---

Gale poured herself another cup of coffee and sat down at the table across from Brandon. "How long has he been like that?"

"Since the funeral."

"He's been in that room by himself for three weeks?" Gale sounded as outraged as Brandon felt, outraged because Bran knew there wasn't a damn thing he could do for Nate. He understood grief. Hell, he'd stood over the mutilated body of one of his closest friends. But even knowing that, even understanding it, didn't take away the sense of lose he felt. He wanted his partner back. He missed the early morning smiles and the quiet nights of holding each other. He wanted Nate.

Brandon took a sip of his own coffee. It was cold, but he didn't care. "He came out once after the funeral, when I insisted he go see one of the staff psychiatrists at Chicago General. I thought he might be suffering from post traumatic stress, but the guy says he isn't. According to Dr. Carson, he's grieving, and there isn't a damn thing I can do about it. So much for a degree in clinical psychology, huh." Brandon took another swig of his bitter drink. "You know what the worst part is? He hasn't even cried. Not one tear. Not for Amy, not for himself, and not even when I told him Howard's men had arrested his father at the airport in Atlanta."

Gale said, "How strong is the case against Calder, do you think?"

"Circumstantial. He was here when the rent receipt was planted, and he could have stolen the key and planted those bugs while he and Leda were in our house. Sasha was drugged with a generic form of valium, which Calder could have gotten from any one of his stores. We haven't found a definite link between him and Wilson, but with his connections, he would have no problem tracking down and hiring a hit man. His hatred of homosexuals is clearly documented, and would explain the arsons and the attempts on Nate. The fact that he hired Patterson to break Seth's heart doesn't exactly make him a father-of-the-year candidate, either. A good prosecutor could sell it to a jury."

Gale nodded. "Alicia said the same thing." Gale studied Brandon's face. "You just aren't convinced, are you?"

"I hope it is Calder, but I have to tell you, I've got my doubts. Why would the man have Wilson plant that rental receipt? He had to know it would expose his relationship to Patterson."

"Could Wilson have gotten mad at Calder and decided to get even?"

Brandon walked to the sink and dumped the dregs of his coffee. He folded his arms and leaned back against the counter, ankles crossed. "That's the way the DA will spin it, and it could very well be true. Maybe I'm making too much out of nothing. God knows I'm rattled over everything that's happening with Nate. Maybe my instincts are off."

Gale nodded. "Mike's behavior at the funeral didn't help. I know the man is devastated by the loss of his wife, but that's no excuse for the way he treated Nathan. He practically accused Nate of killing Amy."

Brandon clenched his fists. "I should have arrested the little bastard when he made a dive for Nate at the graveside service. I would have if Nate hadn't insisted I leave him alone. As it is, I wish Dad hadn't held me back when I took a swing at the son-of-a-bitch."

Dean came in from the living room and poured himself a cup of coffee. "I wanted to see you deck him just as much as you wanted to do it, believe me. But that wasn't what Nate needed, and you know it."

He did, but that didn't make it any easier. Lashing out seemed the best way to rid himself of the frustration. "So just what does he need, Daddy? He doesn't want me to touch him. He's made that clear enough. He won't talk to his mother, or to Seth. He even insisted they not come to the funeral. He doesn't need food, doesn't need sunlight. The psychiatrist can't tell me what he needs. Nate won't tell me what he needs. So maybe you can." He was yelling by the time he finished.

He expected Dean to yell back, maybe even to swat him on the backside like he would have done a few years ago. He never expected Dean to wrap him in his arms and start rubbing his back. He certainly never expected himself to need it so much.

"I know it hurts, Son, but you have to think about how much worse it could have been. At least Nate is still here. In time, he will get better. If he'd gotten back just a few minutes sooner, we wouldn't be having this discussion."

Brandon pulled away and went back to the table. He made no move to sit down. Instead, he stood with his hands braced on the back of a chair. "Don't you think I know that? Not a day has gone by since that bomb went off that I don't get down on my knees and thank God that Nate wasn't in there. I'm sorry that Amy died. I wish things could have been different, but not if it meant Nate had to take her place. I may be a selfish bastard, but that's the way it is."

Gale shook her head. "You aren't selfish, Brandon. You're human. No one expects you to make a choice like that."

Brandon ran his fingers through his hair. "Nate does. When I brought him back here after the funeral, he kept saying it should have been him instead of Amy. He wanted me to agree with him. We argued, I opened my big mouth, and all hell broke loose."

Dean said, "Is that what landed you in the guest room?"

Brandon winced. "Partly. I told him he was being selfish, that Amy wouldn't want him to stop living just because she died."

Gale tilted her head and studied her son. "That doesn't sound so bad."

"It wouldn't have been if I'd stopped at that." Brandon took a deep breath. "I told him that he should be grateful to be here. I told him that bitching and moaning that he was still alive was like killing Amy all over again."

Dean swore. "Jesus Christ. I love you son, but you can be a real dumbass some times."

The back door opened and Brandon heard the electronic melody of the keypad being reprogrammed. Keith came through the mudroom and into the kitchen. He took one look at the serious expression on Brandon's face and said, "What are we talking about in here?"

Brandon shook his head. "Nothing important. Just the fact that I'm a dumbass."

Keith grinned. "Well hell, I knew that."

Gale ignored him. "We were talking about the situation with Nate."

"Still no change?"

Brandon turned to his brother. "Not unless you count moving from the bed to the chair."

"How are the cuts on his chest from the impact of the blast?"

"How the hell should I know, Keith? He can't stand to be touched."

Keith nodded. "I know. Mother told me. That's why I brought someone with me who can help."

Grandma Taylor came out of the mudroom carrying a heavy brown shopping bag. "Was that my cue?"

"Grandma, no offense, but what are you doing here?" The last thing Nate needed right now was another lecture on the joys of butt-sex from an eighty-three-year-old woman. The fact that she was wearing a purple shirt-dress tied in the back with a giant pink bow did not bode well.

Abigail looked up at him with a patient smile. "I know you all think I'm dotty because I dress funny and say the first thing that comes to mind. Well, tough. I'm old and I can do whatever the hell I want to. Right now, I want to see my new grandson, and I'd like to see you try and stop me."

"Grandma-"

Keith interrupted. "Bran, just let her try, man. What have you got to loose?"

Brandon thought of all he'd already lost. Three weeks without Nate and he was in purgatory. He was desperate enough to try anything. He nodded and led the way upstairs.

Sasha lay outside the door to the master bedroom. She missed Nate as much as Brandon did. For three weeks, she'd kept an almost constant vigil. She scratched and whined and begged, but Nate refused to open the door. Like the rest of the world, he'd shut her out.

Brandon opened the door without knocking, shooing Sasha out of the way as he went. It was just past lunchtime on Sunday, but the bedroom was dark and stale. Nate had the shades pulled and the curtains drawn. He was sitting in a chair with his back to the door, staring at the wall. Brandon could barely see him, but his heart ached at just the sight of Nate's unruly tuft of blonde hair sticking up over the back of the chair. He wanted to pull him out of the chair and hold him until he cried out all the bitterness and pain. Instead, he walked out of the room and closed the door behind him.

* * *

Nate watched with detachment as Abigail made her way over to him and turned the room's other chair around until she was sitting next to him. She sat in silence for at least ten minutes. Finally, she said, "Are you planning on remodeling sometime soon? Personally, I think that's a fine wall. The way you're studying it has me thinking you might be ready to tear it down with your bare hands."

Nate wanted to say something, anything to make her leave so he wouldn't have to think. It didn't hurt as bad when he didn't think. When nothing came to mind, he kept his mouth shut and his eyes focused on the wall.

He expected Abigail to try and force him to talk, the way Brandon kept doing, but she didn't. She seemed to be having a conversation all on her own.

"I've always liked this house. Brandon's other grandmother, Emily, and I were friends long before she married Ed Nash. Went to grammar school together. When she told me she and Ed were buying this house from his father, I made her a quilt for this very room. Nothing fancy, just a simple Nine-patch made with fabric I bought with my trading stamps, but she loved that old quilt. Still has it, too. She took it with her when they moved to Florida. I don't really know why. The whole purpose of moving to Florida is so you won't need a quilt in the first place." Nate could see her looking at him from the corner of his eye, but he gave her no response. If he stayed quiet he could pretend he was alone and he wouldn't have to feel anything.

He should have known Abby wasn't finished. "Every bedroom needs a quilt. I mean a real one, not those stamped monstrosities they sell in discount stores. I'm talking about a quilt that's been cut and sewn by flesh-and-blood hands, not a machine." Nate could hear the rustling of a paper sack and the unfolding of cloth. Abby laid the bundle in his lap and said, "I believe this belongs to you."

Nate stared at the familiar hues of gray and burgundy in disbelief. "This looks just like my quilt, the one my Grandmother Morris made for me."

"No, honey. It doesn't look like your quilt. It is your quilt."

Nate's voice was struggling to rise. "That isn't possible. That bastard destroyed my quilt, the same bastard who-" He couldn't say it. If he said it, it would be true.

Abigail didn't seem to notice the sudden stop. "He almost destroyed it. In fact, he did his level best. I'll give him that. But you see, Nathan, your grandmother knew something that man didn't." She didn't wait for him to ask. She just kept right on talking. "There are lots of ways to make a quilt. I learned to sew on my mother's old treadle machine. When I was a teenager, electric sewing machines were still considered new and exciting. As they became more popular, strip piecing was all the rage. I know you don't sew, so I'll tell you that strip piecing involves sewing the whole quilt top together by machine and then attaching the backing. It's quicker, and all us girls wanted to try it. My mother laughed when I told her I wanted to strip-piece a quilt, but I did it anyway. It was beautiful, all purples and reds. I can still see all those little squares floating around in the water after it fell apart on the first washing. No, Nathan, your grandmother was smart. She foundation pieced your quilt."

He didn't want to ask, but he couldn't stop himself. "What's 'foundation piecing?'"

"Your grandmother sewed each piece by hand to a muslin backing. She didn't scrimp on the fabric either. No sir, she bought the best fabric money could buy and secured each scrap of fabric with the strongest thread she could find. That nasty Mr. Wilson or whoever he is damaged the top of the quilt-the surface-but he didn't touch the foundation. I was able to repair the surface because the foundation was so strong." She looked at the bandages on Nate's shirtless chest. "Looks like your surface took a beating, too. I'd be willing to bet your foundation is still just as strong as that quilt's, though."

Nate's laugh was bitter, resentful. "Strong? How can you say that? I've spent the last three weeks staring at a wall because my best friend is . . . If it weren't for me, she would. . ."

Abigail said, "She would be alive. You're right. If she'd gotten into that car instead of you, Amy would be alive and Brandon would be the one up here staring at the wall. The only difference is, you've got a man down there who would stop breathing if you asked him too. If you'd died, Brandon would have had no one."

"He'd have you, and Gale, and-"

"No, he wouldn't. Because if you had died, a vital part of Brandon would have died, too. I know that Amy was your friend, and I also know that you blame yourself for her death. She held a piece of you that went into the ground with her. But she didn't own you, not like you own Brandon. Not like he owns you. You can punish yourself by cutting him out of your life, but you'll never cut him out of your heart. You could die tomorrow or eighty years from now, but it wouldn't matter. The two of you have the real thing, Nathan. You gave Brandon a piece of your soul, and he did the same. You can't take back something so freely given."

Nate got up and paced in front of the shrouded windows, still clutching the quilt in his hands. "You don't understand. It's my fault Amy is dead. If I hadn't left her there by herself, she'd still be alive."

"Maybe, and maybe you would have died with her. But the fact remains that you're alive and she isn't. Do you think if God had given her a choice, she would have had you die in her place?"

The very thought was blasphemous to Nate. "Of course not. Amy loved me. She would have given her life for me in an instant."

"And so she did. Is this how you chose to repay her, by ruining the life she so generously paid for?"

Nate sank down to his jean-clad knees on the carpet, the quilt held tight to his body. "You're right. Amy paid the price for my life. This time. Who has to pay next? Brandon?"

"If giving my life is the cost of loving you then I've already paid it, Nate. I paid it the first time I touched you. You were mine from that moment on, you just didn't know it. It took some doing, but I finally convinced you. You can't just give me your heart and then take it back. It doesn't work that way, dammit."

Nate looked up to see Brandon standing in the doorway. He looked tired and worn, his glorious eyes red rimmed from lack of sleep. Nate thought of Amy's hazel eyes, eyes that would never open again, never see. He thought of Mike, and all he'd lost. What would he do if he was in Mike's place? The thought of standing by Brandon's grave and watching him being lowered into the ground was too much. Nate let loose with an anguished wail and collapsed fully onto the floor, his entire body racked with the sobs that had been fighting for release for days now.

Abigail slipped out of the room and closed the door behind her. Nate heard Sasha scratching to come in, but he couldn't have gotten up if he'd wanted to. He felt himself being lifted and carried to the bed by the same strong arms he'd been denying himself for days on end. Well, no more. If he and Brandon were just living on borrowed time, he was going to take what he could get and be damn grateful for it. The tears kept coming until Nate finally fell asleep.

* * *

Brandon felt a slight stirring next to him and opened his eyes to see Nate, propped up on his good elbow looking at him. He smiled. "Hi."

"Hi."

Brandon wasn't sure how to proceed next. Finally, he said, "Are you all right?"

"Not quite, but I will be." Tears filled Nate's beautiful eyes. "I'll always miss her, you know? For a long time, Amy was all I had."

Brandon reached out and stroked his unshaven cheek. "I know, but you aren't alone anymore, Nate. You have a family now who wants to help you." He lowered his voice. "You have me."

The tears started falling then. "I know that, and it scared the hell out of me. All I could think about was if losing Amy hurt that bad, what would it be like to lose you? I mean, Wilson is still out there, even if my father is in custody. What if he comes to finish the job? I was trying to protect myself." Nate reached out his right arm and flexed his fingers awkwardly around Brandon's hand. His cast had been damaged during the blast. When the ER doctor who treated him after the explosion took it off, he'd replaced it with a cotton sling. For the first time, Brandon noticed that Nate wasn't wearing it. "How's your arm?"

"Better. I don't even need the sling anymore." He looked down at their joined hands. "It's well enough to do something I've wanted to do since before the car accident."

Brandon raised a brow. "What's that?"

"Hold you with both arms."

Brandon wanted to cry out his relief. He also wanted to jump into Nate's arms and do all the things he'd been denied for so long. Rather than rush him, though, he said, "Why don't we get you cleaned up first? No offense, babe, but you're looking kinda scruffy."

Nate rubbed his fingers over his scraggly chin and laughed, the sound rusty from disuse. "Yeah, I guess I am. Not exactly a sex object, am I?"

"If you knew what I was thinking about doing to you right now, you wouldn't even ask that." He got up and offered Nate his hand. "Come on."

Brandon led him into the bathroom and turned on the taps. While the sink was filling, Brandon gathered Nate's shaving cream from the medicine cabinet. Instead of reaching for Nate's safety razor, he grabbed his own straight razor.

Nate eyed him with suspicion. "There's no way I'm going to shave myself with that, Bran. Grandma Taylor may have fixed my quilt-for which I owe her a big thank you, by the way-but I doubt she'll be able to patch me up if I shave with that thing. I'll turn my face into hamburger meat."

"I don't want you to try shaving with it. You aren't used to using a straight razor." He swirled a washcloth around in the sink and then moved closer to where Nate was standing. "I'm going to do it for you."

"Brandon-"

"Let me do this for you, Nate. You know I'll be careful. I would never hurt you."

Nate looked up into his eyes. "I know." He eyed the razor again and then sighed. "Where do you want me?"

Brandon positioned him so that he was leaning with his back against the sink. "I think this ought to be about right."

"You'll have to reach around me to get to the water."

Brandon grinned. "I know."

Nate rolled his eyes. "I should have known you had ulterior motives."

Brandon smoothed the warm cloth over Nate's heavy stubble. "How does that feel?"

Nate closed his eyes as Brandon's fingers worked the cloth against his skin. "Good. It feels good."

When he was satisfied that the hair was sufficiently softened, Brandon tossed the cloth onto the counter and reached around Nate to get the shaving cream. He sprayed a big glob of cream into his hand and smoothed it all over Nate's face and neck. When he reached for the razor, he expected Nate to flinch, but he didn't.

Brandon brought the edge of the blade against Nate's cheek and removed a wide strip of hair with one smooth stroke. When he reached around Nate to rinse it off, Brandon's groin pressed directly into Nate's growing erection.

Brandon grinned. "Someone's decided to wake up, I see."

Nate's eyes became cloudy. "I know. I tried not to get turned on, but with you leaning up against me like that, I couldn't help it."

Brandon took off another strip of Nate's beard. "Why were you trying not to get an erection? It's perfectly natural, under the circumstances." He paused with the razor in midair as reasoning dawned. "You feel guilty about wanting me when Amy's only been gone for a few weeks."

Nate nodded in misery. Brandon wanted to take him into his arms, but he didn't. Nate was grieving, and Brandon was going to have to be careful not to do or say anything to make it worse. He resumed shaving him without saying a word. Finally Nate said, "Aren't you going to tell me how stupid that is?"

Brandon rinsed the razor and started on another strip of hair. "Nope. Amy was your friend. You have the right to mourn her however you see fit."

"Don't you think it's wrong to be thinking about sex when her body is barely even cold?"

"No, I don't. I think sex is an expression of life, a way to show how glad you are to be alive. Every time you and I make love, it's sacred. Nothing can make that wrong or dirty." He started on the other side of Nate's face. "But it isn't what I think that matters. You're the only one who can say what's right for you. I'm willing to wait as long as it takes."

Nate kept his eyes on the floor. "Physically, I'm ready, as I guess you could tell. My body is raring to go. It's my mind that's holding me back. Grandma Taylor helped me a lot, but I guess there are still some things I have to work through."

Brandon shaved the last strip of hair and then grabbed the washcloth from the counter and scrubbed away the remnants of the shaving cream. "You don't have to explain it to me, Nate. You've had a shock and you need time to adjust." He threw the cloth into the hamper beside the sink. "I'm not in this for the sex, although, I gotta tell you, baby, the sex is great." He took Nate's hand. "I'm in this for life, Nate. We'll take care of what you need right now, and let the rest take care of itself." He turned Nate around so that they were both looking in the mirror. "Well, what do you think?"

Nate ran his hand over the smooth surface of his face. "I was starting to forget what I looked like without all that hair." Brown eyes met blue in the mirror. "Thanks, Bran."

Brandon kissed his hairless cheek. "Anytime, sweetheart. Anytime."

* * *

A week passed before Nate returned to some semblance of normalcy. Though he was still skittish about sex, he seemed to be healing, albeit slowly, both physically and mentally. The cuts on his chest had been minor, requiring bandages but no stitches. His arm was almost as good as new, with only the occasional twinge. His heart was healing, too. He'd started sleeping with Brandon again, even though all they did was sleep. Yesterday, he'd called his mother and Seth, and was relieved that they seemed to be taking Calder's arrest in stride. And he'd actually smiled this morning. That smile had been on Brandon's mind all day.

He was sitting in his office on Friday afternoon, going over the case against Calder, when the intercom went off. He pressed the button and said, "What is it, Lorna?"

"Agent Howard is here to see you, Sheriff."

"Send him on back."

A few minutes later Rex Howard stuck his head in the door. "Hey, Nash, how's it going?"

"Come on in and have a seat. Haven't seen you since the funeral."

Howard sat down and pulled some papers from the inside pocket of his overcoat. "I've been a busy boy since the explosion. It took some doing, but we've finally pieced together what happened. We also have enough evidence to tie Wilson to the bombing, and we think we may have found a connection between Calder and Wilson."

Brandon leaned back in his chair. "You know how Wilson managed to disable the alarm, sneak past both of our men, and plant that bomb?"

Howard shook his head. "That part I'm unsure of, but we do know that the blast originated upstairs, and that Wilson used plastic-probably C4-with a remote detonator."

"Damn. So he could have planted that bomb at any time."

"Yep. He must have been watching the office. When he saw the red Saturn leaving, he assumed it was Dr. Vaughn and detonated the bomb, thinking Dr. Morris was still inside."

Brandon shuddered "He very well could have been." He forced his mind away from what could have happened and said, "Tell me about this other evidence."

"Apparently Wilson used to live in Atlanta. One of his brothers works for Mor-co at the home office in Georgia. Naturally, he denies introducing Calder to Wilson, but I doubt a jury will buy it."

"They might. As evidence goes, it's pretty thin. Half of Atlanta has worked for Mor-co at one time or another. It's one of the largest employers in the city. Nate and Amy both worked part time for Mor-co while they were still in high-school. And Seth worked there up until about a week ago. I think Mike even worked there while he was in college. A good defense attorney will say that anyone could have met Wilson through his brother. Besides, Calder isn't exactly known for fraternizing with the hired help. His lawyer will be able to shoot that connection right out of the water."

Howard flipped through the sheaf of papers he held and handed one to Brandon. "Maybe so, but this won't be quite so easy to cast doubt upon."

Brandon looked down at the paper in his hand. It was a purchase order from Radio Shack for a mass of different electrical components. Brandon was no techno-junkie, but he recognized what he was seeing.

"These are the parts used to make the detonator?"

"Yep. And I have another receipt for the parts used to make the bugs we found in your house."

Brandon kept staring at the paper, but he couldn't see the relevance. "I don't get it."

"We have surveillance footage of Wilson buying all that stuff at a store in Chicago. He went to the same place both times. The tie in to Calder comes from Wilson's method of payment."

Brandon caught on. "Don't tell me the son-of-a-bitch was that stupid?"

Howard grinned. "You got it, my friend. The crazy bastard paid for all of it with a Mor-co company credit card. I have the statements from the credit card company to prove it."

"Well I'll be damned. Patterson said that Calder insisted he use the card while he was gas-lighting Seth because he wanted a record of all his expenses. I just never thought he would be dumb enough to give the card to his hit-man."

"It gets better. We found receipts for a hotel in Naperville, about a two-and-a-half hour drive from here. Wilson signed in under his own name. Needless to say, he'd already checked out by the time we got there. My guess is, he stayed there while he was making his little toys, but moved somewhere closer to Reed when the time came to do the wet work. My men are looking for him now, but we'll keep up the surveillance on Doc until he's found."

"I'm glad to hear it. I'm doing the same thing with my own men." He glanced down at his watch. "Not to cut this short, Howard, but I've got to get home. Tonight is the homecoming game at Plunkett High, and my baby sister is up for Homecoming Queen. I told her she could drive my car."

Brandon saw Howard cringe. "Good luck. No way would I let one of my kids drive a classic like that."

"Megan's a good driver. And I've got one of my deputies following her just in case. That way, if Wilson sees the car and thinks it's me or Nate, Megan will have protection."

"Uh huh. And if her date tries to take her parking, the deputy will put a stop to it."

Brandon grinned. "That, too."

* * *

In high school, Brandon's game of choice had been baseball, but he still enjoyed a good football game. The fact that the Plunkett Panthers were winning and Megan had just been crowned Homecoming Queen made the game that much more exciting. Having Nate by his side didn't hurt.

They were sitting on the top bleacher with the rest of the Nash family. It was cold, about forty degrees, and Nate's cheeks were rosy from the icy wind. Brandon thought he'd never looked sexier. He wished his body would stop reminding him that he hadn't made love to Nate in over a month.

After the game, Brandon and Nate both kissed and congratulated Megan and headed for the parking lot. Brandon waited until Nate was buckled in and then started the engine. As they drove away from the stadium, Brandon said, "Are you hungry? I could stop somewhere and grab us something."

Nate shook his head. "That's okay. I think I'd like to head home, if that's alright with you."

Brandon said, "Home it is." He thought he saw Nate smile when he said it, but he wasn't sure.

Sasha was waiting at the door when they pulled up. She had her bowl in her mouth. Brandon started to take it, but Nate shook his head. "Why don't you go on up and take a bath? You didn't have a chance to take one before the game." Nate pushed him towards the stairs. "Go on. I'll feed Sasha."

Brandon agreed, wishing like hell he had the balls to ask Nate to join him. He was so damned scared of doing something that might push him away. Every night for the past week he'd lain in bed beside Nate wanting him like crazy and unable to do anything about it. Facing another lonely night was something he was just going to have to live with. He'd promised Nate time, and time was what he was going to give him.

Brandon turned on the taps and stripped while the tub was filling. He didn't bother to check the bottom of the tub before he got in. The minute he stepped into the water, he noticed it felt different, kind of oily. He also noticed the smell. Cinnamon. He started to let the water out and run a fresh tub, but he was afraid he wouldn't have enough hot water left to fill it back up. Besides, nobody ever died from cinnamon poisoning. Not that he knew of, anyway. With a shrug, he sank down into the hot water and allowed some of his tension to ebb away. He leaned back and closed his eyes. That's when he heard the music.

One thing Brandon liked about Nate was his taste in music. Nate wasn't prejudiced. He liked all kinds of music, and had an impressive collection of CDs to show for it. At the moment he was playing a mix he'd downloaded from the internet. Brandon remembered teasing him about the unholy combination of artists on that particular CD, everything from Pearl Jam to Johnny Cash. At the moment, Closer by Nine Inch Nails was playing. When the line, "I want to fuck you like an animal" came up, Brandon started to get suspicious. That's when the lights went out.

Well, not all the lights, precisely. The overhead light went off just as the sconces above the sink, which were on a different switch, came on. The sconces bathed the tub in soft light, almost like candles. A few minutes later, the room was flooded with the smell of cedar, which mixed with the cinnamon. Brandon got a good whiff of both and started coughing his head off.

Nate was in there in a second. He was also stark naked. "Bran, are you all right. I heard you coughing."

Brandon was having trouble catching his breath. Nate opened the door wide to let some of the smell escape and then ran some fresh water in a paper cup and handed it to Brandon. When he was able to speak, Bran said, "Would you mind explaining to me why it smells like Christmas in here?"

Nate looked concerned. "You don't like cedar and cinnamon? I thought everybody did."

"I didn't say I didn't like it. I'm just not used to taking a bath at Santa's Cottage, that's all."

"Sorry. I guess I used too much."

Brandon's eyes were so watery, he had trouble looking Nate in the face. "Used too much what? And why is the bathtub so damn slippery? I'll be lucky to get out without cracking my head open."

"I'm sorry, Brandon. Let me just put my clothes back on and cut the music off. Then I'll help you out of the tub and clean up this mess." He turned to leave, but Brandon stopped him.

"Nate?"

"Yeah?"

"Come here."

Nate walked over to the edge of the tub. He looked so cute with his lip poked out that Brandon almost started laughing. He opened his arms and said, "Get in with me?"

Nate didn't have to be asked twice. He climbed into the tub, forgetting about the oil. He slipped and would have hit his head against the side if Brandon hadn't caught him. Brandon settled him in front of him and looked at him with newly cleared eyes.

Nate's face was burning with embarrassment. "I guess this wasn't one of my better ideas, huh?"

Brandon was doing his best not to laugh. Whatever this was meant something to Nate, and Bran wasn't about to ruin it for him. Instead, he said, "Not that I'm complaining, but would you mind telling me what this is all about?"

"I put cinnamon essential oil in the tub so you would smell it when the tub filled up. Oh, and I got some of those things that fit over light bulbs. These are cedar scented, but I guess you already knew that. You know, those ring things? Anyway, when the light bulbs heat up, the fragrance is released. I wanted the smell to be really strong, so I put three against each bulb, one on top and one on each side. I probably went overboard, huh?"

Brandon said, "Maybe just a little bit. May I ask why you chose cedar and cinnamon?"

Nate's entire body went red. "There, uh, supposed to be aphrodisiacs."

Brandon wasn't sure he was hearing right. "You turned our bathtub into an oil slick because you were trying to sex me up? Why the hell didn't you just ask me?"

Nate spoke so softly, Brandon could barely hear him. He finally had to ask him to repeat himself. Without looking at him, Nate said, "I've made you do without for over a month. I was afraid you might. . ."

Brandon said, "You thought I might be out for a little revenge. Thought I might make you wait just to see you suffer a little bit."

Nate whispered, "Yeah. I wouldn't blame you if you did. I deserve it."

Brandon tilted Nate's chin until he was looking up at him. "No, you don't. You've been hurting, Nate. I would never hold that against you. Never."

Nate nodded. "Rationally, I know that, but I've been so mixed up, Bran. I've wanted you, and then felt guilty about it. Today I realized the only way I was ever going to feel normal again was just to go on with my life the best way that I can. I need you, Bran. Really need you. I want you to be a part of me again. Please."

The CD changed from Closer to Colorblind by the Counting Crows. Brandon pulled Nate up and onto his lap. "You don't ever have to say please to me, Nate. You don't have to ask for what's already yours." Then he pulled him closer and kissed him.

Brandon noticed two things. He could feel his dick getting hard against Nate's leg, and Nate's mouth tasted funny. It didn't taste bad. In fact, it tasted good, all sweet and spicy. Brandon pulled back and raised a brow.

Nate grinned. "Clove flavored toothpaste."

"Another aphrodisiac?"

"Yep. Did it work?"

Brandon pulled him in again. "Come here and let me show you."

Brandon kissed him with all the pent up hunger of the past thirty days. Every minute he'd spent missing Nate, longing for him, went into that kiss. When he finally had to go up for air, they were both gasping for breath and sporting first class erections.

Nate said, "Make love to me, Brandon. I'm ready."

"We need to get out of this tub. The lube-"

"Already taken care of." He grinned as Brandon slipped one finger easily inside him. "What do you think I was doing in the bedroom while you were getting in the tub? Besides, if I hadn't taken care of it, the oil in this water would have. By the way, I asked the lady at the herb store and she said this oil was safe for internal and external use. And before you get all mad about me going out by myself, I took Sam with me."

Brandon added another finger. "I'm not mad. And I'm through talking." With that pronouncement, Brandon removed his finger and replaced it with the head of his cock. He watched Nate's face for any signs of discomfort. Finding none, he slid inside, inch by inch, until Nate was sitting all the way down on him, completely impaled.

"Oh God, that feels so good. I've missed you, Bran. I've missed this.'

Brandon was finding it hard to form a complete sentence. Nate was so hot, so tight. The warm water lapping up against them and the look of rapture on Nate's face were too much. Brandon wanted to take it slow, to savor the feelings of being inside the man he loved, but he couldn't. He grabbed Nate's hips and raised him almost completely off, then lowered him back down. With each stroke and thrust Brandon felt himself moving closer to the edge. He changed the direction of his thrusts and aimed for Nate's prostate. He used one slippery hand to stroke Nate's erection while his other hand guided Nate up and down. When Nate screamed out and shot all over Brandon's stomach, he thrust upwards one more time and filled Nate with his release.

Nate collapsed against Brandon's chest. Brandon wrapped his arms around him and put his lips to Nate's ear. "I love you, Nate. I've missed you so damn much. I thought I was gonna go out of my mind."

"I'm sorry, Brandon. I never meant to hurt you like that."

"Shh. I wasn't trying to make you feel guilty. Just don't shut me out like that again, okay? Whatever it is, we'll handle it together."

Nate nodded, but didn't say anything. Brandon could tell he was tired. "Come on. Let's get out of this tub. If you fall asleep, I'll have to carry you. As slick as this sucker is, we're liable to slip and break something vital."

Nate stood up and got out first. He managed to make it onto the mat without falling. Brandon got out next. He almost made it. He would have, if he hadn't accidentally put his left foot on the tile instead of the mat. He slid backwards and grabbed for the first thing his hands came in contact with. Nate.

Nate made a desperate attempt to keep them both upright, but it didn't work. Brandon fell in a sitting position onto the commode, which was closed, thank God. Nate landed hard on his lap, knocking the breath out of him.

When Brandon was able to breathe again, he said, "Are you all right, babe?"

Nate was shaking. At first Brandon thought he was hurt, but he soon realized Nate was laughing. He turned around and gave Brandon an apologetic grin. "I guess next time I decide to provide a little romantic atmosphere, I should warn you first, huh?"

Brandon snorted. "First of all, I don't ever need help getting aroused. Just looking at you does the trick. Second, with you being a doctor and all, I'm just glad you didn't decide to slip me a couple of Viagra. My dick probably would have broken in half when you landed on it just now."

* * *

Being in bed with Nate and having no barriers between them again was heaven for Brandon. Of course, being completely naked was nice, too. Brandon held back the covers as Nate crawled underneath and leaned in for a kiss. Brandon pulled him down, rolled on top of him and started sucking on his neck.

"If you give me a hickey, you'll have to explain it to your mother."

"If she says anything I'll remind her of all the times she's had to wear a scarf to church to hide some of the hickeys dad has planted on her from Pastor Oakley." He resumed nibbling.

Nate jumped as Brandon moved from his neck to his shoulder. "Does this mean I'm forgiven for oiling up the tub?"

Brandon licked his way down Nate's breast bone. "Yes, but I can think of things I'd much rather oil up."

Nate gave him a put-upon sigh, but Brandon wasn't buying it. "I suppose if you must, you must."

Brandon moved his hands down Nate's stomach to the dark blonde hair between his legs. "If I must, huh? I'll show you just what I must do." Brandon had just reached the good stuff when the phone rang.

He fell back onto the bed. "Fuck. What's a guy got to do to get a little lovin' around here?"

Nate nudged him in the ribs. "Quit bitching and answer the phone. It could be important."

Brandon gave up and reached for the receiver. "Nash."

"Nash, it's Howard. If you aren't already, you might want to get dressed."

Brandon sat up. "What is it? Where are you?"

"I'm at a motel just inside of the Chicago city limits. We've found Wilson."

Brandon was already on his way to the closet to grab a fresh pair of jeans. "Have you questioned him yet?"

"Nope."

Brandon tugged on his jeans, not bothering with underwear. "Why the hell not?"

"Because I'm not John Edwards and I left my crystal ball at home. Hate to tell you this, Nash. Wilson's dead."