"Michael, I think you're aware that you're making excellent progress, but there's a topic you keep skirting that really needs to be brought out into the open: Jimmy."

Michael swallowed hard. Yes, he knew it needed to be said, but whenever he thought of the outgoing young man who'd died too young he broke into a cold sweat. "I'm not ready to talk about that yet."

"No?" An arched brow was the first indication that his counselor wasn't going to accept that answer this time. "And when will you be ready to talk about it? A week? A month? How long are you going to poke at the open wound of your guilt, Michael, before you treat it and allow it to heal?"

The words that he'd repeated so often over the past few months were now an automatic response to any question that raised his anxiety level. "I don't want to talk about it."

Raff's calm demeanor was a counterpoint to Michael's agitation as he prodded, "Have you grieved?"

Caught off guard by the absurd question-not at all what he suspected-Michael sputtered, "What?"

His counselor's voice, when he spoke, held its normal mild inquisitiveness, as though he were merely asking about the weather and not discussing Michael's worst nightmare. "Have you grieved for your friend?" When he didn't receive a response, Raff continued, "Regardless of how he died, or who might have been responsible for that death, the fact remains that you lost a very close friend. So, I ask you again: Have you grieved?"

Silence stretched out between them, just the ticking of the clock and the low strains of the Bruce Springsteen CD, Michael's latest offering, breaking the silence that threatened to fill the room. The question surprised Michael. He'd been so busy wishing he could take it back, or go back in time to when Jimmy was alive, that he'd never actually let go and said goodbye. Hell, he was still in denial that the man was dead! In complete honesty he answered in a small voice, "No."

Nodding his bald head knowingly, the older man mused, "I though as much. Have you remembered any more about what happened that day?"

Michael shrugged his shoulders. "I try not to think about it."

"Well, that's understandable, but unfortunately, it doesn't help the problem."

Leaning forward from his normal 'I'm not a threat' pose as he faced his client, the tall black man looked into Michael's eyes and said, "As painful as it is, you can't move forward if you insist on spending all your time looking back."

Michael quickly turned away, feeling too vulnerable to meet his counselor's piercing gaze. "How do I stop?" he asked quietly.

"It's easy."

At that Michael looked up hopefully, waiting for whatever this man suggested that would magically help him end the pain.

"You have to want to, first."

Angered by the answer that wasn't really an answer, Michael growled, "Don't you think I want that more than anything?"

Refusing to back down in the face of Michael's rising hostility, the man's tone remained frustratingly unperturbed. "I don't think you do," he challenged.

"What!" Michael jumped to his feet, releasing his tentative hold on his emotions, glaring at the infuriating man who sat calmly and smugly, as though he had the answers to life's mysteries and planned to keep them for himself.

"You think I like walking around like a basket case, afraid of my own shadow? Worried that one day my lover will come to his senses and realize I'm a complete waste of time?" He began pacing a circuit of the room, suddenly feeling hemmed in and claustrophobic in the cozy office that normally made him feel safe and secure. Angrily he continued, "Being careful of every word I say so my family will stop driving me crazy with their worrying?" He stopped in front of the chair, leaning into Raff's personal space, one hand on each of the chair's arms as he confronted the man who so unjustly accused him of not wanting to get better.

Pinning him with a furious glare, Michael's rage was evident in every line of his body as he stood, taut as a bowstring, ready to snap. Raff never flinched.

Through clenched teeth Michael hissed, "To know that I should have died on some God-forsaken road in a place I didn't know existed four years ago? And that Jimmy should be back home in Arkansas with his family where he belongs?"

For long moments the man sat quietly, his face revealing nothing, until Michael felt the anger slowly begin to drain. It wasn't possible to pick a fight if Raff wouldn't fight back. Finally, he withdrew and sank back into the couch he had previously vacated, feeling defeated.

"Do you truly believe that?" Raff finally asked.

"What else can I believe? He was in my place in the Hummer. If I'd been there, he'd still be alive."

"You can't know that, Michael. How many men from your own transport died?"

Thinking back to that day Michael felt embarrassment that, as much as he dwelled on Jimmy's death, he'd hardly given a thought to the other casualties. "Two," he answered quietly.

"So, being in the transport was no guarantee of survival."

"I survived, Ryan survived!" he argued.

"Yes, were any of the men who died sitting near you or Ryan?"

Closing his eyes, trying to shut out the painful memories, a smiling face appeared in his memory, replaced by an image of the same young man, still and lifeless upon the ground. "Harris was sitting next to Ryan, opposite me."

"And if Jimmy were in that truck he'd be sitting next to Ryan, right?"

Wondering where this was going he answered, "Yes."

Continuing with his calm logic, Raff said, "So depending on which side of Ryan he was sitting, he still might not have survived the attack."

"I survived!" Michael yelled.

"Yes, you did. And I hope one day to see you grateful for that fact, instead of thinking that you are so powerful that you control another man's destiny." Although the man never raised his voice, those harsh words were like a slap in the face.

Michael rose quickly to his feet with every intention of walking out the door and never looking back.

"Michael, listen to me." The pleading in Raff's voice caused him to stop just short of the door and turn to look at his tormentor.

"You are so unlike that man who died, from what you told me. You're bigger, more muscular. That alone might have been the deciding factor; you have the quick reflexes of a born athlete. And from what you told me, you stopped Ryan from running into certain death and shielded him with your own body." Raff rose and made his way over to where Michael stood immobile. "You saved his life, Michael. Even when he begged and pleaded to get away, you had your wits about you and knew it was suicide. You kept him alive. I think instead of blaming you for his death, Jimmy would thank you for saving his best friend."

"His lover," Michael corrected.

"Okay, then, his lover. I think Jimmy would be grateful for that, don't you?"

Although he didn't want to let go of his pain and anger, as much a part of him as they'd become, he knew in his heart the man spoke the truth. Ryan meant everything to Jimmy, and he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that the freckled redhead from Arkansas would have gladly laid down his own life for the young blond he'd built his world around.

"You're right," Michael finally agreed, hanging his head.

"And don't you think that they'd both grieve for you if you had been the one killed?"

Without even having to think about it he knew the truth. It would have devastated them and perhaps even now they'd be dealing with guilt issues of their own.

Raff wasn't finished yet. "I cannot tell you what happened that day, because I wasn't there. But I do know this: you acted to the best of your ability as a soldier, as a man, and as a friend. You saved your friend Ryan through a selfless act of protection and no one could have asked more of you."

Though many times he'd heard those words from his commanding officers, the medics, and guys in his unit, they were just now sinking in, delivered by this war scarred veteran, in the comfort of his plush modern office, far removed from the battlefield.

"And one more thing you should think about. Although no one you talked to knows why the seating arrangement was changed, it was your platoon leader's assignment to make, not yours. Am I correct?"

"You are," was more of an exhalation than actual words, as Michael agreed. "I couldn't ask him, because he's one of the ones who died. So I'll never know."

Abruptly Raff barked, "Ah-ten-hut!!!"

On pure reflex Michael snapped to attention, deeply embarrassed when he realized he was now saluting a civilian and not a uniformed officer.

"At ease, soldier," Raff said, voice now back to the soothing, comforting tones he normally used when dealing with skittish clients.

Michael exhaled harshly and forced himself to relax, eyes downcast.

"Why did you snap to attention, Michael?"

"Because you ordered me to," Michael replied, barely biting off the 'sir' he nearly added to his response.

"Big deal. I ordered you to do something; you didn't have to comply. Try again. Why did you follow my orders?"

The confusion showed on his face as he cocked his head to the side and studied Raff, puzzling out the point he was trying to make.

White teeth contrasted brightly with the darkness of his skin when the big man smiled. "You followed my orders because you are a United States soldier and were trained to do so without question." The smile broadened when he added, "If you had done that to me you'd have gotten the same response."

The smile disappeared, the counselor's expression becoming serious. He leaned down slightly to be on eye level with his client. "That is exactly what happened that day. You were given an order and you followed it, so did Jimmy." More quietly he explained, "Jimmy was a casualty of war. You did nothing to contribute to his death and if given the chance, you would have gladly taken his place. Friends don't come any better than that."

The tears that had threatened now broke free, and a large, fat drop rolled down Michael's face, quickly followed by another, and another, until they trickled in a steady stream down his chin, where they fell silently to the carpet.

"Look at me, Michael." Though the words were softly spoken, it was a command nonetheless.

He lifted his head and watched Raff through tear-filled eyes.

"Michael Ritter, you are a good man and I'm proud to know you. A truer friend could not exist. But it's time, Michael. It's time to let go of the guilt. You have nothing to feel guilty for."

Hanging his head, suddenly exhausted, the remaining anger drained out of Michael, only to be replaced by huge wave of grief that pressed down like a giant hand. Yes, his rational mind understood that he wasn't to blame, but like a priest absolving a sinner, it took someone voicing what he already knew for the truth to penetrate his guilt and fear, where rational though held no sway.

Slowly sliding down the wall to the floor, he huddled into a ball, mourning for not only his lost friend, but for all the men in his unit that been laughing and smiling one minute and forever silenced the next.

The sound of his counselor's quiet, "A-hem" caused him to glance up. A throw pillow, one of many scattered around the office, hovered in front of his nose. Snatching it from the man's hand, Michael wrapped his arms around it, holding the pillow like he wanted to be held, as he rocked to and fro. Pulling his knees up, he placed the pillow on top, burying his face in the soft comfort it offered, body shuddering as he surrendered the tight control he'd kept on his emotions. Hot tears and heartrending wails purged away the guilt, the doubt, and the sorrow as he finally opened up and released what he'd so diligently kept locked inside.

He cried for Ryan, who'd found the love of his life at a very young age, but who, at twenty-three, was facing a life alone, never again to see or hold the one he'd hoped to grow old with. He cried also for his mother, who, at twice Ryan's age had spent her whole life in a futile effort to find a love that strong, and for his sister, who'd never hold her son in her arms, and who would forever carry the weight of abandonment by the child's father.

Lastly he cried for himself, for the friend he had lost, and plans that had been made that would never see fruition. Sitting on the floor in his counselor's office, thousands of miles from the sands of Iraq, Michael Ritter opened his heart just enough to let someone out. Not that the man would ever be completely gone - he wouldn't want that - but it was the painful memories that were banished in a flood of hot tears, leaving behind the good times.

And finally, he cried for the young boy who'd wanted nothing more than to please his parents, only to face mocking and ridicule by the man he should have been able to look up to.

Hearing a groan, Michael looked over to see his counselor awkwardly attempting to ease his large body to the floor next to him. They sat side by side, Raff calmly handing him tissues until the worst was over. The wracking wails turned to shuddering sobs, then subsided to silent tears.

Eventually the emotional storm was reduced to hiccupping sniffles. "We were all just kids, you know," Michael began. "We just wanted adventure, to get away from home, and to earn money for college.

"I know."

A quick glance to his left revealed that the professional veneer had finally cracked. The choked response was accompanied by a wet face-Raff had joined him in his grief. Dumbstruck, Michael sat with his mouth hanging open, watching the most stoic individual he knew indulging in an uncharacteristic display of emotion.

The big man chuckled softly, a rich rumbling sound, much like the purring of his grandparent's ancient cat. With a bittersweet smile he explained, "You forget, Michael, that I'm your counselor for a reason. It was the same in my time. Young people leave home, never fully knowing what's out there. Our parents try to prepare us, but there's no telling where life will take you."

"We were just a bunch of dumb kids with no clue what we were getting into. Hell, we thought anything was better than where we grew up." Michael shook his head sadly, recalling a younger, headstrong version of himself. One that thought he knew it all and could handle any situation; whose only goal was escaping the life he was living at the time. Quietly he confided, "Man, were we ever wrong."

"Tell me about Jimmy," Raff's rumbling voice asked softly. "Not how he died, but how he lived,"

Lying back against the wall, Michael thought for a moment, then began, "Jimmy was the biggest dreamer I've ever met; he had a new plan or scheme every day." Now able to smile at the bittersweet memory, he found himself thinking about his friend, unimpeded by the demons that had haunted him since the day of the attack. They were strangely silent there in the tranquility of Raff's office, in the aftermath of his emotional purging. "One day he'd say he and Ryan were going to open a restaurant, the next day we were all gonna go to Aruba. You never got bored talking to him 'cause he could come up with some crazy assed shit to talk about."

Turning to Raff he said, "You know, it's the weirdest thing, but I'm still not convinced he was truly gay. When we were alone, just the three of us; Ryan, Jimmy, and me, Ryan would talk about guys and how hot they were." With heat suffusing his cheeks at the memory, he then confessed, "And they clued in to me immediately. They even brought it to my attention that I was covertly checking out guys, and they were fine with that. But Jimmy? I never once heard him talk about guys, or even check them out. He didn't talk about or look at girls, either. I honestly think Ryan was the only person he ever saw in that light."

Raff sounded truly interested when he asked, "How long had they been together?"

Thinking back to the stories Jimmy and Ryan had told him during their 'getting acquainted' conversations, he couldn't hide a tremulous smile as he recalled the bond the two men had shared. "They grew up together; met as kids and pretty much never parted." Pausing for a moment, Michael allowed himself a brief mental visit with his old friends, as they'd been when he first met them, before continuing, "Jimmy had a great family, but they were farmers and kind of poor, so he joined up for the college funds. Ryan had a bad home life and just wanted out of his situation. Not to mention that he would happily go wherever Jimmy did." Sorrow filled him as he stated the obvious, "Neither one expected what happened."

"Where is Ryan now? Do you see him? Talk to him?"

Nodding his head, Michael said, "He moved in with his uncle. We talk all the time, but I haven't seen him since I came home. Neither one was out to their families, so he needs someone to talk to about Jimmy."

"Then he's lucky to have you," Raff replied.

"Nah, I'm the lucky one. I'm seeing that now." Abruptly he changed the subject as he glanced at his watch. "Look, I know we've got about fifteen more minutes, but would you mind if I just rested here for a few?"

"Whatever you need," he replied.

Those words brought a smile to Michael's face as he recalled the promise Jay had made him that day on the porch - a promise he had kept repeatedly.

Raff considered him for a minute and then said, "Why don't you stretch out on the couch? You'd be more comfortable."

"Nah, I'm good," Michael assured him with a weak grin. He yawned and stretched out on the floor with the pillow, asleep before the counselor had the time to return to his desk to attend to paperwork.

* * *

Jay tapped softly on the door and entered, surprised at first not to see Michael, until Raff smiled warmly in greeting and pointed to the floor. There Michael lay, peacefully asleep, arms curled tightly around a pillow.

Raff explained, "Keep him quiet; let him rest. Depending on how he feels in the morning he might need to take the day off and just relax. Emotionally he's worn out."

Rising from his desk and crossing the room to the stereo, the counselor removed the CD Michael had brought with him and returned it to its case, which he handed to Jay. With a quick glance to Michael, he quietly instructed Jay, "Be patient; he's had a very hard day."

Expression hopeful, Jay nodded and asked, "Did he finally talk?"

Raff just shook his head and said, "Just be patient. And it wouldn't be unusual for him to exhibit some volatile behavior. Don't take anything he says right now to heart. He's dealing with a lot. Just be there for him. If things get bad for him, he has a prescription for alprazolam that'll help."

Although frustrated that the man wasn't more forthcoming, Jay appreciated doctor, or rather, counselor-patient confidentiality and didn't ask again. Instead he shook the man's hand, grateful that he truly seemed to care, over and above his counseling duties. And it was helping; Michael's condition was improving.

"C'mon, Blondie," Jay said as he helped a sleepy Michael from the floor. "Let's get you home."

Michael mumbled a good-bye to Raff, obviously still groggy with sleep and allowed Jay to guide him outside. As he tucked his exhausted lover into the car, Jay could have sworn he heard the words, "Goodbye, Jimmy."

* * *

"Hey, Big Guy, how's it going?" Ryan's welcome voice was much less strained than in previous conversations, sounding more like the happy-go-lucky young recruit that Michael remembered.

"Ryan!" he responded, pleased with the unexpected phone call. "I was just thinking about calling you."

"Great minds think alike," Ryan quipped.

Michael chuckled and replied, "Yeah, I suppose you're right. How're you doing?"

Though there was a long pause before the answer, Ryan sounded less depressed than he had during their last phone call. "I'm doing better, actually," he replied. "My uncle has quit worrying so much, though my sister is still driving me bonkers. How about you?"

"Fine," Michael said. As the words left his mouth he realized that, unlike his usual automatic response to that question, this time he meant it. Damn! When did that happen? When had he gone from merely existing to being 'fine?'

The next question wasn't so cheerfully answered, "Have you enrolled anywhere yet?"

Michael's smile fell. He still hadn't decided what to do on that score and he really needed to make a decision-soon. "Not yet," he admitted, hoping Ryan would let it drop.

Apparently his friend didn't notice his reluctance talk about the future and school, for he pressed on, excitedly announcing, "Well, brace yourself; I've narrowed my choices down to two."

"That's good. You gonna go local?" Michael asked, personally feeling that his friend would greatly benefit from a change of scenery.

A snicker drifted over the phone line, a sound he hadn't heard Ryan make in a very long time. "Funny you should ask that, Michael. One of the schools is in your hometown."

"Really?" Michael asked excitedly. "You're coming to Avery?"

The smile apparent in his voice, Ryan replied, "Well, I'm still deciding, but they have one of the best nursing programs in the country, so I'm told."

"They do," Michael agreed. "In fact, my sister is about to graduate from there. So, you're gonna study nursing after all?" Jimmy had insisted many times over the years that caring for others was Ryan's true calling.

"Yeah. I took a test locally and have all the necessary scores for admittance," he said proudly. That was no surprise; Ryan Jackson was extremely intelligent for all his back country upbringing.

"I'm so proud of you," Michael said, genuinely happy for this young resilient man who, apparently, was bouncing back from tragedy.

It was too soon after the incident for the topic not to come up at least once in their conversation, but this time the sorrow in Ryan's voice was replaced by determination. "I still miss Jimmy and that'll never stop, but I have to go on."

"Yes, you do," Michael agreed. A long paused ensued.

Changing the subject Ryan asked, "So what about you? Anything interesting happening in Podunk, Alabama?"

Michael blushed, recalling all that was happening. He wanted to share his news with his friend, even though it felt strange discussing his new boyfriend with someone who'd lost his own lover not so long ago. Cautiously he ventured, "I…I met somebody."

Far from sounding hurt or jealous, Ryan's shouted "Whooo-hoo! Way to go, Michael."

"It…it doesn't bother you?"

"Bother me? Why should it bother me? Don't you think I want you to be happy? Now, spill! I want to know all about…. Errr…is it a girl or a guy?"

Michael sighed. "Okay, you were right. Are you happy now?"

"Extremely," came the smug reply.

Ryan truly sounded happy for him, and Michael finally did what he'd wanted to do for days: tell him about Jay. "Well, he goes to Avery, but he's from Texas…"

"What part?"

"Brownsville."

"Cool. I've been there. Where'd you find him?"

His mind went back to the day such a short time ago when he'd walked into his sister's communal living room and seen Jay Ortiz for the first time. "Well, my sister shares a house with a bunch of other college students and he was one of them."

Thoughtfully Ryan asked, "Is he good to you?"

"Yes, he is," Michael agreed as he recalled a certain instance of 'good' from the previous night, one that made him blush. "In fact, he's on his way here now to take me out to lunch."

Sounding more like the old Ryan that Michael remembered before Iraq, he leeringly asked, "Is he hot?" just as a knock sounded on the door.

Phone cradled against his ear, Michael opened his door to find a grinning Jay, dressed in his usual attire of black band T-shirt, blue jeans, and pair of flips-flops. Looking him up and down appreciatively, Michael grinned and said into the phone, "Oh, yeah!"

* * *

They entered the small, cozy restaurant and found a booth near the back, away from the windows, ordering a large pepperoni to share. Jay ordered a soda and Michael a glass of water. While waiting for the pizza, Jay nervously opened the conversation, "So, Michael, have you decided what you're gonna take this fall? You're still going back to school, right?"

Between bites of bread stick Michael replied, "I'm still not sure. I know I need to do something soon, but just can't seem to feel right about anything."

"I know what you mean. I felt that way too, for awhile. But I have uncles who are engineers, so I kind of fell into that. The more I got into it the better I felt about my decision."

"And now you're gonna graduate." The enthusiastic grin suddenly disappeared. "You're gonna leave once you graduate, aren't you?"

The door had been opened; all Jay needed to do was step through it. "I've been wanting to talk to you about that."

"So you are going," Michael replied dejectedly, his half-eaten breadstick slipping from his fingers to fall to the table, forgotten.

"I'm not sure yet, but if I do, I'd like you to come with me."

Jay was watching, waiting for the reaction, when the surprise on his lover's face turned to an ear-splitting grin. "Really?"

To say he was relieved would be an understatement. "Really. Although I'd understand if you wanted to stay here."

That beautiful smile fell. "So you'd still leave."

Jay quickly explained, "If you don't want to leave, then neither do I. That is, if you want me to stay. I'm sure I can find something around here, even if I have to work in Atlanta and live in Cookesville on the weekends."

The joy radiating on his lover's face was more than worth the effort to rearrange his work plans as, with wide-eyed enthusiasm, Michael asked, "You'd do that?"

Jay winked from across the table, quickly assuring him, "You betcha."

Whatever reply Michael might have made was cut off by the arrival of their pizza. Again they lapsed into silence, alternating between munching pizza and grinning at each other. Finally, Michael said incredulously, "Just like that, you'd give up your plans and stay here with me."

Without pausing to think Jay stated flatly, "You are my plans."

"What about your family? Aren't they expecting you to come home?"

Jay answered with mock indignation, "If I didn't know better I'd think you wanted me to leave."

Michael's open-mouthed shock was all the response Jay needed, but he was grateful for the words. "No! I want you here!" After a moment Michael added, "That is, if you want to."

"Oh, I want to."

"Move in with me?"

Even though that's what Jay was hoping for, he had to be sure. "What about your mom? Won't she take offense to that?"

Michael grinned at him and reached into his pocket, bringing out a spare key and handing it to Jay. "Mom gave me that for you ages ago. You've also been programmed into the security system; it's the last four digits of your phone number." Michael shrugged sheepishly. "She'd been calling you her son-in-law ever since Angie found you in my apartment that morning. Not only will she be thrilled, she'd be disappointed if it didn't happen."

Still believing it was too good to be true, Jay ventured, "What about your grandparents?"

"What have they got to do with us?"

'Very good point,' Jay thought.

"So, what do you say?"

Michael looked so hopeful, still, Jay wanted to be sure that there would be no regrets later-he didn't think he'd be able to handle that. "Are you sure? You know if I move in people will talk."

"Let 'em." Michael leaned in, his expression sincere. "There's a lot of things I don't know and a lot has me confused right now, but this is one thing I'm one hundred percent sure of." He caught his lover's hand in his and squeezed. "I want to be with you every chance I get."

* * *

The perfect moment was shattered by an angry, disgusted, "I knew you were nothing but a fucking faggot!"

Michael looked up from his and Jay's clasped hands, quickly pulling away when he saw his worst nightmare rudely shoving people out of the way to get to their table.

Horror swept over him, watching the furious man's approach and wincing at every expletive from the bully's mouth. Time slowed and his fellow diners disappeared, his vision tunneling into a nightmare world inhabited by only himself and Crawford Shiller.

He backed into the booth as far as he could go, desperately trying to make himself invisible, feeling twelve years old again, small and defenseless. Back then he had expected such treatment every time Mom's back was turned. She knew some of what happened - that Crawford was verbally abusive - but she didn't know the extremity of it, or just how lasting the impact. And Michael didn't tell her, for fear of the man turning his abuse on her or Angie.

All those years of fear and abuse came crashing down and he frantically searched for a way to escape, but it was too late-his former stepfather was pushing his way into the booth, barring his way, his litany of obscenities never once faltering. The reek of alcohol assailed Michael's senses as the obviously drunk man pinned him in the booth.

"I went and raised me a goddamn fag is what I did! I should have beat your sissy ass harder, that would have made a man out of you!" Crawford turned and snarled, "Get your fucking fairy hands off me, you damned Mexican queer!"

Michael was shaken out of his trance in time to see Crawford draw back his arm, preparing to punch Jay. Reflexes kicking in before his brain, Michael reached out and wrapped his hand around the vile man's wrist, just below the closed fist. He squeezed -- hard. His efforts were rewarded by a bellow of pain. Unfortunately, the enraged bull of a man turned his attention back to Michael. "You'll pay for that you little…. You ain't no son of mine!"

Years of biting his tongue welled up within him, crashing down like a storm-driven wave. Kneeling in the limited space, Michael glared down at his hated stepfather. "No, as a matter of fact, I ain't no son of yours, and I'm damned glad of it!" His grip on Crawford's wrist tightened, causing another surprised yelp. Michael was not cruel by nature, but he'd had enough; now that the wave was cresting again it couldn't be stopped, and he really didn't want it to. It crashed down with devastating force.

"I'd like to see you make me pay, you useless piece of shit," he growled. At Crawford's suddenly fear-filled expression, he only smiled sweetly and purred, "Guess what, you old loser; I'm not twelve anymore and I'm not a skinny, terrified child. You can't hold hurting Mom over my head anymore, either." The smile turned evil as he said the words he'd only fantasized about saying in the past, "It's time for a little payback, Craw-daddy."

Eleven years of fear and loathing were loaded into the fist that caught the man in his ugly, unshaven jaw, sending him flying from the booth to slide across the tile floor and crash into a booth across the aisle that, thankfully, was empty. Crawford and Michael stared at each other in shock, neither one believing what had just happened.

"What the hell is going on out here?" came an irate bellow from the vicinity of the kitchen door. Michael looked up to see a muscle-bound, bald-headed man crossing the restaurant, his long legs making short work of the distance. He stopped and towered over Crawford where he lay sprawled on the floor. Hands on his hips, the imposing man glared down, waiting for an explanation.

"I can explain," Michael began, only to be cut off by Crawford, who seemed to have recovered what few wits he'd had.

"I was just telling those faggots there that their kind ain't welcome around here," Crawford shouted, apparently assured that he'd find backing from the big, burly man who somehow managed to look intimidating while wearing an apron.

"Is that so?" the man replied, his eyes narrowing as he cast a suspicious glance at Jay and Michael. Once again Michael wished he could make himself disappear.

Emboldened by what he must have considered support for his cause, the bully continued, "Yeah, we don't want their kind. No one wants a bunch of queers around here."

"Is that so?" the man repeated, still glaring at the two men who had moments before been enjoying a pizza and a new mile-stone in their relationship. "So," he barked, "is it true? Are you a pair of faggots?"

When asked later, Michael wouldn't be able to say what had come over him at that moment, but just as it had with Crawford, his long denied anger bubbled to the surface. Raising his eyes to Jay's to gauge his response, he silently asked a question.

Jay brought his hand up and linked their fingers as they slowly stood together, presenting a united front. In answer to the big man's question, they stood hand-in-hand, a look of pure defiance on both of their faces.

The annoyed man looked from them down to Crawford. "Looks like you're right. Looks like I got some low-lifes in my restaurant. What do you think I ought to do about it?"

"Kick their low-life asses outta here-that's what you ought to do!" Crawford wailed, his bruised ego re-inflating now that he saw victory on the horizon.

"Well, I believe you're right. I can't be having low-life scum in my restaurant. Sir, I'll have to ask you to leave," the apron clad man said in a tone that brooked no nonsense. "Now," he added with a stern look that made even Michael want to back away slowly, even though that look wasn't trained on him.

Crawford staggered to his feet, dusting himself off and glaring at the man who he thought would be his ally. "You ain't heard the last of me!" he exclaimed, turning and glaring at the two young men who were silently watching. That glare was then turned on the small audience the altercation had collected. "What the fuck do you think you're looking at?" the outraged man snarled.

The proprietor took a step forward, backing the angry man toward the door, then took another and another until Crawford found himself literally herded from the establishment. He then stood watching, as did Jay and Michael, making sure the drunken bully was really gone.

Turning around, the bald man called toward the back of the room, "Steve?"

He was answered by a rather non-descript man at a back table. "Yeah?"

"I know you're off-duty, but would you mind reporting a drunk and disorderly?"

"I done did," the man replied with a grin.

"Thanks."

"It's nothing. The asshole had it coming."

Throughout the exchange Michael stood silent and still, his hand growing sweaty in Jay's grip. The restaurant owner turned back and in a quite voice said, "Sorry 'bout that. You boys okay?"

Realizing that he didn't seem to be in trouble for defending himself against Crawford, or by the impromptu 'coming out,' Michael merely nodded, unsure of what to do next.

As he turned to Jay the big man's apology was heartfelt and sincere. "Jay, I'm sorry that you and your friend had to go through that; your pizza's on me."

"You don't have to do that," Michael stuttered.

A lazy smile curved the man's lips, making him appear far less menacing than he had a few moments ago. "I know I don't, but I want to. I want you boys to know you're always welcome here."

Before Michael could stop himself, he'd blurted, "Are you gay?"

At that the man erupted into huge guffaws of laughter that rocked his whole body. When he calmed he wiped at a tear from his eye with a massive fingertip and replied, "Heavens, no! I ain't gay, but I am a businessman. Jay and the Animal House…"

"Zoo," Jay corrected with a grin.

"Okay, the Zoo provides me with plenty of good customers. I don't care what you do in your personal life, and regardless of what the bigoted piece of shit might think, lots of other people in this town feel like I do. I just want you to do me one favor, okay?

Michael glanced uncertainly at Jay before answering, "Sure. What?"

"I don't mind you boys sitting out here making eyes at each other or even holding hands, but if it goes further than that you'll take it somewhere private, right?" The waggling of his brows took the sting from his words.

Jay smiled and replied, "I think we can manage that."

"Fair enough. This is a family restaurant, after all. Now how would you boys like some dessert?"

After the owner walked away the two lovers returned to their seats, waiting for the ice cream that their host insisted was to die for. Michael warily glanced around at the other diners who, thankfully, had returned to their own tables and their own meals.

One or two exchanged shy glances before quickly looking away. Two young women smiled at them and, while pointedly maintaining eye contact, placed their hands on their own table where they could be seen, quite deliberately lacing their fingers together.

Michael returned their smile, thanking them for their silent support. As the lunch crowd finished their meals and made their way towards the door, some averted their eyes, some softly mumbled, 'Hi,' or 'Hello,' and others made a point of stopping by their table to let the two men know that they didn't agree with or appreciate what Crawford had said.

When Jay and Michael finally stood to leave, they did it hand-in-hand, earning themselves a giggle and a wave from the young lesbian couple.