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Chapter Fifteen: Bound to Be a While
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We got the afternoon

You've got this room for two

One thing that's left to do

Discover me discovering you

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"John." Someone was touching him, nudging him slightly, but it wasn't
going to work. "John..." Now the word was dragged out, almost sung,
and whoever had been touching him before was currently blowing gently
on his neck, tickling the fine hairs there. "John, you need to wake
up."

"Why?" he moaned in response, rolling over in bed and wrapping the
covers tightly around himself, burying his head in his pillow. "It's
Christmas Eve, my first day of vacation. Leave me alone."

Dave wasn't back to work yet, since the Chief had insisted on him
taking a month's hiatus to "take a break from it all," as she had put
it, while she decided what to do. At least she hadn't fired him, and
Dave was thankful for that - he wasn't sure what he would do if he
couldn't be a doctor. Sometimes when John was at work he would sit and
wonder about all the "what ifs." What if he couldn't be a doctor? Or
worse...what if he was a terrible doctor and he kept hurting people,
just like he'd killed that kid with Marfan's last fall? Sometimes the
fear was all so encompassing that he would start to shake. Once he
even threw up.

Until Dr. Weaver decided on what to do with Dave, he was to attend the
drug abuse outpatient program at County General, which he had been
going to every day since getting out of the hospital. He hated his
counseling sessions because he hated people butting into his business,
and he certainly couldn't talk about the things that really needed to
be talked about, especially private things that he couldn't even tell
John. So he usually ended up making small talk or making things up,
and he did what he always did: kept everything inside. And he hated
every minute of it. The introductory class, however, had been the
worst: eight hours stuck in that place, doing different exercises and
listening to different speakers.

"Can't do that," Dave said now, to John's previous request, smiling as
he watched him, whose hair was mussed and looked so damn cute right
now. "And two days off isn't exactly vacation."

"Why not?" John demanded to know as Dave dropped Kermit on him, hoping
the fat cat knocking the wind out of him would wake him up.

If not, then this announcement sure was: "My mom's coming over in
about an hour. She's staying the weekend."

"What?!" John asked, startling Kermit and causing him to scurry off to
his usual retreat underneath the bed. The Chief Resident sat up,
glaring at Dave with narrowed eyes, but the younger man seemed
unaffected by this. Or maybe he was, and the innocent smile was just a
cover for that, John added sarcastically. "Dave, why didn't you tell
me? The apartment's a mess!"

"I know," Dave replied, scooting off the bed. "I got up early and made
us breakfast, and then we can start cleaning. It shouldn't take that
long. Besides, my mother's always ten minutes late."

"I bet you told her to come at 11:50," John said grumpily, and Dave's
smile widened into a huge grin. "You didn't! Dave, I hate you!"

"You too," Dave said, blowing John a kiss before retreating quickly
from the room, the pillow narrowly missing his head as he closed the
door behind him.

Within a half hour, the two men had the apartment spick and span:
they'd vacuumed, dusted, washed the dishes, swept the floors, made the
beds, and even cleaned up the bathroom - something that always seemed
to be a mess. Fifteen minutes to spare wasn't a bad time, Dave thought
to himself, remembering when he'd cleaned his old apartment by himself
and how long it had taken, since he was a big procrastinator and
tended to digress from the task at hand several times. So now, after
quickly showering, the two men were getting dressed, John insisting on
wearing something nice while Dave threw on his regular jeans and a tee
shirt.

"Come on," John said, holding out the sweater to Dave. "Put it on. It
won't kill you."

"It *could*," Dave insisted, staring at the chunky blue turtleneck
sweater as if it were Death himself. "I'm not putting that on."

"I even let you open it early!" John said, indicating the gift-wrap
strewn about the bed. He'd been hoping that Dave would wear the
sweater he'd given him as an early Christmas present, but the younger
man would not budge. "It's not *that* bad. It's cute. And it'd look
damn cute on you. So put it on."

"No," Dave said, crossing his arms over his chest. "It looks like
something *you* would wear."

"What's that supposed to mean?" John asked, but didn't get the chance
to receive a reply as the doorbell rung. He looked at Dave, tossing
the sweater at him. "You aren't leaving this room until you put that
on."

"My mom's here," Dave said, waving a hand at the door as he held the
sweater in his other. "She's waiting at the door."

"The faster you get it on the faster we answer the door," John said,
catching the glint in Dave's eye before the younger man hopped over
the bed and rushed to the door. He grabbed Dave around the waist,
pulling him away from the door and pushing him back on the bed,
straddling him between his legs and holding his arms down. "Put it
on."

"No."

"Put it on."

"No."

"Please?"

"No!"

"Fine," John said with a sigh. He stood up, straightening out his
*nice* clothes, and stepped out of the bedroom, heading towards the
living room. He felt a knot in his stomach forming as he got closer to
the door, knowing this wasn't the first time he had met Dave's mother,
but somehow this felt more important. When they'd first met, the
circumstances had been different, and they'd both been worried sick
about Dave, too worried to even think about anything else. So, now, in
this relaxed environment, Rhonda would get to know him, so he had to
make a good impression. And this was making him sick with nerves.

Reaching the door, John glanced around the apartment once more, making
sure everything was in its proper place before he opened it, steeling
himself with a deep breath before doing so. "Hello, Mrs. Malucci." He
made sure to smile brightly.

"Oh, please stop calling me that," she said as he stepped aside to
allow her passage. She glanced around the apartment, admiring the
cleanliness and order of the place surrounding her, and then she
turned back to John, smiling with a grin that was not unlike Dave's.
"This place is very nice. You've even got a Christmas tree! Dave
hasn't had one in years. But the place is still missing something..."

"What?" John asked, glancing around the apartment as if that alone
would clue him in.

"My son," Rhonda replied, and then proceeded to call: "Dave! Where are
you? It's me - your mother?"

"I'm coming!" Dave soon appeared, adjusting the chunky blue sweater he
was uncomfortably wearing, and John found himself smiling widely,
knowing that Dave was wearing it for him. The younger man winked at
John before turning to his mother, hugging her tightly. "Hey, Ma. You
know, there's something different about you..." He stood back,
thinking theatrically. "I know what it is. You're even more beautiful
than when I last saw you."

"Oh, jeeze" she sighed with a roll of her eyes, swatting his chest
playfully, before grinning suddenly. "And look at *you*, so handsome
in that sweater! Finally learning how to dress yourself?"

John's smile widened as he crossed his arms over his chest, watching
Dave and his mother bicker lovingly. Yep, he thought to himself, as
they began to argue over the length of Dave's hair. He was definitely
going to enjoy this weekend.

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One mile to every inch of

Your skin like porcelain

One pair of candy lips and...

Your bubblegum tongue

-------------------------------

Several hours later, John and Dave were curled up on the couch, Dave's
mother in the kitchen, intent on making them Christmas dinner. Knowing
that today was Christmas Eve, John had soon discovered after some
inquiry that it was a tradition in the Malucci family to have the
proverbial Christmas dinner the day before, because neither Dave nor
his mother ever felt like being active on Christmas day. Leftovers
suited them just fine. The Malucci family sure did have a lot of
holiday traditions, but John thought that it was nice to know that
even though Dave had a terrible childhood, there were things that were
nice about it. The Carter family was, however, *not* into tradition -
just old money.

"Dave!" John felt the younger man startle slightly, who had his arms
wrapped around him as they watched a movie on television. "I thought I
asked you to go grocery shopping."

"I did!" Dave called back to his mother, who then appeared in the
doorway between the living room and the kitchen, looking at her son
skeptically. "I did! You can ask John. I'm not lying."

"Well in that case," Rhonda said, holding up a sheet of paper. "Then
you forgot practically everything on the list I gave you. Go to the
store and get me the rest of this stuff."

"It's Christmas Eve. Who the hell is going to be open?" Dave asked,
not budging from the couch. He was very comfortable right now
snuggling with John, his arms wrapped around the older man, watching
Ralfie almost getting his eye poked out on TV, and smelling the
wonderful aromas of his mother's cooking, thank-you-very-much. Rhonda
held up her fist threateningly, though Dave knew she would never hurt
him, and he glanced at John, grinning. "Think I can take her?"

"I'm stronger than I look," she declared. Dave sighed dramatically,
disentangling himself from John and moving to his mother, grabbing the
list. He glanced down at it, doing a double take and gaping. "Ma!
There's, like, five hundred things on this list! How do you expect me
to...? Oh, forget it. I'll be back in - what? Three, four days?"

"Good boy," Rhonda said, smiling as she patted her son's cheek before
moving back into the kitchen.

Dave approached the back of the couch, leaning over it and whispering
into John's ear: "Be careful if she asks you to have coffee with her."

"What?" the older man asked, alarmed.

"John?" Rhonda called from the kitchen. "Why don't you come in here
and lend me a hand?"

Dave grinned widely. "Good luck."

-------------------------------

And if you want love, we'll make it

Swim in a deep sea of blankets

I'll take all your big plans and break 'em

This is bound to be a while...

-------------------------------

Tentatively, John entered the kitchen, pausing in his path as he saw
the coffee maker bubbling away. Good to the last drop, John thought to
himself, before his eyes moved to Rhonda, who was currently stirring
vegetables in one of the several pots on the stove. She glanced up,
smiling brightly at him, and he smiled back, his stomach dropping to
his knees. He desperately wanted Dave's mother to like him, and from
what Dave had said early, she already did, though John didn't believe
him one bit. For some reason, even after spending quite a few hours
with her, he was still nervous as hell, mostly because he felt as if
she didn't like him at all. He couldn't help but feel that she blamed
him for the fragile state her son was in. Why shouldn't she? He blamed
himself.

"Can you do this for me while I check on the ham?" she asked, holding
out the wooden spoon to him. He nodded silently, taking it from her
and stirring the vegetables, pretending to know what he was doing.
Dave was trying to teach him how to cook - keyword: *trying* - but it
wasn't working out too well. He remembered the first time he'd
attempted to make something by himself:

Abby had been over, watching television with Dave, and John had been
cooking something that Dave had taught him weeks earlier. After the
two had been waiting in the living room for what seemed like hours,
both starving because John had advised them not to eat anything, he'd
finally called them in, revealing the lasagna that he'd been slaving
over for a few hours.

"This looks great!" Dave had said, sitting down before his plate, Abby
sitting across from him. John was standing rather impatiently to his
right, waiting for Dave to try it and tell him how it tasted. He'd
taken a forkful into his mouth, immediately smiling. "This tastes
great!" But once John's back had turned, he'd spit it right back out
and into his napkin, mouthing to Abby: Don't eat it! Do *not* eat it!

Against Dave's better judgment, Abby had decided to try it, and had
soon followed suit, spitting it up into her napkin as well. She wasn't
sure what John had done to one of her favorite meals, but if she never
had to eat lasagna again she wouldn't mind. John had been busy
cleaning up before he sat down, half of Dave's plate gone but only
because he'd been sneaking bits to Kermit, who happily scarfed it
down. Well, Dave thought. At least someone was enjoying themselves.

Finally, John tried his own creation. And he'd found that it tasted
*horrible*. "This is so gross."

"Oh, thank God," Abby said with relief, putting her napkin down on the
table. She looked pointedly at Dave. "I thought *I* was going to have
to be the first one to say it."

"I didn't want to hurt your feelings," Dave had said to John. "I know
you really want to learn to cook, and I figured it might discourage
you if your first time turned out horrible." John's shoulders sagged
with defeat, understanding why Dave hadn't wanted to tell him - he
already didn't ever want to cook again. "Hey!" Dave had then said,
smiling brightly. "Kermit likes it, so it wasn't a total disaster,
right??"

And even though the furface *had* liked it, John knew that hours later
the poor guy ended up lethargic, cranky, and *sick*. And John had been
the one left cleaning up after him, because Dave refused to touch
Kermit's puke, even though it was his cat. But it'd been John's fault,
so it was only right he clean up the mess. At least that's what Dave
had said.

"John?" He snapped out of his thoughts, glancing at Rhonda with raised
eyebrows. She cocked an eyebrow of her own. "You were off in la-la
land. Thinking of anything interesting?"

"Uh, no, not really," he replied sheepishly, glancing back to the
vegetables as he felt the heat rise in his cheeks, not wanting to
share that fiasco with Rhonda, who was obviously an excellent cook as
well. Quick, change the subject, he thought. "So, uh...you live in
Chicago?"

"Yes," she replied, nodding, and then seemed to reconsider. "Well,
West Chicago."

"And Dave grew up in New York?" John asked hesitantly, not sure how
far to push but wanting to know more about Dave. Sure, they'd spoken
about him at Doc Magoo's while they'd been waiting for him to wake up
after his overdose, but nothing serious, just wistful memories.
Perhaps this was a perfect time to find out more information.

"Yeah," she answered slowly, almost regretfully. "He grew up in New
York...with his father..." She paused for a moment, lost in deep
thought, her brow furrowed and her lips pursed before she looked back
up to him. "Has Dave...told you...about his childhood?"

"No," he replied, shaking his head slightly. "Not really."

"Has...has he told you about his father?" They made eye contact, and
she immediately knew the answer; he didn't even have to say it. "John,
why don't you sit down and have some coffee with me?"

He swallowed hard, nodding silently. Okay, he thought, this was it.
They sat down at the table, and Rhonda poured the coffee in the mugs
while he stirred in the cream and sugar. Once that was finished, they
settled into their seats, Rhonda taking a sip before setting her cup
back down and folding her hands over the table.

"John...how serious are you about Dave?" she asked, looking him
straight in the eye, but he didn't get a chance to reply before she
started speaking again. "My son has been hurt too many times - more
times than I can remember. I can tell that he loves you, John, so if
you aren't serious," she continued, swallowing hard before going on,
her voice thick with emotion, "please - for the sake of Dave - end it
now."

"Rhonda," John said softly, looking down at his hands. "I love your
son, and I would never hurt him."

"I can tell, especially from the way he talks about you." She smiled
then, a real smile, but it soon vanished as tears brimmed at her eyes,
and then she seemed embarrassed. "Oh, jeeze...look at me. It's not
that time of the month, but you wouldn't know it." She took a deep
breath then, before looking up at him with glistening eyes. "It's
just...we were divorced, ever since Dave was about three years old.
And it was an ugly divorce, at that. Dave's father was a cop and knew
some good lawyers, and since I could barely afford one, he wasn't very
good, and Frank - Dave's father - destroyed me in court."

"Destroyed you how?" John asked, his curiosity piqued.

"I'm a recovering alcoholic," she said with a faux-shrug. "I'd been in
recovery for about 6 years, and I was happy with Frank when we dated,
and I thought when we got married it'd be perfect. And it was...until
I got pregnant. Frank didn't want kids at all, and even though it
wasn't my fault he blamed me and really became such a bastard after
Dave was born. I just...I just needed an escape after a really
terrible fight, so I drank and drank...and then I couldn't stop after
that. I managed to pull myself together when Dave was probably two,
and I found a sponsor who saved my life and taught me that I didn't
have to put up with the way I was being treated. So, I decided to
divorce Dave's father, and he didn't take it well at all...he pulled
out all the stops, and even though he hadn't wanted Dave and even
still didn't, he got full custody of him and I got visitation.

"I hated it," she said, after a pause, "but I needed to move on
despite that. But Frank knew everyone, and every time I moved he
managed to ruin things for me. My sister lived out here and set up
this job so I came here. I saw Dave whenever possible, but he lived so
far away it was hard to find something convenient for both of us." She
laughed then, bitterly. "Who am I kidding? Convenient for me. I was so
self-absorbed in getting past the divorce I didn't...I didn't
realize...I couldn't see...maybe I did see it, but I just - no,
because if I *had* seen something, if I'd known his father was doing
that to him, I would've - I swear to you, John, I would've..."

"I know," John said, as tears fell from her eyes, though she wiped
them away as best as possible. On impulse, he took her hands in his,
looking directly at her. "Rhonda, it wasn't your fault. And I know
that that's hard to accept, because maybe you felt like you should've
seen something or recognized something, but sometimes it's hard to
see, for whatever reason. Sometimes these things just happen. It's
only after we accept that that we can move on."

"I know..." she said, sniffling. "It's just so hard..."

John nodded, hoping to continue this so he could reassure her more,
but they heard the front door open, and soon Dave could be heard.

"Hey, Ma?" he called from the living room, settling his bike against
the wall and taking off his jacket, throwing it haphazardly on the
coat rack. He began towards the kitchen, carrying the paper bag with
him, knowing the only reason she'd wanted him to go was so that she
could spend some alone time with John. "They ran out of everything
except eggs, so that's all I got." He stopped in the doorway. "Where'd
my mom go?"

"Bathroom," John reported, stirring the vegetables once more. "She
wanted to freshen up before dinner."

"Why?" Dave asked, looking over John's shoulder to watch what he was
doing. He grinned. "You stir those like a pro. And my mom never
'freshens up.' Did she cry?"

"No," John said, shaking his head.

Dave looked at him accusingly. "Did you make my mom cry??"

"No!" John exclaimed, pulling a face. "She's just freshening up,
Dave."

Moving into the hallway, Dave heard water running from beyond the
closed bathroom door as he approached circumspectly. Leaning close to
it and listening for a moment, he knocked a few times before the water
turned off.

"Hey, Ma?" he called quietly, but loud enough for her to hear through
the closed door. "Are you okay in there?"

The door swung open and his mother stood in the doorway, smiling
brightly as she smoothed down her outfit, although her red, swollen
eyes gave her away. "I'm fine, Dave. I was just freshening up."

"You never 'freshen up'," he stated, clear concern in his eyes. "What
happened? Did John make you cry?"

"No," she said, exasperation laced in her voice as she rolled her
eyes. She brushed past him and towards the kitchen again, but Dave
gently took her hand and stopped her. "Dave, I'm fine. We just had a
little talk, that's all."

There was a pause that caught John's attention from the kitchen, and
he could see Dave and Rhonda standing in the hallway. Dave's
expression was showing his worry, but he only hesitated briefly before
letting out a deep breath and flashing a small smile.

"Now come on," Rhonda said, smiling as well. "John's stuck in there
fending for himself with the food, and don't think I haven't forgotten
that lasagna fiasco from a few weeks ago."

"Dave!" John called from the kitchen, having overheard. "I can't
believe you told her that!"

Dave laughed as they made their way back into the kitchen, where John
looked up at them, still stirring the vegetables obediently. "Sorry,"
the younger man said, smiling innocently. "If it's any consolation,
when Mom was first teaching *me* how to cook, I nearly burned down the
kitchen." John glanced suspiciously at him with narrowed eyes. "It's
true, I swear."

"It is," Rhonda said, approaching John and glancing over his shoulder.
"You know, John," she went on to say, breaking into a grin. "You stir
those like a pro."

"Rowrr?" they suddenly heard from below, and Dave grinned broadly as
Kermit made his way into the kitchen, walking in like he ran the place
- which he most certainly did. Finally, the furface had gotten out
from underneath the bed! Dave couldn't wait to introduce him to his
mother.

"Dave..." Rhonda said, eyeing the cat, who casually trotted to her son
before rubbing himself against his leg, in seek of his owner's
attention. "Are you aware that there is a cat in your kitchen?"

"Yes," her son replied, bending down to pick the kitty up and cradle
him in his arms. "His name is Kermit."

"Kermit?" she asked, her reaction close to what John's had been upon
learning the cat's name. "And I specifically remember you being
allergic to cats."

"I've heard that scientists are coming up with new discoveries every
day," Dave said, petting the cat affectionately, and it soon began to
purr with contentment. "Maybe someday, they'll come up with something
called allergy pills, and I'll be able to take them so I won't sneeze
and get hives every time a furry animal comes near me."

"Yeah, I get it." Rhonda sighed, tossing John a look that clearly
showed her exasperation towards her son's sarcasm, though John smiled
in seeing the playfulness in her eyes. "So why did you name him
Kermit? He's not even green."

"Sorry, Ma," he replied, grinning, "but they ran out of all the green
ones."

"You bought him?" she asked. "You hate cats, why would you buy a cat?"

"I like Kermit," Dave replied in defense. "And I didn't buy him, I got
him from a patient who couldn't take care of him anymore."

"From a patient?" she asked, as if the idea were incredulous. "Who
knows where that thing has been! He could have rabies or...I don't
know, some other disease cats get."

"Kermit takes offense to that," Dave said, narrowing his eyes. "I'll
have you know that he is perfectly healthy. I had him checked out at
the vet's. He's even had all his shots and vaccinations. He's a very
good cat." Dave suddenly grinned, covering the kitty's ears with one
hand. "I got him some catnip for Christmas, too. But, shhhh, don't
tell him."

Rhonda rolled her eyes as John said: "I swear, sometimes Dave treats
that cat better than he treats me."

"Oh, don't be jealous, John," Dave said, as he began to leave the
room, cat still in arms. "I got you some catnip too."

-------------------------------

Your body is a wonderland

Your body is a wonderland

I'll use my hands

Your body is a wonderland

-------------------------------

"Wow," John said, wiping his hands on his napkin and then tossing it
onto his empty plate. "Dinner was excellent, Rhonda. You sure are a
good cook."

"Damn straight," Dave agreed around the last of his food. "You can
come over and cook for us any day."

"Don't talk with your mouth full," mother reminded her son, who pulled
a face but complied.

During the course of the dinner, John had learned a lot more about
Dave than he had since meeting the younger man. Not by means of
personality or character - he was positive there was no one who knew
the Dave better in that sense besides perhaps his mother. Rhonda had
brought up several childhood incidents that Dave would've rather left
unsaid due to the apparent embarrassment of the tales, and they'd all
talked themselves into several fits of laughter throughout the course
of the evening. It was now late, later than all had thought - so late
it would soon be Christmas Day, something everyone was looking forward
to, especially Dave.

"I don't know about Dave," John said now, pouring himself more coffee,
fearing he might be up all night due to it but knowing that he and
Dave sure could think of things to do during that time, "but I'm
full."

"Dave's never full," Rhonda stated, a smile on her face, and, unable
to speak through a mouthful, Dave shot her a look. Grabbing empty
plates, she stood, cleaning up what was left of the dinner they'd
shared.

"Ma, I'll do it," Dave said - after he swallowed his food, of course.
He began to stand as well, collecting the utensils.

"Dave, let me," she insisted, swatting his hands away.

"Ma, I'll do it," he repeated, more firmly this time. He suddenly
caught John's eye, who then gave him a weird look as he shook his head
subtly. Dave cast him a puzzling glance, but John continued to shake
his head, before looking away casually, leaving Dave confused but
knowing what he was trying to say, even if he didn't know why. "Okay,"
Dave said at that time, though hesitantly so. "You can do it, Ma."

"Thank you," she said with a nod. "Now why don't you go give Kermit
the leftovers and wish him a Merry Christmas for me."

"Sure thing," Dave said, standing as he did so. He grabbed the scraps
from their plates and compiled it into Kermit's food bowl, beckoning
the kitty by calling his name, and soon the cat ran in, immediately
digging into his ham and mashed potatoes. Dave patted his head. "Merry
Christmas, little guy. You have fun." Standing, he turned back to his
mother and John, saying: "I'll set up the guest room for you, Ma. Why
don't you help me, John?"

"Sure," the older man said, crossing the room to join Dave. They moved
into the guest bedroom, the bed bare and unmade; because no one ever
came into this room, neither of them had taken the time to do that
task since moving in. Well, except for when they had the occasional
fight and one was stuck sleeping in here, but even in that instance
they brought their own pillow and usually stole the blanket from their
room out of childish spite.

Closing the door behind them, Dave touched John's arm, causing the
Chief Resident to turn and look at him. Quietly, Dave then said: "What
was up with that 'uh-uh' look after dinner just now?"

"What 'uh-uh' look?" John asked, playing innocent as he began to pull
out the bedclothes and make the bed. Dave moved to the other side of
the bed, assisting John with the task at hand. "I don't know what
you're talking about."

"Don't play dumb with me!" Dave declared, pointing his finger, though
there was no malice behind his accusation, only confusion and slight
curiosity. The older man glanced up, watching as Dave's eyebrows rose
and he stared him down accusingly. "I went to go help my mom clean up
the dishes, and you were there with the 'uh-uh'."

"Oh..." John said, his eyes casting to the bed as he and Dave pulled
the sheets over it. "*That* 'uh-uh' look."

"Was there another one I missed? Yeah, that one," Dave said, pausing
as he waited for John to elaborate. And when he didn't: "Well? What
was it about?"

"Oh," John said, ignoring his lover's theatrical sigh and eye-roll,
also ignoring the fact that the younger man was trying to get John to
look him in the eye. He shrugged almost helplessly. "It's
just...your...your mom just likes to do things for you, that's all."

Dave pulled a face, his confusion showing in his clear brown eyes.
"John, if you didn't notice, my mother wants to do *everything* for
me. Don't you think it'd be nice if I tried to help her out for once?"

The younger man had a point, but John had one too. He just wasn't sure
how to express it, didn't even really want to. And he knew Dave wasn't
going to like it at all. So he stayed silent, shrugging casually as he
began to unfold the comforter and lay it across the bed. Hearing Dave
sigh once more, John glanced up and met his eyes, the Chief Resident's
expression showing his concern. "Look. Your mom...she feels...bad, to
say the least, about what happened when you were a kid. She couldn't
help you then, so she wants to help you now." John was about to
continue when Dave suddenly sat down at the edge of the bed, his brow
furrowed in deep thought. Moving to sit next to him, only then did
John go on. "Dave..."

"Did she tell you something?" he suddenly asked, looking directly into
John's eyes, searching them desperately. "While I was gone, did she
tell you something?"

"No, she just said..." John paused, wondering why Dave was suddenly
panicking over things that John had already known. Unless there was
more to it than that...unless Dave was hiding more than what John had
previously managed to pry from him. Was that it? Dave really trusted
him that little?

"She just said what?" his companion asked, his gaze still meeting
John's. John noticed that Dave, who normally had terrible eye contact,
always locked eyes with someone when he wanted the truth, always
looked into the person's eyes that he was talking to - and it was the
only time he did it. Sometimes it unnerved John when Dave did that to
him, but Dave wasn't going to win this time; John was going to use
this to his advantage and see if he could find out something more to
the mystery that was Dave. "What did she say?"

"Why?"

"What do you mean why?" Dave then asked, confused by the question. He
quickly recovered, however, but not quick enough for John to notice.
"Because...I just want to know, that's all. What did she say?"

Conceding probably only because he was just about ready to give up on
ever learning anything more about Dave Malucci - and because he really
didn't want to fight with Dave right now - John sighed silently and
said: "She just told me about divorcing your dad, and about...feeling
guilty because of your dad abusing you, and the fact that she didn't
know. She feels really guilty, Dave, and I just thought you should
know that...that's why I gave you the look at dinner, I just wanted
you to - "

"It wasn't her fault," the younger man interrupted before John could
get in another word. He glanced up at John, his eyes displaying his
guilt. He didn't want his mother to feel responsible for what had
happened to him, because... "She couldn't have known. I never said
anything. And, my dad didn't...I mean...I lied to her. And he did too.
So she believed us. It wasn't her fault, John."

"I know, Dave," he said, wrapping an arm around him and rubbing
comforting circles on his back. "But...she thinks she should've seen
something, because you're her son. But she didn't, and you...suffered,
Dave, for nearly sixteen years. It's only natural for her to blame
herself."

"But it wasn't her fault, and I've told her that before," he said
quietly, looking away. "It...I mean...it was mine, and she can't - "

"What?" John interrupted, horrified at what Dave had just said. "Dave,
it wasn't her fault, but it certainly wasn't yours either!"

"How do you know?" Dave asked, looking at John once more. "You weren't
there, you don't know what happened...you don't know the things I
did..."

"Dave, your father beat you throughout your entire childhood!" John
exclaimed, incredulous as to why Dave would even begin to think it was
his fault. "Nothing can justify that! Nothing!" Dave was looking away
again, and John slipped his hands on either side of Dave's face,
forcing the other man to look him directly in the eye. "Dave, please
tell me you believe me when I say that nothing was your fault. Nothing
you ever did, nothing you ever said, *nothing* ever justifies what
your father did to you, *nothing*!"

"Sure, John," he whispered in reply, his eyes telling him a different
story. The younger man leaned in close then, resting his head on
John's shoulder for a moment before saying: "It wasn't my mother's
fault either."

"Yeah, but *she* might not know that. Have you ever really talked to
her about it?" John answered, not liking that he could not convince
Dave but knowing that he needed to drop it right now. He could see the
answer without Dave even replying. "You have to talk to her, Dave.
Otherwise...she'll never know that."

Dave nodded silently, before feeling John's eyes on him. Glancing up
at the older man's expression, he did a double take. "Now? You want me
to talk to her *now*? I don't know what I'm gonna say!" John simply
raised his eyebrows, causing Dave to sigh. "Oh, all right, fine..."

"I'll finish up in here," John replied, both men knowing there wasn't
much left to do, but also knowing it meant John would lay low until
Dave was finished speaking with his mother. The younger man stood,
crossing the room, but then turned back to his lover before leaving
the room, his expression showing his uncertainty and his clear brown
eyes showing his guilt. John approached, hugging him gently. "Just
talk to her, Dave. You'll both feel better afterwards. I promise."

"Yeah?" Dave asked, his hesitance creeping into his voice as he looked
up into John's eyes, the older man continuing to be amazed at how
innocent he could seem while still appearing to be so wise beyond his
years.

He smiled softly in reply. "Yeah."

-------------------------------

There's something' bout the way the hair falls in your face

I love the shape you take when crawling towards the pillowcase

You tell me where to go, and,

Though I might leave to find it,

I'll never let your head hit the bed

Without my hand behind it

-------------------------------

"Hey, Ma," Dave said, stepping into the kitchen, where she was busy
cleaning up the dishes in the sink, Kermit sitting on the counter
nearby, silently begging for scraps that Rhonda occasionally tossed to
him. She had to admit, she'd grown to liking the little guy.

"Hey, Dave," she said in turn, as he quickly shooed the cat off of the
kitchen counter. Sure, he loved the furface, but he wasn't allowed on
the kitchen counters. People ate there. "Where's John?"

"He's in the bedroom, finishing up," he replied, picking up a
dishtowel and drying the dishes his mother placed in the rack beside
the sink.

"Why don't you help him?"

"It's sort of a one-man job," Dave stated, taking a sideways glance at
his mother, who eyed him suspiciously. "Besides, I figured I could
help you."

"I don't need help."

"Sure, you do. Drying the dishes."

The room grew quiet, uncomfortably so. Mother knew when Son wanted to
speak of something, especially when it was something important. He
became fidgety, often to the point of being clumsy, and when he
finally dropped a dish onto the floor, Rhonda turned to face her son,
whose face was blushing crimson.

"What is wrong with you?" she asked, purely bemused as he bent down to
pick up the broken pieces, rather ignorantly. She knelt down before
him, slapping his hands away as he tried to mumble some sort of
embarrassed apology. "Dave, stop it. You're going to cut yourself! I
thought you were a doctor." She finally got him to stop, and he looked
up at her with the deep brown eyes he'd inherited from her. "What do
you want to talk about?"

"What makes you think I want to talk about anything?" If he'd been
looking up at her, Dave would seen rather than feel his mother roll
her eyes. There was a moment's pause, before he glanced up at her with
a sigh. "Want to have some coffee with me?"

"Uh oh," she said, grinning as she stood. "The coffee tactic. This
must be serious."

"It is serious," he declared, his tone sobering her and wiping the
smile from her face. They sat down, the coffee between them, but Dave
just stared at his mug, moving it between his hands, annoying her
relentlessly until she placed her hands over his, glancing up at him
with beseeching eyes. "Look...I want...when I was a kid..." He let out
a sigh, finally just spitting it out. "I want you to know that what
happened when I was a kid wasn't your fault, because I think you think
that it is."

She drew her hands back as if the touch of his skin burned her,
leaning back in her seat, her expression showing her shock. At first,
she said nothing, and her expression remained frozen in surprise as
she stared at Dave, mouth slightly agape. Dave stared back at her, his
own expression portraying his slight confusion and apprehension as he
waited for her to say something - anything. He could hear the clock
ticking on the wall, John bustling about in the guestroom, Kermit
purring softly at Dave's feet. Waiting. Waiting. And he swore he was
about to scream in the deafening silence unless she said something
soon.

But she didn't say anything.

She got up and left.

"Ma?" he called, watching as she retreated into the guest bedroom,
slamming the door closed. He stared down the hallway for a minute in
surprise. Well. He couldn't say he'd been expecting *that*. Suddenly,
the door opened again, John was pushed out, and then the door slammed
once more. He could hear his mother crying softly inside as John
glanced at him incredulously, and immediately held up his hands
defensively. "I didn't do anything! I just said that whatever happened
when I was a kid wasn't her fault, and...you did this!"

"I didn't do anything, Dave!"

"You started it! You said, 'Dave, go talk to your mom and open old
wounds,' " he retorted sarcastically, continuing on to say: " 'and
while you're at it, why don't you pour some salt on 'em? That'll make
it all better.' "

"I did not say that," John said, brushing past Dave to move into the
kitchen. He spotted the broken dish on the floor, turning to look Dave
in the eye, who had moved back into the room with him. "What
happened?"

"It broke," he simply said, as if that explained everything. He
indicated the bedroom, now. "So what am I supposed to do now? Do you
hear her?? She's crying in there! I hate it when my mom cries, John,
she doesn't deserve that!"

"Well, go in there!" John said, carefully stepping over the broken
dish to get to the broom closet so he could clean it up himself.
"Jesus, Dave, am I supposed to tell you everything??"

"I can't," Dave said lamely, shaking his head as he began fingering
the tablecloth.

"Why?"

"I just...can't." He seemed frustrated as he angrily picked at the
tablecloth, his brow furrowed in deep thought. "She just needs to calm
down and then..."

He didn't get another word out before John spat: "Because it's hard?"

Dave glanced up, clearly annoyed. "What are you talking about?"

"This is what you always do," John pointed out.

"What?" he asked, and then repeated when John didn't immediately
reply, "What?? What do I always fucking do?"

"Walk away, Dave!" John replied angrily. He was sick of Dave closing
himself off from everyone because things were too hard or he was too
scared. He was sick of Dave closing himself off from *him*. "When
thinks go bad or get tough or you're too scared, you walk away and
pretend nothing is wrong, every single time."

"I do not!"

"You do too, Dave!" John exclaimed, exasperated. "You always have.
Personally, I think that's why you became an ER doctor. So you
wouldn't have to deal with tough situations...treat 'em and street
'em..."

"Shut up!" Dave snapped, cutting John off.

"No!" John said, shaking his head. "You want me to shut up, then prove
me wrong...go in there and prove me wrong. Unless you're too scared,
tough guy."

Dave stared John down for a moment, and John knew how much he had to
hate him right now. But he was hopping that issuing Dave a challenge
would make the younger man want to meet it; he could never let go of a
challenge. Then, suddenly, he let out a grunt of frustration before
turning on his heel sharply, and John was almost sure he was going to
go into their bedroom and chicken out and give up. But he watched as
Dave paused at the spare bedroom, knocking, trying the knob and
finding it locked after receiving no reply and before leaning his
forehead against it. The Chief Resident could hear him speaking softly
now, though the words were hardly audible from this distance. "Please,
open the door, Ma. I'm sorry if I upset you, I didn't want to do that.
I just wanted to talk to you. I'm sorry. Please, open the door?
Ma...I'll sit out here all night if I have to. You know I will..."

With a sigh, John joined Dave at the guestroom door, ignoring the
older man's exasperation - which was aimed directly at him. "You
wanted me to do this by myself and now you're butting in on it?" Dave
snapped, but John continued to ignore him as he knocked on the closed
and locked door, saying: "Rhonda. It's John. Open the door, please.
Dave wants to talk to you, and I think you should let him. Stop
ignoring the problem like it's going to go away. It doesn't work like
that. Now you open this door or I'm going to get the key and lock both
of you inside, until - "

To the surprise of both John and Dave, the door opened, and Rhonda
appeared, her mascara running slightly and her eyes puffy from crying.
She glanced at John, then Dave, and sighed deeply, her shoulders
slumping with defeat. "Come in, Dave. I'm sorry, I just needed..."

"It's okay," he understood, nodding as he managed to glance
apologetically and thankfully at John at the same time. Abruptly,
Rhonda embraced him tightly, and he allowed her to do so, melting into
her and burying his face in her hair as he wrapped his arms around her
as well. There was nothing quite like the feeling of your own mother
hugging you. Then, after they disentangled themselves from each other,
Rhonda turned to John, who was about to walk away and back into the
kitchen, and she pulled him into an embrace as well. Dave watched as
John startled slightly but soon hugged his mother back, and for a
minute he felt a little bad for his lover; he knew John had issues
with his own mother, and while he knew this was no consolation, he
hoped the fact that Dave's own mother accepted him would help. She
then smiled at John, who smiled back before he turned back and went
into the kitchen, leaving Dave and his mother alone.

They glanced at each other, seeing the same thing reflected in each
other's eyes. Rhonda wasn't sure how a mother could forsake their own
child for simply being who they were. When she'd found out about Dave,
she had to admit that at first she was a little tentative, but she
would never stop loving her son. Never. And Dave, in spite of all the
anger he felt about his childhood, could never blame his mother. He
could never stop loving her, either.

"Come on," Dave said then. "Let's go in your room and talk."

"My room?" she asked, attempting to break the tension with humor. "I'm
not moving in, Dave."

"God, I hope not." He grinned then, as he sat on the bed, the covers
consisting of grays and pale blues, with splashes of green mixed in
with the pattern. She sat down next to him, studying her son as he
stared at his hands, his brow knotted with thought. He was so
handsome, had grown into such a handsome young man - and he knew this,
she thought with a smile. But despite this vanity he also knew the
clear resemblance to his father, and he hated that, hated it so much
to look like the man that had hurt him so much. "Ma?"

"Oh." Had he said something? He was looking up at her expectantly, so
he must've. But what? "I...I'm sorry, I drifted off..."

"I asked what you thought about what I said in the kitchen." Just like
that. Sometimes her son's bluntness startled her. At least most of the
time he was just trying to be honest and not obnoxious. Most of the
time. "I wasn't just saying it to make you feel better, you know. It's
the truth."

A faint smile. "What brought this on?"

"John," he simply said. No changing the subject, obviously, as she'd
hoped. "He pointed out some things I should've seen...and I'm sorry I
didn't see it, and all this time - "

"Dave, stop it," she said. She hated it when her son was upset; he
didn't deserve that, after all he'd been through. "Why can't we just
put this behind us?"

"Because it's never going to be behind us, Ma!" he said, standing and
pacing the room briefly before turning to her with desperation in his
eyes. "Not until we talk about this!"

"Dave..."

"No! Listen to me!"

"David - !"

"Don't 'David' me," he warned, before signing and joining her on the
bed again. "Look...John was right, we can't ignore this. What Dad
did...it wasn't your fault. You couldn't have known, Ma. He lied, I
lied...and we were good at it. I'm sorry you had to find out like you
did, and I think that's why you blame yourself so much, but I want you
to stop doing it. Dad is doing this to me, not you."

"He's not doing it anymore, baby," she said, placing a comforting hand
on his knee and giving it a gentle squeeze. "And I know it wasn't my
entire fault, but...Dave, stop, and just listen to me. I'm your
mother, and I should've seen something. I saw the bruises, and I
asked, but you always said you were fine and your father said you were
fine too...but you weren't fine, and I believed him so easily because
I didn't want to argue..." She paused, finally, and then looked up at
him, tears brimming at her eyes. "Is doing??"

"What?" he asked, slightly puzzled at her seemingly non-sequitor.

"You said 'is doing this.' What is he still doing to you?" He opened
his mouth to say something, but no words came, only a sigh and an
almost pained expression. "Dave, are you still having nightmares? You
said they stopped years ago..."

"Ma, I didn't want to worry you..."

"Oh, Dave," she breathed, her eyes closing as tears slipped down her
cheeks. He pulled her close to him, as she grasped him tightly, as if
she let go, he wouldn't be there anymore. She suddenly began crying,
apologizing as she did so, and the words barely came out through her
sobs. "Dave...I'm so sorry...I'm so sorry, baby, please forgive me,
please..."

"Ma, it wasn't..." He suddenly stopped, glancing down at her, though
her face was buried in his chest. It hit him hard, the realization
that he'd missed all these years and all the time of telling her it
hadn't been her fault. It hadn't, but that didn't matter; she needed
to be forgiven. It was as simple as that, and he hadn't even known it
until now. "Ma, it's okay, I forgive you. It's okay..."

"Dave, I'm so sorry," she continued to say, her small body shaking.
"Please, forgive me, Dave..."

"I do, Ma, I do," he said, his voice thick with emotion. He swallowed
the lump in his throat as he began rubbing comforting circles on her
back, taking the position she had usually taken with him all these
years. He whispered then: "Ma, I forgive you."

She suddenly stopped, as if he words registered for the first time,
and she looked up at him, her eyes glistening as they searched his.
"You...you do? You forgive me, baby?"

He nodded. "I do, I do...I do..."

"Dave, I..." She let out a sigh of relief that she must've been
holding for over ten years, and she hugged him so tightly he was
afraid she was going to suffocate him. He held her back, though not as
tightly, and they soon separated, his mother smiling sheepishly as she
wiped at his shirt. "Oh, look what I did to your new sweater."

"I'm sure it'll wash out," he said, glancing down at the makeup stains
her face had left in its crying wake. He glanced up at her then,
needing to say something he didn't say very often but knew that he
should. "I love you, Ma."

She smiled, still wiping at her wet face. "I love you too, Dave. Now,
come on. I'm sure John is beginning to worry. Besides, I don't think
the rich boy can fend for himself alone much longer."

Dave grinned. "I can already smell the place burning down."

She opened the door but he stopped her from leaving, and she turned to
face him, glancing at him curiously. "What is it?"

"I...well..." He sighed, deciding to just spit it out: "Do you like
John? Honestly, do you really like him?"

"What if I didn't?"

"I don't know," he replied, shrugging. "I'd still be with him, if
that's what you're asking, but it would hurt me, Ma...I *need* for you
to like him."

"He's good for you," she stated then, reaching out to rub Dave's arm.
"He makes you happy...I like that."

"He does," Dave replied, and then smiled slightly. "I hope I make him
happy."

"I think you do."

"So you like him?"

"I like him a lot."

There was pause, before Dave looked up at his mother and said quietly:
"I love him, Ma."

"I know," she said, smiling softly. "Does *he* know?"

He shook his head, unable to find the words at first. "Yeah, sure...I
guess...I mean...I haven't told him, if that's what you're asking...I
don't know if I can..."

"Why not?"

"You know how I am, Ma..." he said, but it was apparent he did. He
glanced up at his mother, the desperation in his eyes almost breaking
her heart. "How long is this going to last? How long before I fuck it
up or...I mean...what's the point? What's the point? I fuck everything
up, you know that, I've done it all my life. What's the point if I'm
just going to do that here?"

"The point is to be here now," Rhonda replied, taking his hand in
hers. "Don't be afraid to tell someone how you feel, because it could
be too late by the time you do. That's what will...screw it up, Dave.
Not you, *never* you...and watch your language."

He smiled then, as they began to finally leave the room, before he
leaned close to her and kissed her on the cheek. "Thanks, Ma," he
whispered into her ear. "I love you."

"I love you too, Dave," she replied. "Now come on, I think I really
smell something burning now and this apartment has to cost you a
fortune."

"It sure does," Dave said, nodding with a smile, because although his
part of the rent was smaller than John's it still put a strain on his
wallet. "It sure does..."

-------------------------------

You want love, we'll make it

Swim in a deep sea of blankets

I'll take all your big plans and break 'em

This is bound to be a while...

-------------------------------

"So how do you like my mom?"

"She's really nice," John replied, as they lie in bed, wrapped in each
other's arms. The room was very dark, and John knew Dave liked it that
way - the younger man even covered up the digital clock on the stereo
with a towel because he claimed the light was really bright and he
wouldn't be able to sleep because of it. And John knew from experience
Dave wouldn't sleep until that stereo light was covered completely,
along with all the windows, and the door had to be shut too, so the
hall light wouldn't creep in. He could, however, stand the small alarm
clock since the light was red and didn't reflect much. At first John
thought that it was because the light simply bothered Dave while he
was trying to sleep, but after noting that Dave would barely undress
in front of John and wouldn't even have sex without the lights off he
realized it was because of his scars. John had thought of mentioning
it before, but thought that perhaps it didn't matter if he didn't mind
them - it could've been that Dave didn't want to see them himself.

"She's a lot like you," John said now, chasing his previous train of
thought away. "I like her."

"You like me."

"I love you," John corrected, hoping to receive the traditional reply,
and even while he knew he wouldn't he was still slightly let down,
just as he was every time. He knew Dave loved him; even if the younger
man couldn't say it, he *knew* that...but there was always this little
voice in the back of his mind that questioned the fact that Dave
couldn't say it. If he really loved him, he could easily say it,
couldn't he? Annoying voice. He told it to take a hike before he
kicked its ass. It promptly shut up. "You keep looking at the clock."

"It's almost Christmas," Dave replied, and John could feel him smile
against his chest, which Dave was partly resting his head on.
"Tomorrow is going to be the best Christmas ever."

"You sound like a little kid," John said, chuckling softly as he
rubbed his hand up and down Dave's muscular back. God, he loved the
feeling of Dave's strong body under his fingertips - under *him*.
"Hey, you think...?"

"No, too tired," Dave interrupted before John could finish the
thought, and John knew Dave *had* to be exhausted if he was turning
down sex. But he obviously wasn't *that* tired... "We could make out."

John had to laugh. "Sometimes I think you really *are* a little kid.
Get over here."

Grinning, they found each other's lips in the darkness through sheer
familiarity, and kissed each other hard, their teeth clinking together
but neither of them noticing. Dave did a quick skim-and-grope on John,
just to make sure everything was where it was supposed to be, and
after that he pulled away, nuzzling his head in the older man's chest,
who grinned softly. Dave may not like to admit it, but he was as just
as much of a cuddler as John was.

"Hey," John suddenly said, remembering something, and Dave replied
with another "Hey" before he could get anything else out. "You said
tomorrow was going to be the best Christmas ever," the Chief Resident
stated. "Did you have any good Christmases when you were a kid?"

"Once," he said after a minute of short silence, where John presumed
Dave had thought it over. The older man stayed quiet, hoping that Dave
would elaborate so John could find out more about the younger man. "I
always used to go to my mom's for Christmas, or I'd stay with my dad,
but I remember one time my mom came to New York and stayed for a
couple days. Both my parents had to pretend to be nice to each other
and my dad had to pretend to be nice to me, and when we ate dinner
that night, talking and laughing, it was...I don't know, it was like
for one night...I got to pretend that we were a family, and that we
were happy."

"Sounds really nice."

"It *was* really nice."

"What makes you think this one's going to be better?"

John could feel more than see Dave look up at him in the darkness, and
soon he felt Dave's forehead leaning against him and feel the younger
man's hot breath against his own. "That wasn't real, John, and this
is. You're real, we're real...this...this is real, and it'll be real
tomorrow and the next day, and..." He trailed off, and then whispered:
"I love that...I love knowing you'll be here tomorrow, John. Even if
it doesn't last forever, I love knowing that you'll be there
tomorrow..."

"I'm not going anywhere, Dave," John said softly. "Not tomorrow, not
the day after, or the day after that. I promise. I'm here to stay...as
long as you want me."

"That's what I love," Dave whispered. "And that's what makes this the
best Christmas ever."

John's grin threatened to explode off the sides of his head as he
slipped his hands on either side of Dave's face and pulled him into a
kiss, because if he hadn't been sure that Dave loved him before, he
sure as hell was now. And he said the only three words he could think
of right now, as he glanced at the clock and realized what time it
was.

"Merry Christmas, Dave."

-------------------------------

Your body is a wonderland

Your body is a wonderland

I'll use my hands

Your body is a wonderland

-------------------------------

He's dreaming again. It's always the same. The house is dark, so dark,
just like it always is. He can't see where he's going, but that
doesn't matter because he knows where to go by now. He doesn't even
have to follow the whimpers and screams anymore. But no matter how
fast he goes, how expertly he travels these halls, he never gets there
in time to save him. Never.

It's always the same.

He's running, but yet he's not. He's sweating, but yet he is not.
Everything is slow and cold, a cold so deep it seeps into his bones,
and he's almost afraid that when he wakes it will remain, and he'll
never feel the warmth of love again.

Love. Love. There is no love in this house now, only terror. Pain.
Guilt. But only he feels guilt, because he cannot save him. Never gets
there in time. Ever. Always too late. Always.

Always the same.

He's approaching the door. Sees the light creeping out from under it.
Hears the cries, the heart-wrenching cries. Oh, God, how he cries...

His own vision blurs; tears coming to his eyes. And abruptly, the sobs
from beyond the door cease, and he knows he is too late. Expected it,
but yet it always hurts the same, and his guilt deepens. His heart
breaks.

He doesn't want to open the door, but he does - he can't stop himself.
Can't. Turning the knob, he slowly pushes the door ajar, his nose
picking up the familiar scent - blood. So much blood, all over the
room: the floor, the walls, the...the bed. The bed where the body lay
facedown, always face down. Always.

Because it's always the same.

He cries now, barely able to cross the short distance to the bed, only
hesitating slightly before touching the body. Oh, Jesus, it's still
warm, still so warm. He would think he was alive had he not known the
man was dead. He knew. Didn't know how or why, he just knew. And he
picked the body up, cradling it in his arms, whispering that it was
going to be okay, though he knew it wasn't. It never would be, not
until he made it in time, but he knew that that would never happen.
Because it never did. Never. Never...

And it was always the same.

---

Damn baby

You frustrate me

I know you're mine, all mine, all mine

But you look so good it hurts sometimes

---

John Carter awoke with a start, gasping for air as if he'd been
physically hit. He didn't know what time it was, but by the extreme
darkness he could guess it was just before dawn. Not caring to look at
the clock to see if he was right, needing to see if his lover was all
right first, he turned on the light and glanced at Dave's still form.
There he was, living and breathing and unharmed, sleeping peacefully
beside the Chief Resident. Safe. Thank God he was safe, though John
wasn't sure why he wouldn't be. The nightmare had taken his
rationality away for now, and briefly he hoped that Dave wasn't having
a similar dream. He knew how they haunted the younger man so.

He tried to fall back asleep after assuring himself that nothing was
going to happen to Dave, but his attempts were vain and eventually he
gave up, turning the light back on. And he sat there with the light on
for a long time, ending up watching Dave sleep, until the younger man
began to stir at about nine o'clock. He inhaled heavily, letting it
out with a deep yawn as he stretched before finally opening his eyes
slightly to glance at John.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey."

"What time is it?" he asked, closing his eyes again and turning
slightly onto his stomach, partially burying his head in his pillow.

"About nine o'clock."

"Mmm..." Dave cracked his eyes open again, glancing at John before
closing them again. "What were you doing?"

"Watching you sleep."

Open again. "Why?"

"Because it's romantic."

Closed again. "It's romantic to watch your boyfriend snore and drool
in his sleep?"

"You don't drool," John pointed out.

"No," Dave agreed, and then suddenly grinned. "But you do."

John rolled his eyes, nudging Dave slightly. "So romantic."

"Hey, I can be romantic," Dave said, mock-defensively. "I speak
Spanish. I can whisper sweet nothings into your ear."

"Oh, really?" John challenged.

"S�, Se�or," Dave said, pulling John close and leaning into his ear,
then whispering huskily, his voice laced with desire: "Quiero t�
pene."

"What does that mean?" John asked, pulling away slightly.

"I want your penis."

John chuckled as he kissed Dave. "You're right. Very romantic."

"I've been practicing," Dave said, kissing John back. If Dave had
anything, then it *was* practice. He knew tricks and positions that
John had only heard of in bad pornos, and he hadn't even known they
were possible until Dave had showed him. And right now, Dave was
trailing kisses down John's jaw, to his neck, over his chest and right
to his nipple, swirling his tongue around the areola before biting the
hard nub and pulling gently, knowing full-well that that drove John
absolutely wild. "You like that, don't you?"

"God," he managed to breathe in one quick burst as he felt Dave's hand
slip into his sweatpants and enclose around his member, his hand
working at pumping him hard while his mouth still worked at his chest.
He moved now away from John's nipple and to the other one, repeating
the process before trailing his tongue up his neck ever so lightly,
enclosing his mouth over John's and clashing tongues with him. Dave
was always so horny all the time it still managed to amaze John every
time the younger man woke up in the middle of the night and turned the
light on, flashing the older man that smile that he knew would get him
something at two AM, even if John had an early shift.

"Voy a hacerle grita," Dave whispered into their kiss, "Otra vez y
otra vez y..."

John had no idea what he was saying, but he could be talking about
lower GI bleeding and he wouldn't care, just the sound of Dave's voice
in his ear and the feel of Dave's hand on his hot cock were enough to
get him involuntarily bucking his hips off of the bed and moaning, his
head tipped back and his heels grinding into the mattress.

"Merry Christmas, boys!!"

So abruptly it caused him to gasp, Dave's hand jerked away from his
penis and he glanced up to see the younger man sitting up in bed,
trying his best to cover himself with whatever blankets were left on
the bed after their short-lived romp. Following suit before he really
knew what was happening, John glanced up to see Rhonda standing
not-so-innocently in the doorway, one hand to her mouth to cover her
mock-surprise, and she offered an insincere apology before ducking out
and closing the door, laughing as she did so.

John's expression showed his horror. "Your mom just walked in on us as
you were...to me...and..."

"I know." Dave sighed, running his fingers through his hair before he
turned to face John, shaking his head. "She did that on purpose, you
know."

"Why would she do that??"

"Because she wanted to embarrass us."

"Well, it worked!"

"Yeah," he agreed, flopping himself back onto the bed, still shaking
his head in disbelief. "I'm not going to be able to do this in here
knowing she could barge in at any moment - and knowing that she
*will*."

"Well..." John said, his turn to lean close to Dave. "There is *one*
place we can go that has a lock on the door..."

"Where?"

John moved towards Dave's mouth as if to kiss him, but pulled away
teasingly, Dave trying vainly to catch his lips with his own, and John
leaned to Dave's ear instead, whispering: "The main shower..."

"You are so fucking sexy," Dave said, puling back slightly so he could
offer a naughty grin that was returned by his companion. He quickly
pulled John into a deep kiss, savoring it for a moment before climbing
out of bed and moving faster than John had seen him move in a while.
Grinning, he grabbed Dave's outstretched hand and they moved into the
hallway, rushing into the bathroom, and Dave called hastily to his
mother in passing: "Hey Ma we're going to take a quick shower before
breakfast see you later bye!"

They barely had the door closed - and locked - before they were all
over each other. Dave's mouth over John's, who was pressed up against
the back of the door, his hands pushing up Dave's shirt to feel the
younger man's broad chest and shoulders. Oh, he loved those shoulders.
Dave, meanwhile, had his arms wrapped around John, one traveling
downwards to cup his ass through the fabric of his sweatpants and the
other on his back, all while leading them towards the shower. Blindly,
he reached out and banged his hand into the shower door, pulling back
with a curse.

"Wait," he breathed, turning on the shower and quickly stripping off
his beater and boxers, throwing them to the floor as John pulled off
his sweatpants, allowing them to mingle with Dave's underwear. Soon,
John felt himself being pulled into the shower, the water warming
quickly to form steam around them. Pressed up against the wall again,
John found Dave pulling at his erection, the younger man's mouth still
ravaging his.

The older man brushed his fingertips across Dave's chest and moved
them to his back, feeling those strong muscles under his slick skin,
traveling down to the small of his back to where that small tattoo of
a stone tribal sun was that no one knew about except John. Lower yet,
his hand went, until it was firmly atop Dave's ass, and the younger
man immediately pulled away slightly, their breath coming in short
bursts as they separated from their heated kiss. Mutual hesitation
that made John's heart skip a beat, before Dave finally glanced up
quickly and began to kiss John again, his hesitance almost
unnoticeable.

Almost.

Not wanting to ruin the moment, John quickly placed his hands on
Dave's back, caressing the tattoo with one while the other
instinctively grabbed at Dave's back, leaving slight scratches from
his nails. The younger man was pumping his cock, slow on the way down
and then quickly upward, again and again and again, and - dear Jesus -
! His eyes screwed shut and he bit his lip, moaning as he arched his
back against the shower wall, coming in short bursts and bucking his
hips as he did so. He felt Dave jerk slightly, and opened his eyes
briefly to see that he'd accidentally gotten some on his face.

"I'm sorry," he said, trying to keep himself from laughing while he
reached up and wiped his semen away from Dave's cheek, as the younger
man chuckled.

"I think you got some of it up my nose."

John had to laugh out loud, before putting on his best pout.
"Aww...let me make it up to you..."

"Oh, yeah?" Dave asked, smiling slyly while cocking an eyebrow. "And
how exactly will you do that?"

"Let me show you," John said, grinning widely as he pulled Dave into a
deep kiss, right before doing just that.

-------------------------------

Your body is a wonderland

Your body is a wonderland

I'll use my hands

Your body is a wonderland

-------------------------------

To be continued...
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