Michael slowly made his way down the street, focusing on window displays and pointedly ignoring the passers-by. Cars and people became a droning backdrop to his afternoon. His task today was fairly simple - for anyone else, that was. For him it was a monumental undertaking, requiring every bit of his willpower. Tired of the weakness that prevented him from doing something so simple, today he vowed to leave the sanctuary of his apartment and walk to his counseling appointment and back - alone. Though he didn't like taking his anti-anxiety prescriptions, without their help he wouldn't be able to make it out the door. So, he'd taken the meds and now was out to prove a point. He could do this.

Using thoughts of the bookstore to distract himself from the here and now, he closed his eyes, picturing the place he equated with comfort and peace. He recalled the slightly musky smell of the leather book bindings, blended with the richer smell of the Kenyan Arabica that his mother brewed throughout the day.

A harsh impact hit his shoulder. "Excuse me," he mumbled, hoping the person would just wander off so he wouldn't have to speak to them further. Instead, the blow was repeated, and this time there was no mistaking it for an accident.

Stubbornly keeping his head down, he knew that if he looked up and heard the background noise of cars and people for what it was, he'd start to panic. The whole point of this exercise was to learn how not to do that.

The third time the abuse was dealt he could no longer ignore it and turned to look, immediately wishing he hadn't. He'd recognize that hateful sneer anywhere. "I thought that was you, boy; heard you was back in town. What's the matter? Wasn't you man enough for the Army?"

The bogey-man from Michael's teen-aged nightmares turned his head and spat on the sidewalk, causing a pair of middle aged women to step off the curb. They glared at the offender, but he didn't notice. He never had and never would notice anything but himself, in Michael's opinion.

Crawford Shiller hadn't improved in the looks or manners department since Michael had last seen him. His hair, what was left of it, was longer than he used to wear it, and it looked like he hadn't shaved in a few days. While that gave some men a mysterious and rugged look, it just made Crawford look unwashed. The plain white wife-beater shirt that stretched tightly across his huge expanse of belly could use a close encounter with a washing machine, and his faded jeans were stained with motor oil and other things that Michael didn't want to consider. For the millionth time he wondered just what his enlightened mother had ever seen in this throwback from a prehistoric age. He wouldn't be a bit surprised to see a club slung over one stooped shoulder and knuckles dragging the ground.

Obviously tired of waiting for a reply, Crawford needled him again. "What? I spent all my hard earned money raising your sorry ass and now you're too good to speak to me." The vile man came closer and Michael caught a whiff of the sour alcohol and tobacco stench he'd remembered from his teen years.

Finally, he found his voice, though his eyes were now focused on the pavement. "Go away, Crawford. You're not my stepfather anymore, and I don't want to talk to you." Forcing the words from between gritted teeth, Michael fought to keep his voice steady, unwilling to let the man know how easily he was intimidated.

"Whoa-ho! What ya gonna do if I don't?" The man laughed, a raspy, ugly sound.

Still avoiding looking up, Michael tried again. "Please, just go," he whispered quietly, hating the desperation in his voice, knowing that appearing weak and vulnerable would only encourage the bully. The politely spoken words were like blood to a shark.

"And what's the matter? You afraid of me? Afraid I'll whip your pussy ass like I did when you was a boy?"

The predator stepped closer, crowding Michael against a shop window. Michael finally glanced up, frantically searching for an escape. His eyes met those of an older man who quickly turned away, silently declaring, "Not my problem."

The evil grin on the monster's face grew as he took that opportunity to berate and humiliate his former stepson, sneering, "What cha think you're lookin' at?" to anyone who was brave, curious, or foolish enough to come near.

The familiar, crushing weight slammed into Michael's chest, tightening like a vice and leaving him gasping for air as he realized it was too late to fight, he was going under, drowning in his own mind. No longer hearing the abusive taunts, he could still see the angry red face and feel the spittle showering his face and arms. Crawford continued to taunt him, crowding him until their noses were almost touching.

The edges of Michael's vision blackened and he fought the urge to take a blind swing and escape, knowing in the back of his mind that if he did he'd probably run straight into people or into the path of a moving car in the state that he was in.

Suddenly the man was gone and Michael collapsed to his knees, wheezing and struggling for breath. He looked up to see that Crawford still there, but was now in a heated discussion with Terry, who was a good three inches taller and far more intimidating than the drunken, flabby older man. Although Crawford clearly outweighed the young blond, Terry's weight was muscle, finely honed from daily visits to the gym instead of soft fat from too much greasy food and not enough honest work. In a fight between arrogant assholes, Crawford was clearly outmatched.

Michael turned his attention back to the sidewalk and his breathing, unable to worry about anything else. The constriction in his chest slowly eased and his vision returned to normal. He flinched and tried to pull away when a warm hand grasped his shoulder, but when he looked up it was Terry, not Crawford. Eyes warm with uncharacteristic concern, Terry gently tugged, urging Michael to stand.

One arm flung around Michael's shoulders, Terry led the way into the small video store whose window display he was perusing when Crawford approached him. Several inquisitive looks came his way but were quickly averted. He suspected that Terry had either said or done something to cause that. He was escorted through the store and into the back, stopping in what looked to be an employee break room.

Terry led him to a comfortable looking couch, pushing him down onto the soft cushions. He looked up to find the attractive blond staring down at him, smile somewhat grim but compassionate nonetheless. It wasn't an expression he would have thought Terry capable of wearing. A cup of water was squeezed into his hands as his savior sank onto the couch next to him.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," he lied out of habit.

Terry didn't look convinced, but he didn't argue. Instead, he said, "Look, I've been there. Don't pay any attention to that asshole; he's nothing and he can't hurt you." With that he rose and said, "I have to get back out there and get to work. My boss says you can stay back here as long as you need to." With a smirk he added, "Vince hates Crawford, by the way." When he rounded the corner, out of sight, Michael heard, "I'll call someone to come and get you."

Well, damn. That was the last thing he needed, but before he could stop him Terry was gone, and he really couldn't bring himself to venture out of the quiet little room at the moment.

Here he was all set to prove that he was getting better and could be out on his own, but instead had proved just the opposite. While grateful for Terry's intervention, he did wish that no one had to be called. He sighed, knowing it was hopeless. There was no way he'd be able to get back out there on his own. Taking his cell phone out of his pocket, he quickly called his therapist, making the excuse of a family emergency as a reason to cancel the appointment he'd be unable to keep.

He settled back down on the couch and wondered who Terry had called. Mom? He hoped not. She was working and would have to close the store to come. That thought brought guilt. Mom had enough problems of her own without having to worry about him. His sister? Again, he hoped not. He didn't want her worrying and smothering him either. Besides, not only was she preparing for finals, she had extra shifts at the hospital this week and didn't need to be bothered with a wimp of a brother who couldn't even stand up to a weak, useless old man.

Draining the water that Terry had given him, he crumpled the paper cup into a ball, taking out his frustrations on the innocent cup before tossing it into the trash can. He lay down and curled up on his side in a fetal position, suddenly very tired; anxiety episodes always sapped his strength and left him feeling drained. Once settled in, he waited to see who would come to get him, planning what to say.

* * *

Michael woke, feeling warm and secure, to the familiar sound of a softly sung Spanish ballad. Something soft brushed against his cheek and he looked up at a mass of blue fuzz. Turning his head to the side revealed two things: he was now covered by a soft blue blanket, and his head was no longer resting against the arm of the couch where he'd left it.

"Hey, Querido," came the murmured greeting from above. Rolling onto his back, head nestled on a firm thigh, he realized where he was and why he felt so secure. Somehow Jay had managed to settle himself on the couch and cradle Michael's head in his lap without waking him.

A warm hand on his chest restrained when he would have sat up. Concern was evident, but Jay's expression also said what Michael already suspected: Jay loved him. Even without the words he knew in his heart it was true. Despite the horrible afternoon he'd had, he couldn't help feeling a touch of elation at the thought.

"How long have I been asleep?"

"About an hour, give or take." Michael looked for the source of that voice to find Terry leaning against the door frame.

Soothing fingers stroked through Michael's hair, further calming him. He decided to leave any conversation up to Jay to handle and relaxed, letting all the tension ease from his body.

"He gonna be all right?" the handsome blond asked, pointing with his chin to Michael.

"Yeah," Jay replied, looking down for confirmation. "Yeah, he's gonna be just fine." When Jay looked back at his former lover Michael could tell by their expressions that whatever had passed between them was long gone. Until that moment he hadn't even thought to be jealous, but seeing them now, noticing how Jay looked at him and how he looked at Terry, he knew there had no reason to be. No animosity or any strong feelings existed between them at all. They weren't even friends, just acquaintances. Michael breathed a silent sigh of relief, relaxing into the warm thigh beneath his head. "Thanks again for calling me, man," Jay said. "I owe you one."

Terry turned to leave and remarked, "And don't you forget it." Apparently satisfied that Michael was now in good hands, he winked and said, "I've got to get back to work; y'all behave yourselves back here." With that he was gone.

Michael struggled to sit up then, embarrassed by the past few hours and anxious to just go home.

Again Jay stopped him. "Just lie there a minute; I'm in no hurry and I'm comfortable. Extremely comfortable," he added with a wink.

They remained there in silence, Jay's arm draped over his Michael's chest, the only sounds their breathing and the flickering bit of conversation that wafted in from the video store through the open door.

For his part, Michael was enjoying lying with his head in Jay's lap, his hand stroking the strong, tanned arm enfolding him.

Finally, the silence was broken by Jay. "Wanna tell me about it?'

Michael shrugged. "Nothing to tell, really. My asshole of an ex-stepfather decided to show up and be his normal bastard self."

Jay nodded as though he understood completely. Perhaps he did, having spent so much time with the family. He was bound to have heard of the infamous Crawford Shiller by now.

"You okay?" Jay asked.

Content to be nestled in his lover's arms, Michael replied, "I am now."

"Sarah and Angie told me about him," Jay said, confirming Michael assumptions. "Your mom carries a lot of guilt, you know."

"Guilt? About what?"

"She feels she should have shielded you more or, better yet, left the man a long time ago. She thinks she failed you by staying with him, that by not stopping it she was as responsible for the abuse as he was."

This was sure news to Michael. "She does? But that's ridiculous! Mom would never harm a fly."

Jay nodded and smiled sadly. "Yeah, that's what she thinks. From what she's told me she didn't believe she could make it on her own, and I secretly think he did his part to convince her of that."

"I never knew she felt that way." It saddened him to think of his giving, caring mother, harboring a burden of guilt for something that wasn't her fault. Yeah, she could have married someone nicer, but one of her best traits was the ability to play whatever hand was dealt to the best of her ability. She also had a knack for seeing only the good in other people. Sometimes even seeing good where none existed.

Hands still idly stroking Michael's stomach, Jay continued, "She loves you and Angie so much, you know; only wanted good things for you. It nearly killed her when she heard your unit was bombed. She immediately thought the worst." He turned away then, focusing on something that he alone could see.

"Damned the fucking media circus!!" Jay suddenly growled. "We knew that ten troops were killed that day and your family thought you were one of them until they got the call. Your granddad had to take it; your mom was practically hysterical, thinking they were calling to confirm your death. Angie was just sitting there white as a sheet, and your grandma was in her rocking chair, reading the Bible and praying."

Michael was incredulous. "You were there with them?"

"Where else would I be? I wouldn't have told them for the world but I was scared shitless!"

"What? Why?" Michael shot up from the couch and turned to face a now furiously blushing Jay. "I know you care for my family but 'scared shitless'? You hadn't even met me then."

Jay smiled sheepishly and urged Michael to lie back down, settling him once more across his lap. Then he proceeded to tell him about a lonely young man far from home, the strange red-haired woman who befriended him, the warm loving family that took him in and treated him like one of their own, and a picture that he had found of a handsome young man in an army uniform.

Then he concluded with, "And so now you know. I was hopelessly in love with you before I even met you."

Michael just grinned at him.

"What?"

"Angie told me about that picture but I didn't believe her. Do you really keep it in your sock drawer?"

"How did she…?" Jay seemed to think on it a moment, then continued, "Well, no, I don't keep it in my sock drawer now. I figure it's safe to keep it on my dresser."

"And what would you have done if I had been a total asshole?" Michael asked.

"You forget, I know your family and I've heard all their stories. There was no way you were an asshole." With that pronouncement Jay leaned in and kissed him, slowly and gently at first, then more passionately and possessively, as if he never wanted to stop.

"Hey guys, I hate to break up a tender moment, but you think you could go home now? I need to lock up."

They both looked up to find Terry standing in the doorway, jangling a ring of keys in his hand impatiently. Although the tone was intended to be condescending and arrogant, as was the sneer that accompanied it, Terry had exposed his soft underbelly today and both men were truly grateful.

By unspoken agreement they decided to keep it to themselves. If Terry wanted people to think he was an arrogant prick, than who were they to dispel the notion? But Michael now knew that Angie was right; the man did possess a decent side.

He couldn't help but notice, though, as he left the store with Jay's arm wrapped protectively around him, that Terry's eyes followed their every move, the look on his face something akin to envy.

Because I can't help tweaking the chapters to death, any errors are purely my own. The wonderful people who proof for me are innocent of any wrongdoing. Thanks to Nina, Meg, Jared, Lynda, and Tinnean.