my true feelings. I was having the time of my life. Always a physical man he would pat my back and throw his arm across my shoulder without giving it a second thought. Of course I didn't mind. While he cooked I watched, offering my expert advice as he insisted that he was fully aware of what he was doing and would I please sit down because I was driving him crazy. He did know what he was doing, as my palate later discovered and relished, and we settled down in front of the television stuffed and content with beer in hand. There was an old Errol Flynn movie on and we watched, teasing each other about the fight scenes and coming up with instances to bring the movie into our improv scenes. Slowly we began to drift. By the time the movie ended Ryan's eyes were half-closed and he was slouched beside me, his long legs tangled underneath the coffee table. I often wondered why he kept it there, it was only in his way and he never used it, not even to set his drink on. Sometimes he would prop his feet on it while watching TV, but otherwise it was a useless piece of furniture. I was growing weary myself and had no intention of going back to the hotel. My head spun from the beers I had downed. After a while I nudged Ryan's arm. "Hey?" "Hm?" "Mind if I crash here tonight?" "Are you stoned?" Memories of Greg floated past and I found myself uncertain as to what he meant. "What?" "That was a `yes'. As in why bother to ask?" "Oh." I rubbed my face. "I'm heading up then. What about you?" "Need to finish the movie." "Ryan, the movie ended an hour ago." "Did it?" He frowned at the TV then looked at his empty can. "How many of these did we have?" I groaned. "Don't ask." "Okay." Ryan's head fell back against the chair and he promptly conked out. I freed the empty can from his hand and tossed a quilt over him, being in no condition to try and move him to his bed. I stumbled upstairs and collapsed face-first onto the bed, passing out. The smell of fresh brew pulled me from my sleep, forcing me to acknowledge a fiercely pounding head and cottonmouth. I groaned and pulled the pillow over my head, but it was jerked away. A voice stabbed at my ears. "Colin. Wake up." "Fuck you." I grabbed at the pillow, but Ryan flung it to the floor. "Nope. Come on man, rise and shine." "Go away." "I have French Roast." I opened my eyes and saw him waving a blue mug above my head. I rolled over. "Thanks." "I take it you feel like shit." I nodded and slowly sat up. "How can you do that? Drink like that and feel fine?" "Experience, unfortunately. But I don't feel fine. I've had about three of these so far." He pressed the handle of the mug to my hand until I closed my fingers around it. "You'll feel better after a shower. You bounce back from a hangover faster than anyone I've seen." "From beer? Beer doesn't usually do this to me." "Well, there are two empty rum bottles as well." I groaned. "You're kidding." Ryan smiled. "For all I remember we poured them down the toilet. One was half-empty anyway, but…" "I don't want to think about it. Not right now." I glanced down at my rumpled clothes. "I need to get back to the hotel and change." "Get a shower first and I'll drive you over. Oh, by the way, Greg called for you this morning. He asked that you call him later." "Uh-huh." I sipped the coffee, wincing at its strength and waved Ryan out of the room. The ride to the hotel was uneventful, as was the rest of that day and the next. We wrapped up the episode and started on the next. Eugene was to have a guest spot for the next four weeks, which I didn'tmind. For once my calendar allowed for the change in scheduling and I loved working on the set. Drew was a riot, and although I still felt twinges of jealousy when he and Ryan were together, I was able to squelch it and do my job. Of course I was aware of Ryan's proximity and watched him even more closely than I used to, but over the past days that driving desire had ebbed into a pleasurable warmth whenever he was near. I was content with that, for now. Since I was to have a recurring spot on the show for the next four weeks I checked out of my hotel room and stayed in Ryan's guest bedroom. At first I was apprehensive about it, but soon fell into a regular routine that complied with Ryan's habits. We shared the cooking and cleaning, and I handled my own laundry. It was a nice arrangement and we found ourselves talking less and less as we settled with each other's presence. It was much sought after peace and steady work, and I was very comfortable. But it wasn't to last. Greg came over often. He was understandably upset over the loss of his girlfriend, and I had thought the past year would have allowed time for wounds to heal, but lately they has resurfaced with a vengeance as the anniversary of her death approached. Ryan did mind, although he was a little annoyed with himself for not being able to help much. I kept telling him that just allowing him to come and talk was enough, but he wasn't convinced. He did have two rules; Greg could drink himself silly while he was there as long as he didn't drive, and no drugs were allowed. Greg rolled his eyes at the second stipulation but agreed. Companionship was more important to him at the moment. They spent Sunday playing chess while I watched. It was an interesting game, Greg's intellect against Ryan's cunning. I was lying on the sofa with my head resting on my arms and my socked feet propped on the armrest, feeling totally at home. It was fun watching them duel it out. Ryan wasn't as experienced in the game as Greg and myself, but he knew strategy. He stared at the board, bouncing his leg in that way he had when he was impatient or annoyed. "I don't see how you two play back and forth on the Internet. I can't concentrate with the board in front of me." He frowned and moved his pawn. "It's not that bad. I don't even use a board anymore. I just record the move Greg sends and play that way. I play through in my mind." I grinned at Greg, who was leaning back confidently, watching. "You sure you want to do that Ryan?" he asked. Ryan frowned at him. "Your move." Greg leaned forward. He swiftly countered Ryan's move and captured the pawn as Ryan cursed under his breath. "You could practice online, you know." "Chess should be played on a board. It was made for a board." Ryan leaned in again, his leg still bouncing. I tried my hardest not to stop it even though it was diving me nuts. "You know," I said, "computers aren't so bad. I think you'd like having one if you'd give it half a chance." I eyed the laptop I had set up on Ryan's desk and tried to picture that lanky frame leaning over the small machine. "Computers are stupid." He continued to stare at the board. "Twenty-first century, Ryan. Catch up." Greg laced his fingers behind his head and grinned at Ryan's glare. "You know," I said hesitantly, "it's a great way to keep in touch. I could show you how to use email…" Ryan didn't respond instantly and I took that as a good sign, giving Greg a hopeful glance as Ryan continued to frown over the board. "I keep in touch," he said, "I talked to Mike. He's in LA this month." "I got an email from him. Said he's working on a pilot for CBC. He doesn't think it'll get picked up but the money is pretty good. They'll shoot six episodes and see." Ryan frowned. "Money for pilots are not that great. I got next to nothing during when we did the pilot for Drew Carey Show." He moved his knight, causing Greg to lean forward in surprise. "It's much more than I've ever gotten. I've never even done a pilot for a sitcom," he remarked as he studied Ryan's unexpected move. I had an idea where Ryan was going with his strategy, but of course I kept silent. "I've got another pilot in Canada coming up," I commented. Greg and Ryan both looked up at the same time, making me feel as though I had committed a cardinal sin. Ryan shook his head. "Shit! Not another! You're too busy as it is. What now?" "The guy I did Jane White with wants to do a series based on a couple of the characters from the film." I was a little annoyed by their reaction. What was wrong with more work? Greg winced. "You in bondage again? I could barely watch that part of the movie." I smirked at him, and was secretly pleased to see Ryan grin. "I don't know, that was kind of interesting," he said, to my surprise. I stared at him, then turned away, knowing my cheeks were flushed. "No bondage, Greg, just the guy. I've read part of the script and it's pretty good so far." Ryan still wasn't pleased with my news. "I can't believe you're thinking of doing another show. Shit, you've got too much going on. I thought you said you were worn down, overworked…" I couldn't believe he was arguing about this. "Yeah. But it'll be shot in Toronto. And the money is good." Ryan passed a dismissive hand through the air. "It's not all about money." I stared. "Yeah, but…" Greg startled us by jumping up and nearly upsetting the chessboard. Ryan reached out his hands to steady it and looked up at him, confusion clear on his face. I was pretty confused myself. "It's easy for the only millionaire siting here to say that," Greg muttered. Ryan opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again and looked at me as Greg continued, his voice rising. "Not all of us have the kind of money you do these days, Ryan. Let us make our own career choices, okay?" There was an uncomfortable silence. Ryan looked at Greg, stunned. Greg ran his fingers through his hair and stared at the board. I watched both of them silently. I knew how Greg felt; although I was living fairly comfortable I could easily remember struggling, and I admit there were plenty of times when I envied Ryan's success. He had always looked out for me, helping me along if need be but in a very discreet way, because he knew I wanted to make things work on my own. Greg had the same pride. He never asked for help, but then he was never as low as I had been. Ryan swallowed and looked back at the board. "Guys, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to . . ." I answered quickly. "No hard feelings. Let's drop it." Greg's temper was still in force. "It's just, well, you know . . . some of us have to work for a living. Not all of us can retire to the ranch next year." Ryan narrowed his eyes. "I said I was sorry." I had sat up when Greg jumped from his chair, now I stood trying to calm him. "Look, I'm sorry I even brought it up. Let's talk about something else." Greg looked at me, and I didn't like the expression on his face, or the vacancy in his dark eyes. He stood still for a moment, then shook his head. "No, I'm sorry. Listen, I have things I need to do, I better go anyway." "You sure?" Ryan asked from his chair. His anger had burned out and was replaced by concern. "Yeah, I…yeah…I should go." His keys jingled as he pulled them hastily from his pocket. "I'll see you guys later, okay? Thanks for the game." "I'll see you out." I cut a glance to Ryan, but he was bent back over the board. Greg and I walked to the door where he stopped me. "I'm sorry Col…" "There's nothing to be sorry for. Be careful." "Yeah." He gave a small smile and left. I watched him pull away and shut the door quietly. Ryan still hadn't moved. His eyes were glued to the board as if he was still playing the game, but they held a troubled look. I resumed my seat on the sofa, resting my elbows on my knees and studying him. He knew I was watching him, and finally glanced up. "He really resents me, doesn't he?" I wasn't sure how to answer that. "I think he resents your success." "And what about you?" Ryan stood and threw out his arms, encompassing the whole of his property. "I own this. I own another house, by a lake, on a ranch. I own several cars. I could quit work now and be set for life. Do you resent that? Huh? Do you resent me?" His eyes were weak with hurt. I stood. "Ryan, you busted your ass for all this, you deserve it, you earned it." "And Greg doesn't bust his ass? He doesn't deserve success? Or you? I lucked out, that's all. I got lucky. Fucking lucky. I don't deserve all this!" With one hand he swiped the chess pieces onto the floor and flung the chess board against the wall. I grabbed his arms, stunned by his sudden temper. "Ryan! Calm down! It's not your fault, okay? He's…just upset," Ryan pulled his arms free and backed off as I continued, "you haven't done anything wrong. Calm down." He turned his back to me and hung his head as he composed himself, then walked over to the board. "I can't believe I did that. I'm sorry, I'm…worried about him." He tossed the board onto the chair. "Guess I shouldn't tear up the house because of it." "Not the best thing to do, no." I folded my arms and looked back at the door. "You know the anniversary of his girlfriend's…accident…is in a few days." I couldn't bring myself to say it. Ryan could. "You mean death." I let my arms fall. "Yeah. He's been talking to me a lot. He's troubled, alone, almost scared. When I called him several days ago he was…he sounded like he was falling apart. He seemed better today, except for the temper. But you know Greg, it's not like him to fly off the handle like that." "I know." Ryan faced me, his brows knitted over worried eyes. His expression cleared after a moment's thought. "You think we should get him to stay here for a while?" "I doubt that he would." Ryan chewed on his nail, making me smile. "Stop that." "What?" "You know." I walked over to him and snatched his hand from his mouth. "I'm going to fix something to eat. I suggest you munch on some food instead of yourself." I winced as he popped the back of my head and then snickered, leading the way to the kitchen. Greg called me that evening. He felt bad about his outburst and wanted to apologize to Ryan. "He's not here," I said as I set down the book he had insisted I read. It was pretty good actually; for once our literary taste coincided. "He took the dogs out for their evening walk." "You mean they are dragging him through his." I was glad to hear my friend chuckling on the other line. "They both need the exercise," I smiled. "You want me to tell him you called?" "You can…what are you doing this evening?" "Nothing planned. Need to get an early night, I'm due on the set at eight." Silence drifted through the phone and I swear I could hear Greg thinking. "Can we hang out a little? Do you mind?" "No, I don't mind, where do you want to go?" "I don't know. Just out. Pick you up in half an hour?" I glanced at the clock "That's fine, sure." He said a quick goodbye and hung up, leaving me staring at the receiver in my hand. He had that jittery tone, and I hoped he wasn't drugging himself again. Maybe I should drive. I heard dogs barking in the back, and after a few moments Ryan came in through the sliding glass doors, sweating and rumpled. "It's like walking through water out there. Too damn humid." "Makes you want your ranch, huh?" "Oh, it's humid there too. Just not hot. Must be a storm nearby." He pulled his wet shirt from his chest as I tried not to notice. I had been doing just fine keeping my desires in check, but some moments were just too much. This was one of them. "Greg called. He wanted to apologize for earlier." "Apology accepted." Ryan tossed his shirt over the back of a chair and headed into the kitchen. I found myself staring at it, taking inthe plum color, knowing how it contrasted with his green eyes. I loved that color on him. I shook the thought from my head, realizing with some disgust that I was thinking like a smitten teenage girl. Guys didn't recognize things like that. We didn't care how colors looked on others. Or maybe we did, but just never said anything. I stood and looked outside, seeing the sky darkened by the setting sun and approaching clouds. The trees were still and everything looked heavy, weighed down by the threat of oncoming rain. It was an oppressive scene, and I stared to back away from the doors only to bump into Ryan's bare chest. I started and turned, finding myself staring right into his smile. "Sorry. I was wondering what you were looking at." He eased around me as I held my breath. "I don't know, it may rain here and it may not." "Obvious choices," I muttered, annoyed by my sudden discomfort. I managed not to look back at him as I walked back into the den area and took my cap from the coffee table. "Greg's picking me up. I've got my phone if you need something." "Mm-hmm." Ryan was still looking outside, lost in thought. I smiled in spite of myself and went out to the front walk to wait. Greg surprised me by talking very openly about his lost love. He started the moment I stepped into his car and continued as he drove aimlessly about, venting all of his frustration and anger and fear as I listened quietly. He had been smoking, and I don't mean cigarettes, although he was having his share of those as well. He seemed perfectly capable of driving, but I kept a wary eye on the road just incase the load became too much. We stopped at a small family owned gas station on the outskirts of town to fuel up and grab some soft drinks. The rain had started, but pattered softly instead of pouring. It was refreshing. I made a quick trip to the restroom and returned to find Greg thumbing through some car magazines. It was a shared passion between Ryan and Greg, and on the odd weekend Greg would spend a week up at the ranch and help Ryan tinker on whatever project he was restoring. I flipped the cover up to see what issue Greg was practically drooling over. "Ryan has this one. I'm sure he'll let you look at it." "I meant to ask him when I was there earlier." He flipped through a few more pages and popped it back onto the shelf. He turned glazed eyes to me. "Ready?" I sighed, and he knew I had noticed. "You got cash." "Yeah, I've got it." He selected two Pepsi Colas and slammed the door shut. I followed him to the counter, wondering how I could tactfully suggest that I drive. The cashier took Greg's money and apologized, needing to make a change run. I shuffled my feet and saw a photo on the grungy tile. It was a picture of a woman, someone who looked familiar to me. "Greg? Did you drop this?" Greg leaned over and nodded. "That's Anne." "Wow. Look at her hair! When was this taken?" I had memories of a short, curly cap, not long, luxurious locks like the woman in the photo. She was lying in bed, covered with a sheet but obviously naked underneath. There was a tired, lazy expression on her face as if she has just woken. One hand was tucked under the pillow and her other reached for the camera. There was a slight smile on her face, embarrassed yet delighted. "We had just started dating." He smiled slightly. "You took pictures of her in bed?" I teased. Again he smiled, a little self-consciously. "Just that one time. The camera was sitting there, left out from our boat trip. She looked so sweet, so peaceful…her curls were tumbled on the pillow…but she woke as I picked up the camera. I took the photo anyway." "Sure." I studied the picture and carefully handed it back to Greg. He took it gently, running his finger along the worn edge. "I love this photo," he said quietly, "it's just perfect. She's spontaneous in it, shy, sexy, just perfect." He looked up at me and opened his mouth to say something, then closed it as the cashier returned with his change. We thanked her and grabbed our purchase, then made a dash out to the car. Greg sank into the bucket seat, photo still in hand. He just sat there, not willing to put the picture away. "You were going to say something," I said quietly, "before the cashier came back." We sat in silence for a while before he spoke again. "This photo, I can't put it down. God, I want her back so bad." "I know, buddy." I patted his leg, seeing tears flood his eyes. "I…I took it the morning after we made love for the first time. I wanted to remember everything about it." I was impressed. "Really? That's wow, that's great." "It was." He smiled and leaned back. "We both had the day off and we walked along the pier, took a boat ride, ate a late lunch. We were just together, enjoying each other, loving each other. We went back to my place." I glanced over his shoulder at the picture that he now clutched tightly between pinched fingers. "She's reaching for you." "Yeah." A sob caught in his throat. "I had said something, I don't remember what. But she started laughing and we…I - well, we went back to bed." "Nice." "It was." "No, I mean it's nice that you carry the picture." He choked again. "I can't stand it, Col. Look at her. She's reaching for me, and I can't get to her, I can't have her, she's gone… but she's there, reaching for me, wanting me…and I can't…" His voice broke and he slammed his head against the steering wheel, sobbing. I took the picture from him before he crushed it and rubbed his back and shoulders, telling him it was okay, that we were here for him. I couldn't stand seeing him like this. I felt the helplessness that Ryan often felt, watching a friend suffer yet being unable to do anything to ease the pain. He suddenly cranked the car and threw it into gear, tearing out of the lot with a violent squeal of rubber. I was pushed back into the seat from the force of departure, and caught my breath as he skidded around a curve. "I can't have her, she's gone, I can't have her…" "Greg, calm down." The road danced before us and I prayed Greg had enough sense left in him to stay on it. "No…it's no use, it's no good…I need her Colin, dammit, I need her…" "Greg, you've got to slow down." I was clutching the door handle and pressing back against my seat. "You'll wreck us. Look, let's go back to your place and talk…" "No! Don't you understand? She was there. She lived there for two years…I can't go back there, but I can't go forwards. I'm so stuck." I swallowed hard as we slid along a curve. "I understand. We can help you, just talk to us. Like you did with me earlier." Greg started to slow down, and I released my frantic grip on the door. "I don't want to bother you guys, or bring you down." "Bring us down? Greg, we're your friends. We're worried about you. Ryan is worried, he said so after you left today. But we can't help you if you don't talk to us. It's been a year, almost to the day, since the accident. You can't go through that alone, and you shouldn't have to. Ryan was thinking about asking you to stay with us for a while, at least until that date has passed. Do you want to?" He thought about it, his hands tight on the steering wheel. "Maybe. I need to move out, but I don't want to let go…not yet…" I started to say something when the car suddenly lurched to the side. I heard a horn and Greg's yell as he cursed and fought the wheel. My head slammed against the glass window, and all I remember was pain… "Colin? Come on, wake up, god, please…" I groaned inwardly, wanting the voice to go away. My head pounded worse than any hangover I'd ever had. The urgency in the voice caught my attention and I opened my eyes, gasping at the sudden sting. "Col? Oh thank god…" Greg was leaning in beside me at an odd angle. I tried to face him but I couldn't move. "The ambulance is coming, just hang on." I felt his hand on my head. My mind cleared enough for me to realize I was in pain, but not in danger. "Greg? What…" "The car flipped. Just stay still." "I can't move." I tried to shift, but felt a heavy weight on my chest. "Don't. Help is on the way." His hand grabbed mine. I was aware of the rain splashing on my face and a roaring in my ears, and Greg's frantic plea as I passed out again. The overhead light was bright. I winced and turned my head from it, hearing a different voice at my side. "Colin?" Confusion pervaded my senses. I had no idea where I was, or why I hurt, or who was with me. I felt a pressure on my arm, then a squeeze as I forced my eyes to adjust. "Ryan?" "It's me, I'm here. You're okay now, everything is fine." Blurred imaged attacked my brain. "Greg…" "He's okay, a few scratches." "The car…" I remembered spiraling roads and a horn, then tumbling… "The car's totaled." I could see Ryan leaning over me now, his eyes wide and scared. I coughed weakly and groaned as the memories poured in. "He's okay?" "He's fine. How about you, do you need anything?" He still held onto my arm tightly. "I'm, I'm okay, I hurt…I'm okay though." My mind finally cleared from its fog and I saw light blue walls and white machinery. "How long have I been here?" "Not long. You were unconscious when they brought you in. I need to tell the doctor and Greg that you are awake." He made no move to leave, and I didn't want him to. "Wait. Don't go yet." His eyes still betrayed his fear. "Are you okay?" "Me?" Ryan's voice sounded surprised. "You're the one in bed." "Ryan, you look like someone scared the life out of you." "Someone did." I didn't dare take my eyes from his. There was such feeling there, such emotion, all I wanted to do was let it sink into my soul. "I'm sorry." "Sorry? Were you driving the car when it crashed? Why should you be sorry?" There was an undertone of anger now, and it occurred to me that Greg was left with Ryan while I was being tended to. I wondered what he had said, if he had blown up. "What exactly happened?" Ryan pressed his lips together and rested his elbows on the edge of the bed. "The car spun. We think the two of you were run off the road, maybe the other driver couldn't see because of the rain, I don't know. Greg says he was going too fast, he's…coming off his high…" "He wasn't high." "He was impaired. His reaction time was cut in half." "We don't know if that caused the wreck. If we were run off the road, could he have helped that?" "I don't know. That's the only thing that's kept me from killing him." Ryan's voice deepened in anger. I sighed and winced again, pulling his attention from his anger. "Let me get the doctor." I agreed reluctantly. He came in looking more serious than I thought the situation called for. I was told that I had a mild concussion and two cracked ribs. No internal injuries otherwise. I held up a bandaged finger. "And…" "Jammed." The doctor smiled. "See?" I told Ryan. "No worries." The doctor turned to Ryan who wasn't convinced. "We'll keep him overnight, then release him. He'll need to rest for a few days." "He will." Ryan turned back to me, and I had a feeling that he would be worse than a German army nurse caring for a wounded soldier. The doctor nodded and left, saying he would be back later to check on me. I regarded Ryan. "Where is Greg? Are you sure he's okay?" "Yeah, he's fine. Worried like hell about you, but otherwise he pretty much walked away from it. They checked him out. He's filling out paperwork so they can release him." He paused. "He told me everything. It was like I could see it in my mind. He said the car flipped several times and landed on the passenger side. He was panicked because you were out cold, and he just knew…" "God, his girlfriend…Anne…" "He was in hysterics when I got here. I just held him. He said you were pinned against the dashboard by your seat, and that you couldn't move, and that you woke for a moment then faded away…" Jesus. No wonder he had looked so scared. "Look, I'm fine now. I'm patched up and ready to go." I smiled, secretly pleased that he was so concerned for me and ashamed at the same time. Ryan finally let go of my arm and stood. "I'll get Greg. Prepare yourself for more hysterics." "Ryan, be fair." "I'm too angry to be fair. He could have killed himself, and you…" he hesitated, looking me right in the eyes, then tore his gaze away and headed out. I remembered his eyes, that stare, the emotion behind it, and my pain became much less noticeable as I wondered…. Greg came in looking completely worn. He stood at my bedside uncomfortably, and then the tears started to flow. He sat in the chair Ryan had occupied and released all of the emotions he had been holding in for days, wailing to the point that I was afraid the nurse would come in. I just laid my hand on his head; I wasn't able to do much more than that other than let him cry. That was what he really needed anyway. Finally he raised his head and sniffled. "I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me." "I do. You're mourning. You never really let yourself before." "Maybe you're right." "Trust me." I adjusted my position. My back was sore. "So…you and Ryan okay?" "If you're wondering if he tore me a new asshole, yes, he did." "I'm sorry, Greg. You really don't deserve that." "Bullshit." I sighed. "Look, get him in here, will you? I'll bounce both your skulls together and maybe that'll give you some sense." "Colin, I could have killed you. He'll never forgive me for that. If he lost you that would be it." "It? Greg, what are you talking about?" "Oh don't be stupid." His voice held a tone of resignation that puzzled me. "Greg, stop pussyfooting around and tell me what the hell you mean!" I knew, of course. I had seen it in Ryan's eyes, right before he walked out. "He loves you." Shit. Greg licked his lips and sat back. "He's gonna kill me for saying that." "What do you mean, he loves me? We're best friends, it would stand to reason…" "Oh, fuckin' hell. He LOVES you. Like L-O-V-E. Like if something had happened to you he'd feel…like I feel now." I was starting to sweat. "He's told you this?" "Yeah. Granted we were stone drunk at the time." This was too much to comprehend, too much to hope for. I closed my eyes. Greg noticed and stood. "I should go, you need your rest. You should be out of here tomorrow, right?" "Yep." "Good." I heard his sneakers squeak as he started off, then turned. "It's too bad though." I opened my eyes and looked at him. "Bad?" "Yeah, you know, that you don't feel the same way." He gave a little wave and walked out, shutting the door behind him with a click. I stared at it for a while, then looked at the chair, picturing Ryan sitting there. This wasn't possible. Greg misunderstood. Had to. This…this couldn't be happening. And now I was more confused than ever and tried to stifle the hope that had suddenly flared up in my chest. Best to wait things out. I nestled the back of my head into the pillow and tried to get some sleep. They ended up keeping me for two days, which threw the filming crew into a frenzied re-write. It wasn't severe because I still didn't have many lines, but it was unexpected. Drew visited me once, convinced I was about to pass on at any moment, even though I was up and about by the time he arrived. Ryan had to be on the set but called at every break. Just as well, I had to do some thinking before I saw him again. But how would that help? The hope that fluttered in my chest was almost worse than the knowledge of the "sensation" in the first place. I dreaded Ryan's arrival to take me back to his house. And just when I was feeling comfortable with the situation…now I would be studying his every move, wondering if what Greg said was true and making assumptions about absolutely everything. I was right about the German nurse. Ryan set me up in bed upstairs, complete with television, drinks, books and magazines, telephone, and strict orders not to get up until his return that evening. I think I lay there for an hour, then was up and about. I was sore and stiff, and couldn't turn my upper body very well, but I wasn't an invalid. I removed the bandage from my forehead to reveal a purple bruise with a faint red line through it, presumably where I had cracked my head on the window. I considered showering but couldn't re-wrap my ribcage. After some thought I threw off the wrap and climbed in. The hell with it. I needed normalcy in my clogged brain. I was just drying off when the door thumped loudly downstairs. I wrapped the towel around myself and hurried down as best as I could, peeking through the side curtains then flinging the door open in surprise. "Greg!" "Hi, Col. I see you're up and about." He stood in the doorway with a small smile on his face. I pulled him in. "I've been worried about you. How've you been?" "Worried about me?" Greg laughed. "Well, yeah, why not?" He pushed past me and I followed. "You're going though a tough time, and you were in that car too…" "Not that anybody cared." He sat down and waved away my protest. "Ididn't come here to talk about that. I think I'm ready to move out, and I was wondering if I could store a few things here for a week or so." "I think so, I mean, I don't think Ryan would mind. There should be room in the basement." "Great. I'll start bringing things over this evening." He stood to leave. "Greg, wait, why don't you hang around for a bit? I'm going nuts here." Greg hesitated, and I saw him eyeing the bruise on my forehead. I put my hand up to cover it, but it was too late. A dark sadness shadowed his face and he continued towards the door. "Mind your towel." I glanced down and caught the fabric just before it fell to my knees. When I looked back up the front door was closed, and he was gone, leaving me to idly wonder if I had imagined the encounter. Things settled for a while. I healed quickly and Greg moved some of his belongings into the basement. He was actively looking for a place but for some reason turned down everything he saw. Even the apartment with the wonderful view of the ocean was turned down because he didn't want to be reminded of his walks on the beach with his love. He was severely depressed but managed to keep it in check, especially around Ryan. That irritated Ryan to no end. "I don't get it, why won't he talk to me?" I was asked sadly as we sat on the patio eating a late breakfast. Ryan just stabbed at his pancakes with his fork, making little pinpoint patterns while talking quietly to me. I set down my paper. "Have you tried getting him to talk?" "Yes. He just blows it off, says he's fine." I could see the hurt on his face. He and Greg were close friends of old, we all were. Why he opened up to me I have no idea. Ryan could be a bit intimidating, but he never was to Greg. If anything Greg intimidated Ryan on a sub-level, because he was the sharp-tongued, educated man that Ryan wasn't. But they were close, until recently. Ryan looked up at me. "You think he still holds what I said against him?" "He says you didn't care that he was in the wreck." "That's just childish! Of course I cared! I asked if he was alright, and he was, and you weren't." "And you reamed him." "Which he deserved!" "Did he?" I fixed Ryan with a stare. His shoulders slumped. "Hell, I don't know, I don't want to talk about it." "Which is exactly why he's talking to me instead of you." That comment hit home and sunk low. Ryan stared at his plate then shoved it aside and stood, casting a shadow over me as he walked off. I sucked in my lips folded my arms, then sighed and picked up the paper. I had no idea what to do to help heal the rift in their friendship. I probably shouldn't do anything, but they were both very stubborn men and need a nudge in the right direction on occasion. I heard a splash and turned to my right, just able to make out Ryan's long form underneath the rippled water as he swam to the opposite end. This wasn't just exercise, this was Ryan working out his frustration. The unusual heat was already settling and I was tempted to jump in myself, but I didn't want to interrupt his workout. Besides, I was shamelessly enjoying the view. I did however put my feet in. Ryan swam a few more laps then came over to me. "Why don't you come in?" "Nah." I quirked up the side of my mouth. "I'm fine right here." Big mistake. I should have recognized that gleam in his eye. I should have paid attention. But what can I say, I was distracted. The next thing I knew I was underwater, fully clothed. I emerged with arms thrashing out at anything within reach. "Bastard!" Ryan just laughed, enjoying my moment of rage. Sick fuck. I launched myself towards him and landed on his head, thrusting him under. I could feel him struggling and my body turned to the side as he forced himself back up. We regarded each other for a moment, silly half-grins on our faces and hands in front of us in defense. Then he attacked again and we both went under, both emerging in shock as another clothed body hurled itself towards us and into the pool with a thunderous shockwave of a splash. He had Ryan back under in an instant and for a moment I panicked, then recognized the glasses that has been placed on the table. Apparently Greg had been around for several moments, unbeknownst to us. Still he had a habit of holding Ryan under much longer than I dared to. My stomach clenched as I waited for them to come back up. An annoying thought tickled the back of my mind with unease; if Greg wanted his revenge on Ryan for his treatment, this would be a good way to get it. I was just about to reach over and grab his shirt when both came up, gasping for air. "Greg! You asshole!" "I could say the same to you!" Greg panted. "What was that for?" Ryan wiped his hand over his face and squinted at Greg. "Generally for being a bastard. Specifically for what you said at the hospital." Greg's eyes were dark. Oh yeah, he had taken advantage of the moment all right. No telling how long this had been brewing. "What are you talking about?" "You said it should have been me!" I stared at Ryan in shock, unable to believe my ears. "Ryan?" "I was panicked. I apologized to you right after I said that. You said it was okay!" "You wanted me there in that bed instead of your best friend. That's what it was. You don't care!" "Will you stop acting like a spoiled brat?" Greg lunged for Ryan again and pushed him under, turning his face from the spray of water flying around them. This time I yanked Greg away. "Stop it! This is ridiculous!" I yelled as Ryan resurfaced, sputtering and angry. I stood between the two of them. "You are acting like children! Enough!" "Tell him that," Ryan huffed and he swam over to the ladder and hauled himself out of the water. Greg followed furiously. "That's it, Stiles. Just walk away." "Give it up, Greg. I'm not talking with you in the mood you're in. It'll do no good." Ryan toweled his face, stepping aside as Greg rounded on him. "All high and mighty. Do you care? Does what I feel even matter to you?" "I offered my house! I said you could stay here! Does that mean I don't care? You are the one who is being ungrateful!" Greg moved towards Ryan threateningly, causing me to quickly pull myself out of the water. "That's enough! Greg..." Greg aimed his venom at me. "Fuck you, Colin! Back off!" "Get out, Greg." Ryan's voice was calm and cold. "You're not welcome here, not like this. Come back when you've cooled off." Greg turned away, biting his lower lip in anger, then just as Ryan lifted to towel to his face once more he spun, shoving Ryan backwards over the lounge chair. He grabbed at the heavy table to break his fall and only managed to pull it down on top of him. I was moving without thinking, shoving Greg out of the way and yelling in his face at the top of my lungs. "What the fuck? What is with you?" He looked chagrined for a moment, then shrugged. "He deserved it." Then he was gone. "Jesus, I can't believe this, "I muttered, shoving the table off of my friend. "You okay?" "Gimme a minute," Ryan gasped. The wind was knocked form his lungs and he looked stunned to be flat on his back. He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing as the sound of an engine filled the air. I turned to see Greg's car pull away, the dark color lightly flashing through the slots of the privacy fence. Ryan made a move to sit up, and I was quick to help. "I guess he's not on your good list." "You think that? Really?" Ryan asked sarcastically. "Don't start. You sure you're okay?" "I'm fine. I'll feel it tomorrow, though." He winced and rubbed his chest where the table had left an angry red mark. Suddenly in the midst of my concern I found myself fascinated by the line, and gently ran my fingertip across it, my skin tickled by the light hairs on his chest. He gave me an odd look and I snatched my hand away. "Skin's not broken. Let's go in, I'm getting cold." I had sopping wet clothes clinging to me, but that wasn't why I was suddenly so uncomfortable. "Talk about your mood swings. Wish he'd swing back from this one," Ryan commented as he stood shakily. He hesitated for a moment then looked at me. "I'll be damned." His eyes had gone wide. "What?" I frowned. "He's jealous." "Huh?" "He's alone and hurting, and who is he taking it out on? The closest friend of his only confident." "Did you hit your head on the way down?" I didn't like where this was headed. Ryan was nodding as the events sorted themselves in his mind. "His outbursts are because of you. The chess game when I was complaining about your work load. He pulled it on himself but he was really sticking up for you. His comments about the car accident. Again he pulled the situation to himself, but he was really pissed beacuse I was the one to help you recover. Once again he was pushed aside." "And he won't move in because..." "He'd see us together. And he won't leave his place because it creates a pitiful situation for you to save him from." "Ryan, this is insane." "Think about it!" "It is the one year anniversary of his girlfriend's death! In a car wreck! You're reading more into this than is there." "Am I?" Ryan cocked his head to the side, trying to look right into my eyes. I wasn't letting him. "You make it sound like...he's in love." I almost choked on the words. "I doubt it. But you are an emotional crutch, the only true friend he has right now." His face fell. "At least in his eyes." He stepped up through the open glass doors and into the den. I just stood there, dripping, confusion holding me in place. I looked up finally to see Ryan leaning out of the doorway, on hand braced against it's frame. "What do I do?" My voice was barely audible, even to my ears. "I don't want to hurt him." "Just do what you're dong. Be there for him. It's not your problem, it's his. You can't fix it, and you can't abandon him." "I know." "Then come get some clothes. I've got an old pair of shorts and a shirt that might fit you okay. Hell, you're not THAT much shorter than me." He led the way in and I followed, thoughts spinning recklessly in my mind. Again things settled down. Work continued then halted, and Greg was rarely heard from. I flew back to Toronto for a voice over and stayed in my home for a while, then flew back to L.A. for a couple of club dates. Greg was absent from these performances. and I wondered and worried about him. Neither Ryan nor Drew had heard from him. A month had passed since the incident at the pool and Greg's dreaded anniversary date had passed without any acknowledgment from us. I wondered about what Ryan had said, about my being an emotional crutchfor Greg. Apparently he no longer needed a crutch, or I wasn't providing the support he wanted. His apartment was empty, but we had no idea where he'd gone. He still had boxes in Ryan's basement. We continued to work, travel, and wonder. It was three full months before we heard anything about him, and it was third hand information. He had landed a gig in Vegas at one of the night clubs doing stand up, and was living just outside the city. He was getting on with his life, and we were glad for him. There was no precise info as to which club he was performing in, or where exactly he was staying. All we could do was wait until he was ready to contact us. The date for filming "Whose Line" was fast approaching, and we needed a fourth chair desperately. Ryan had actually suggested driving to Vegas to locate our old friend, but I wasn't sure about it. Greg obviously wanted to sever ties for a bit, and I was content to let him do that and heal himself. I knew he would get back in touch when ready. As for me, I kept watching and thinking about Ryan. As hard as I tried I couldn't shake the feelings I had for him, and I found myself settling into a kind of comfort zone. I knew he was near, or that I could call him, and he would be there with that slight smile of his and a ready laugh. I loved to watch him walk and work, or listen to his voice. As usual, I was very aware of his proximity. And his touch. And of course my mind wandered back to what Greg had said when I was in the hospital. That Ryan loved me. But try as I might the only emotion I could see in his eyes was the affection reserved for a friend. He would place his large hand on my shoulder and I would shiver, afraid to return the touch, and I knew there was nothing more than friendship behind the gesture. It hurt in a wonderful way. We were, in fact, standing in that exact position, his hand on my shoulder as he peered over at the paper I was reading, when the phone rang. Ryan pulled away to answer it and I groaned inwardly. For some reason that day I needed his closeness. I was feeling unsure about everything, about the world and everyone in it. Ryan called it my pensive mood and never understood what brought it on. Hell, neither did I. Some days I wanted nothing more than to stay home. I turned as Ryan answered, then frowned at the phone. "Who is this?" He looked at me in confusion, then handed the receiver to me. I held it up to my ear and listened. It took some time but I heard a small voice, and it rocked me to the core. "Greg?" Ryan stood right in front of me, leaning his head down so he could listen. I could feel his warm breath and I waved him away. "Greg, is that you? Where are you?" There was a hesitation, then a slurred voice announced that he was at his old apartment. I was shocked. "Stay there, we're coming. You hear me? Stay right where you are." I hung up and ran over to our jackets which were sprawled on the back of the sofa. "Let's go." "Is he okay?" Ryan asked, whipping his jacket over his shoulders and sliding his arms in. "It didn't sound a bit like him." "I know. I don't know. I mean, hell you know what I mean." "Yeah." We drove quickly along the dark streets. Lights streaked across the windshield as we rushed below them. They almost seemed to point a direct path to Greg's old place, and in my mind we couldn't get there fast enough. It only took ten minutes, but each minute was agonizing. Ryan finally skidded into the parking lot, causing a few curtains to stir as people looked out at us. We launched ourselves up the staris and to Greg's door, which was slightly open. We pushed it open. Nothing. Nothing at all, except the old photo that Greg has shown me months before. I knelt and picked it up as Ryan checked from room to room. "No one here. Dammit! Where the hell is he?" His concern was touching, and his temper flaring. There was no clue as to his whereabouts, no sign as to his state of mind or why he came back. I could feel Ryan's gaze on me, and any other time I would have basked in the attention, but worry shoved away all other emotion. "There you guys are." We spun, and I dropped the picture. Ryan instantly hurried over and embraced Greg, then shoved him aside. "Asshole! Where the hell were you? What was that call about? Where have you been?" "Working, like you have." Greg smiled, and I was stunned by the change. He had filled out, tanned a little, damn, he looked good. Healthy. I was thoroughly confused. "Greg, you look...are you okay?" "Sure! Why?" He looked at us in amusement. "What's up?" "What's up?" I echoed in disbelief. This was not the man I had talked to on the telephone. "What about that call? You sounded awful, you said you couldn't go on..." Greg laughed. "I sounded awful because I never can get good signal here." He lifted his cell phone. "I couldn't hear you either. And I said I couldn't go on on the phone, meaning I couldn't talk, because I couldn't hear you. I told you that you needed to come to the old apartment." He looked from Ryan to me and back again and his face softened. "I'm sorry guys, I didn't mean to scare you like that. I had no idea." "What do you expect? Leaving like that, no word form you for months, then that phone call...." "I know, I know. I'm sorry." He did look truly sorry, and I found my temper draining. I pulled the man close to me, muttering, "Never, EVER, do that to me again." He embraced me and backed away. "Scout's honor." "So why are we here?" Ryan asked. "To say good bye." Greg knelt and picked up the picture that was lying on the floor. "I found that I can start over without her. Still hurts like hell, but I can do it. I had to get away, make a clean break. Sever all connections, even you guys." "Damn, Greg, you could have told us." I said quietly. "No, I couldn't. Then you would call and check up on me. I've been tempted to call you guys more times than I can count. But I'm okay." "Wow. That took some guts." Ryan was impressed. "It wasn't easy." His face changed. "I'm sorry for everything I put you guys through, Col, god, the car..." "It's okay Greg, really. I'm just glad you're okay." "Ryan, those things I said..." "Forget it." Greg swallowed and nodded. "So, anyone for drinks at my old haunt?" "Always." Ryan grinned and started to lead the way out. "I assume you're buying." "You have all the money." "That's not what I hear, Mr. Vegas." Greg smiled wickedly. "Well, what can I say. The casinos have a way of healing people." I shook my head. "How much?" "Well, you see this apartment complex?" "Yeah..." "I could own it." "Damn." We walked outside to Ryan's car. "So, are you back in L.A., or hanging out in Vegas?" "I'll be back and forth. Traveling from home to work and back. Just like you two." "Man, I'm ready to get back to Washington and ditch you two yahoos," Ryan huffed. He regretted that remark later, as Greg reminded him of it while pouring a beer over his head. We filmed "Whose Line" for three weekends. Greg was in top form. Ryan was in top form. Wayne was in top form. And I was distracted. So things were normal. I loved every minute of it. Greg kept shooting me looks when Ryan would set me up for a suggestive line or movement, and I started to wonder again, despite all logic. I started to hope, then wonder, then believe. And the time came when I was almost ready to confront him. We were sitting in his living room, watching TV as usual. I was waiting to hear if Drew was slotting me into another episode of his show before making plans to return to Canada. Ryan had been working late on the set and coming home flushed and exhausted. It was so sweet seeing him flop onto the sofa and kick off his shoes, flinging his arms out to each side and throwing his head back against the pillow. He only did that if I wasn't sitting on the couch, and I always ended up dropping his legs to the floor to make room to sit. That I was in a rather unreserved mood, and sat on his legs instead. He looked up. "Ouch." "I'm tired of moving them." There was a glint in his eyes, a happy gleam that made the green color almost grey. I was drawn into his gaze. He looked at me for several moments until I started to squirm. "Why are you looking at me like that?" Ryan grinned. "I've been trying to decide whether or not to tell you this." He shifted slightly so that I had to get off of his legs. He looked at me closely. His eyes were burning; I could feel their heat. I waited, hardly daring to breathe. "I've met someone, Col." I swallowed hard. "She's wonderful." -bk :)