Chapter 3: Empty Dreams


But my dreams,
They aren't as empty
As my conscience seems to be.

No one knows what it's like
To be the bad man,
To be the sad man
Behind blue eyes.

-- Behind Blue Eyes -- Pete Townshend

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Over the last year, he'd given it many names, most of them admittedly cliché, but appropriate nevertheless: the beginning of the end, the day the earth stood still, the end of the world. All were, of course, ultra dramatic and over-stated, but, beneath the gross hyperbole, all were fundamentally accurate.

He just wished - in some ways - that he remembered it as it had actually happened, rather than the befuddled collage of broken images that always sprang to mind when he tried to recall it. Which he didn't very often, because he didn't really want to remember it - not that he wished to dispose of the memory, but rather that he wished it had never happened at all.

What would it be like? How would their lives have been different, if only . . . but there was no point in going down that particular road. It was what it was.

The Walker-family Armageddon. Probably the best name of them all.

He sat amid the rock fragments and limestone dust of the overlook with his back braced against the car, watching the sun bury itself in the Pacific as he let the memories take him, knowing that this was something he needed to do - something he'd needed for a very long time but deliberately avoided in a vain hope that he could just continue to run away from it until it was so far in the past, so dim and distant, that recall would no longer be possible.

Fat chance.

In all this time, it had never been further away than the next heartbeat, or the next breath - the one that would catch in his throat and send him back into those toxic visions of chaos.

Some part of his mind must have been aware of the reality of the moment when he'd managed to free himself from the death grip of his seatbelt and crawl out through the broken driver's window, emerging into the fractured darkness, with shards of glass embedded in his skin and blood filling his hands; some part must have retained the certainty that he was Kevin Walker, the 39-year-old son of William and Nora, brother of Sarah and Kitty and Tommy and Justin, nephew of Saul, and - most vitally important of all - husband of Scotty. But only one part; the other part - prevalent in those first bizarre moments - reverted to Kevin Walker - thirteen-years-old, traumatized, frightened, crawling out of the remains of a crumpled and mangled '79 Impala and trying to remember where he was and what had happened. His hands had been bloody then too, and he hadn't been able to see very well due to the swelling over his left eye and the blood dripping into it.

Saul. He remembered that he had been with . . . his father and Tommy? . . . and Saul, maybe. Yes, Saul had been at his side, trying to protect him. And as the chaos erupted all through the growing darkness, shouts and screams and lights spinning and tires squealing and figures rushing by, many stumbling away from the danger, but some racing toward it, with panicked voices providing a high-pitched descant to accent the stentorian roar of pandemonium. Through it all, he only knew that he had to find Saul. Someone else was there reaching for him, touching him - blonde, pretty . . . familiar . . . calling him by name, but . . . he had to find Saul. Saul had been protecting him, talking to him, trying to free him from the steel embrace of the seatbelt and . . . 

Fire was raging just at the edge of the road, on the other side of the . . . where was the Impala? And he could see - that couldn't really be his mother . . . and Sarah, could it? Neither one of them was supposed to be here. But his father and Tommy must be somewhere nearby. They had to be, but . . . he must be . . . imagining; he must be . . . but there. There was Saul, just where he should be - looking older, but that was just the blood and the bruising and . . .

"Uncle Saul, are you all right? Here. Let me . . ."

"No. Don't touch me." And there was something there in Saul's eyes; something that had never been there before. "You can't."

And the traumatic memory from his boyhood flexed, and was gone, and he was back in the present again - grown up, but confused. And still terrified. Kevin stared at his uncle, grief-stricken and not knowing what to say. But then, his mind cleared suddenly and even his concern for the man who'd been there throughout his life was not enough to hold him in place, for there was one that mattered more - one he had to find.

He was vaguely aware of Justin racing by, of Rebecca sobbing hysterically, of Nora and Sarah and Saul and dozens of strangers caught up in their own versions of tragedy, but most of all, he could only count the one who wasn't there, who should have been the first to . . . and then, there he was, bowed, hurt, but not lost. Thank God, not lost. 

Kevin raced forward and Scotty's arms closed around him, and he was engulfed in a familiar scent, as that beloved voice murmured his name, and offered up a litany of soft words. "I couldn't find you. Oh, God, Kevin, I thought I'd lost you. I was so scared, so scared. Please, don't ever, don't ever leave me again. Please . . ."

"I'm so sorry, Baby," he whispered. "I was . . . I don't know. I must have been in shock. Everything just went . . . weird and dark. So dark - without you. I wouldn't have left you. You have to know that. I'll never leave you. Never."

He had meant every word, but, even today when he thought about the events of that night, he could recall an odd sense of cold shadows looming nearby, as if some premonition was waiting for them, stalking them, even then.

Later, he would wonder if he had really understood what was happening around them at that moment, if he'd really known that the world they'd all shared in such happy oblivion had just come crashing down around their ears, never to be restored to its former glory, or if that had all come later, as if he'd gone back and adjusted the memory to fit the developing reality. He didn't think he'd ever know for sure, but nevertheless, he was certain of one thing: for that one brief moment - safely sheltered in Scotty's arms, with those sweet, soft lips brushing against his own, tasting him, nuzzling at his skin - nothing else had mattered. He was safe; they were safe - and both had believed that nothing could ever hurt either one of them as long as they stood together.

It wasn't true, of course, and they'd learned it almost immediately, feeling the optimistic certainty slip through their fingers even as Kevin turned to ask about Robert and knew the truth simply by reading the pain in Justin's eyes. But they had shared something in that strange savage place, something that no one else had been privileged to touch - their moment. Their refuge against the world.

He had meant to make it last forever. In reality, it had lasted only a few short months, before he'd screwed it all up. Before he'd forgotten his pledge to never again leave Scotty alone, and Scotty, lost and needing consolation, had been forced to seek solace elsewhere. Just months, for the seed was already in the ground, waiting to sprout.

That day - that fateful day - had been the beginning, when they had stood on the cusp of darkness and been slowly engulfed, forgetting how to find their way back to the light. It had begun that day, but it had extended through every day that followed, growing and flexing its muscles with every passing hour.

And he . . . what had he done? He'd simply stood there - and let it happen.

Feeling a breath of cool wind tugging at his collar and sending a chill down his back, he stood and brushed dust off his jeans and moved toward the metal barrier that stood guard against careless steps by the unwary. It was a very long way down, and, for a moment, he just stood and stared into the shadows below - seeing nothing, but remembering everything.

It would be comforting to believe that he'd been helpless to change what happened or to prevent the final outcome, but he knew better. He could have done something; he could have stood up and acted like a man instead of cringing away from reality like a pathetic little child, looking for someone to step in and make it all better. Why couldn't he have been the one to make it better? Why, when push came to shove, had he always been the one that needed saving? Why had he simply stood by and watched Scotty sink into a morass of regret and loneliness? Why hadn't he . . .

He stood motionless, a dark silhouette against darkening skies, and let memory take him back.

He tried to be brave, or - at least - to act that way. When everything was sorted out and the accident site cleared sufficiently so that everyone could be transported to the hospital, he donned his lawyer-face - the professional persona that allowed him to see to the legal and practical issues of the moment and to be able to push with authority when asking nicely just wasn't getting the job done. Occasionally, having eyes that were capable of a cold, hard, icy glitter and a jaw line that could set like stone when he was running out of patience could be a huge asset, especially when a deft, firm hand was required to deal with either idiocy or incompetence. That night, he encountered plenty of both - and handled it all efficiently, digging deep to find the courage to swallow the fear that was eating him alive as he watched his sister fight to avoid accepting the inevitable. He didn't want to believe it, any more than she did, but he discovered that there was something worse than the prospect of watching Robert die, and that was the prospect of watching him lie there in that bed alive but . . . missing. Robert was gone; his friend, his brother in everything except blood, had died on that highway, and now . . . now someone had to be there to help Kitty live through it. Someone had to see to the urgency of this moment and provide temporary shielding from the ugly realities she'd have to face later.

Though it was true that Kevin no longer possessed the bona fide credentials of his former position as communications director of Robert McCallister, Republican Senator from the Golden State of California, he had forgotten nothing about how to organize around the media circus that followed the man everywhere he went. Even when he was lying comatose in a trauma unit; even when he was never going to give another congressional speech, or introduce another Senate bill, or embark on another campaign trip. Even when he was never going to open his eyes again.

Kevin didn't want to know that - but he knew it just the same.

But it was his job - salaried or not - to make sure that nobody else knew it before the time was right for the whole story to be told - not because he was employed to do so but because he was the one who could handle the job when no one else could. So he did what he always tried to do, in the face of crisis. He stood between his family, struggling through a period of extreme vulnerability, and anyone who might try to take advantage of them. He fielded questions from the press, from government agencies and officials and the police, from Robert's colleagues and acquaintances. He was the person who informed the McCallister family of what had happened, figuring - correctly - that it would be easier to hear it from a personal acquaintance than from some faceless police officer. He called Jason himself, and managed - somehow - to recite the details of what had happened to Robert without breaking down in helpless sobs, although he had to fight very hard to speak around the lump in his throat. He even managed to speak calmly to Robert's Uncle Jack - the infamous Major Wiener - and to hold on to his temper when the nasty-minded old curmudgeon snarled at him and launched into an ugly recitation of his opinion of Kevin's breeding - or lack thereof. It was, of course, just a mindless, fight-or-flight response to a devastating sucker-punch of a tragedy, but that didn't make it hurt any less.

He dealt with the hospital authorities and untangled miles of red tape while making sure that everyone received the medical attention they needed. While Robert and Holly were the only two of the family group with major injuries, everyone who had been involved in the accident had been impacted in some way. By virtue of sheer luck - random chance - both his mother and Sarah had escaped any substantial physical trauma, but both were victims of shock and emotional stress, and Rebecca, who had arrived on the scene after the fact, was just as traumatized. Justin, meanwhile, was dealing with a huge burden of guilt, having been forced to choose between staying with Robert at the scene of the accident, or going to Holly's aid. He had done the right thing; he knew it; they all knew it. But knowing had not been enough to absolve him when he felt Kitty staring at him, her eyes full of questions that she never quite dared to ask. Kevin tried to offer his youngest brother the solace that he obviously needed, but he knew that he was not the right person to provide it.

So he tried to be the rock throughout that interminable night, taking care of his husband first, making sure that Scotty was x-rayed and checked thoroughly and pronounced concussion-free, albeit badly bruised and lacerated, and then settling him into a quiet corner to rest and await developments. Beyond that, he set about offering whatever anyone else might need - a shoulder to cry on, a calm voice, reassurance, practical advice, endless cups of coffee accompanied by words of encouragement - while insisting on prompt and comprehensive medical treatment for all of them. He tried his best to be whatever they needed him to be, but he knew he was falling short. He could see it in their eyes. Though Scotty and Saul and Kitty were all examined and treated and bandaged, they still looked lost and discouraged, while Nora, Sarah, and Rebecca received soothing counseling by professionals who were accustomed to dealing with such levels of trauma, but again, nothing seemed to help much.

After what seemed like hours, everything finally began to settle down, and they were all- save Kitty - seated in the ICU waiting room, each lost in his own thoughts and filled with fear while awaiting word on Robert and Holly. At that point, life seemed to be regaining some measure of normalcy, and Kevin decided to take a little time to catch his breath. He sat and sipped at a cup of really bad coffee in an attempt to ward off an urge to close his eyes and sleep forever; then he took advantage of the momentary lull to study the faces of his companions. It was only then that he realized how vain all his efforts had been. Though he'd done his best, the pain in the faces of his loved ones made it very clear that he had failed to make any substantial difference. Both Justin and Rebecca were still devastated, avoiding each other and everyone else. Nora, Sarah, and Saul were huddled together, pale and exhausted and trying to adjust to the way reality had shifted around them, but not making much progress. And Scotty - Scotty was the most devastated of all, looking lost and isolated and refusing to respond to Kevin's efforts to comfort him. In addition, David arrived and his deep, intense grief was compounded by the irrational anger of a man who knew he could not logically blame anyone for what had happened, but needed to do so anyway. 

Kevin was just debating whether or not to insist that Scotty needed a fresh dose of painkiller and thinking that he'd never felt more defeated or more useless in his life, when Kitty came through the entrance and walked toward them, stumbling with exhaustion and obviously not completely conscious of where she was or what she was doing. She moved blindly, as if groping through darkness, yet she somehow managed to find her way instinctively to where she needed to be, coming to a stop directly in front of Kevin, so consumed with grief and pain that she couldn't even speak. She had bypassed both her mother and her sister as she'd moved forward, leaving both of them open-mouthed and slightly offended over being ignored, and avoided Justin entirely. When Kevin stood up and took her into his arms, she simply collapsed against him and went as limp and boneless as a rag doll. He sank to his knees, holding her close and smoothing her hair back from her face, and for a while, there was only the sound of her ragged breathing and his murmured whispers of comfort. Until she sat up abruptly and touched his hand with her fingers, her eyes growing huge and filling with fresh tears, for - despite her desolation - she was the one who noticed what no one else had seen; Kevin's hands were still torn and bleeding, and his shirt was damp and dark with blood.

From that moment on, the situation morphed into a typical Walker debacle. Nora, of course, raised a huge fuss, ranting at everyone in the room, not to mention the entire hospital staff, for overlooking her son's injuries, somehow managing to ignore the fact that she had been just as oblivious as everyone else . At the same time, Justin managed, to look even guiltier than before, despite Kevin's assurances that it wasn't really as bad as it looked.

But it was the expression in Scotty's eyes that finally served to silence Kevin's protests, when he realized that his husband was in too much pain - physical and emotional - and too exhausted to have to deal with any additional trauma. At that point, Kevin began to feel stupid and inept, realizing that all his efforts to make things better had been in vain. He'd accomplished exactly nothing.

Once more, Scotty was disappointed in him, even though he would never admit it, probably assuming that Kevin had been so busy worrying about the Walkers and their immediate concerns - as usual - that he'd neglected his own injuries and forgotten all about whatever needs his husband might have.

They had stitched up his hands, a five-inch gash on his bicep, and another near the nape of his neck before deciding to release him rather than keep him overnight for observation. At that point, some time after three in the morning, exhausted and dead on his feet, he wandered out into the waiting room only to find that one of Robert's staffers had been delegated to drive him home. Kitty was with Robert, of course, just as she should be, and Justin and Rebecca were with Holly, he supposed. Everyone else had gone. He felt a little guilty then, realizing that he hadn't spent much time worrying about Holly's condition. He always tried to be honest with himself, even if he wasn't always honest with everyone else, and he conceded that he had never completely forgiven Holly for what she had done to his mother and his family.

Still, he hoped she would be all right - for Rebecca's sake if nothing else.

But for that night, there was nothing more that he could do. In fact, in reviewing the night, he hadn't managed to do much to begin with. It was just time to go. He thought he'd never been so tired in his life.

He dozed on the drive home, knowing that he'd have to face the new day in just a few hours and make arrangements to replace his car and enter insurance claims and take care of the thousands of other details that always accompanied such tragic accidents. But for the moment, he chose to ignore his worries, hoping to find some kind of solace in the arms of his husband. But alas, it was not to be. When he opened the door to their flat, everything was silent, and there was a note on the coffee table, informing him that Saul, noting that Scotty was in a lot of pain when they'd arrived home, had dosed him up with a hefty measure of prescription painkiller, so he should be out for the night.

Fearing that he might be restless and disturb his husband's sleep, Kevin settled himself on the sofa and watched the clock as the hours passed.

And from there . . .

He sighed and leaned over the railing to gaze at the rough meringue of waves breaking far below him. From there . . . to say that everything had gone downhill seemed a massive understatement.

He climbed back in his car, knowing that it was time to go - that it was actually past time. Still, he couldn't help but shake his head when he switched on the ignition, and the CD player soared to life, instantly engulfing him in a song that had long been a favorite, with the perfect voice of Idina Menzel providing the words that were like a taunt thrown in his face by some vengeful God.

And if it turns out
It's over too fast,
I'll make ev'ry last moment last
As long as you're mine.*

He squared his shoulders as he put the car in gear and pulled out onto the highway, resolutely refusing to acknowledge the irony of the song's message and the statement it seemed to be making about his life.

God knows, if he allowed himself to start weeping over Wicked lyrics, he might as well just turn around and drive right off that cliff - something he had promised he would not do. But he couldn't deny that he was tempted.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was good, thought Saul, that the restaurant had been busy. These days, busy was always good, because not busy was . . . well, it didn't really bear thinking about, because not busy equated to time after time after time of him walking into the kitchen to find Scotty gazing off into nothingness. Not distracted, not lost in thought, not pensive or brooding. Just . . . not there.

Saul allowed himself a bit of venting by slamming his laptop cover just a little harder than necessary, thinking that what he'd really like to slam would be his nephew's head against a wall. What on earth could Kevin be thinking to do this? When had he stopped being the sweet, generous boy with the tender heart and the lovely spirit, who would give freely of himself to anyone who needed help, and become this selfish, blatantly callous man who could inflict so much pain on one who loved him beyond all reason?

And when he came back, Saul planned to tell him exactly what he thought of him. When he came back; he never allowed himself to substitute the word 'if'. Because that just wasn't possible. Kevin would come back, because the alternative was unthinkable. And when he did, oh, boy, would he ever have some groveling to do before daring to ask for any small measure of forgiveness. The whole family was looking forward to making him work for it.

Saul looked up then and saw Scotty standing near the window, gazing out into the darkness, and felt . . . well, he wasn't sure what he felt; he was only sure he didn't enjoy it, so he would think about something else.

Scotty had performed well tonight, managing to charm a visiting critic from a major international culinary magazine with his newly perfected version of a lobster and sea bass paella, served with a lovely Rioja Alta and followed by another new creation - a tiramisu with praline/ginger sauce. The critic had been delighted and promised a rave review in the next issue of the quarterly publication - a real coup for the restaurant and a potentially huge opportunity to increase profits and enhance the café's public profile.

Scotty had been suitably grateful for the man's kind words, but . . .

Saul frowned. Scotty had been doing a lot of experimenting lately, developing exciting new main dishes, wonderful, colorful salads, and spectacular desserts, and the café's clientele was enjoying the fruits of his labors tremendously. The only one who wasn't enjoying it . . . was Scotty. When showered with compliments and praise, he would smile and offer quiet thanks - but the smiles never really touched his eyes. There, within those blue depths which had once sparkled with bright love and complete contentment and unbridled optimism, there were now only shadows of doubt and despair.

Saul could see what was happening, could see that Scotty was slowly losing the ability to believe that things would eventually work out for him and his absent husband.

Scotty was losing hope.

God damn Kevin!

Saul carefully put his laptop away and rose from the desk that had once been Kevin's, noting that it seemed almost impossible that this whole thing had broken wide open just a month ago. In some ways, it seemed like forever, like everything that had existed before was so far in the past that it was hard to remember. On the other hand, in some ways it felt like yesterday. It was amazing that an entire world could collapse so suddenly. And yet - when he really thought about it - he realized that he was wrong. Perhaps the final collapse had happened on the day when Scotty had revealed his ugly truth, but the erosion had started long before, and he knew exactly when. Only he didn't like to think about that, so it was easier, in some ways, to ignore the origins of their personal tragedy.

Nevertheless, it had only taken a few hours to convert the room which had formerly been a law office to the business/accounting office of the café, and Saul was determined that - when his wayward nephew finally deigned to come crawling home - he would have to find somewhere else to play lawyer. Especially since most of what he'd been doing in recent months was of the 'pro bono' variety - the kind of thing that didn't make money, so he couldn't very well claim to be a viable contributor to the establishment, could he? 

How the mighty had fallen! 

Saul paused at the door as that thought struck him, and then . . . he suddenly noticed a sour taste in his mouth and a chill touching his spine. How was it that he could stand here, in the office that had been Kevin's, in the restaurant that never would have existed without Kevin's support (and money), staring at the man who had stolen Kevin's heart . . . and be so filled with resentment and anger and bitterness against a nephew he had loved whole-heartedly throughout his life - a nephew who had always been there for him, always cared for him, always . . . forgiven him? The whole family had always taken gleeful pleasure in identifying Kevin as a cynic and a contrarian, but . . . In their hearts, surely they'd all known better. Surely they'd recognized those parts of his personality as simple defensive mechanisms - superficial and constructed only as shields against the malice of a homophobic world. Hadn't they?

Maybe the question was not only about who Kevin had become. Maybe the question needed to be expanded to ask who the rest of them had become, maybe even who Scotty had become.

He didn't enjoy that thought much either; that observation seemed to be developing into a habit, one which he needed to learn to avoid. Only . . . he couldn't quite manage it.

"Scotty," he called, desperate for distraction, "I finally found my old recipe for chicken marsala. It might need a bit of updating, but I think it would make a nice addition to the menu. What do you think?"

"Sounds good." Softly spoken, without even a trace of enthusiasm.

Saul tried again. "You know, you really knocked it out of the park tonight, Honey. You don't often render a culinary critic speechless. Wonderful work."

"Thanks." Polite, accompanied by a small smile, but still absent . . . without heart or depth or genuine interest.

"You deserve a good rest, so why don't you go on up and get some sleep? It's been a rough day, and you have to be tired. I'll lock up."

"No. You go on. I've got a few things to do, so just . . ."

"Such as? You've been working like an indentured servant here, so why would you . . ."

"Because it's easier. Okay? Working is just . . . easier."

"Why? Look, Scotty, I know you're still blaming yourself for all this, but . . ."

"But what? What, Saul? Are you going to offer me your undying understanding and your reassurance that I was the victim here? And tell me that if Kevin had just put aside his own needs and pain in order to look after me, that it never would have happened? Is that what you want to tell me?"

"Well, basically . . . yes. And I think that should make you . . ."

Scotty's smile was not pretty. "Make me what? Make me feel smug and justified? Or victimized - as if I'm the one who's entitled to act like the injured party, so I can forget what I saw in his face when he realized what I'd done? Jesus Christ, who are you? Who are all of you? Do you have any idea who was here tonight, Saul? Did you not have a cold, ugly moment when you looked up and saw . . ." He fell silent, but the tears in his eyes spoke volumes.

"Saw who? Who was I supposed to see?"

Scotty wiped his eyes, and moved behind the bar, deliberately starting to rearrange stemware and shot glasses that were already in perfect order. "Marcus. Marcus was here tonight. He walked straight into the kitchen and wanted to know if I was ready to . . . make up for lost time."

"Oh, shit!"

"Yeah, shit."

"Why didn't you yell for somebody? Get someone to throw the little bastard out?"

Scotty leaned forward then and braced his hands against the bar. "Because - despite the attitude of the whole Walker clan - this wasn't his fault, Saul. He didn't drug me or rape me, or get me drunk in order to take advantage. He simply saw an opportunity, and he took it. He wasn't betraying anybody. That was all me."

"Scotty, you can't keep on do . . ."

"Go home, Saul."

"But . . ."

"Go home. I need some time to . . . think about things."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It surprised him to realize that he actually liked sitting at Kevin's desk. And, despite whatever thoughts Saul might have to the contrary, it was and always would be Kevin's desk, in Kevin's office. That would never change, even if . . . but no, he wouldn't go there. Couldn't quite bring himself to go there . . . yet. Although he knew that he would have to face the possibility, and much sooner than he would like.

He opened the desk's middle drawer - the one Kevin always referred to as 'the junk drawer' - and pulled out a garishly decorated memo pad. A gift from Paige last Christmas, delivered with a note implying that her uncle's life was entirely too drab and needed a dash of color; ergo, a pack of lined notepads bearing bright renderings of cartoon figures - pandas and peacocks and monkeys mostly, all dancing about in fields of stylized flowers. There was, in truth, not a lot of space for making notes, but that was actually the point; in her own inimitable way, Paige had been pointing out that her uncle worked too hard.

She'd been right. Kevin had been working twelve-hour days almost every day, and bringing home very little money in the process. But while the money earned had been minimal, the impact hadn't; he had been doing something enormously important. He'd been using his prodigious legal skills and his incredible intellect to make a real difference in the lives of people who needed real help, but couldn't afford the fees of the fancy law firms housed in the towering skyscrapers in the heart of the city.

Scotty smiled when he remembered the frightened young woman who'd come seeking help to free herself from the vindictive persecution of a powerful government figure whose advances she'd rejected; Kevin had been outraged on her behalf, but he had also combined his legal expertise and his political chops to help her achieve justice and start a new, better life. Then there'd been the lovely, blonde, twin girls, aged 14, prostituted by their parents and forced to earn their way by selling their bodies on the internet, to pedophiles and perverts. Miranda and Melissa were now happily and safely ensconced in the home of an aged, but still vital maiden aunt while their parents were just beginning their jail term. It had been Kevin who had pushed his contacts in the DA's office to pursue the investigation while he represented the girls in family court, to remove them from the abusive environment.

Kevin had made a lot of friends during the last year - children he'd defended and protected, elderly couples who'd been abused by their families and thus needed a white knight to ride to their rescue, single mothers who'd needed help in obtaining help from both the system and absentee fathers, victims of corporate greed - lots of friends, not much money. Of course - inevitably - he'd also made a lot of enemies, some of them powerful enough to have escaped the punishment they so richly deserved, and some of them probably with very long memories. Something else to worry about. 

Nevertheless, he'd done good work, mostly because of a genuine desire to help and a passion for justice. But Scotty knew that there'd also been another reason. When his husband buried himself in the complexity of his cases, he didn't have to think about the empty spaces in his life or the demons that drove him.

Kevin had been drowning in a growing sense of loss and had come to believe that he was dragging his loved ones down with him. As a result, slowly, inevitably, he'd begun to pull away.

Scotty sighed and poured himself a hefty shot of scotch from the bottle of Chivas Regal that his husband always kept tucked away in his desk. He chose a pen from the assortment in the ceramic cat cup (a gift from Evan for Uncle Kevin) and tried to organize his thoughts to make his grocery list for the next day. Saul wanted chicken marsala, so he should put mushrooms on the list and a good marsala wine, since there was none in the cellar. But he wasn't in the mood for an Italian dish. He was more concerned with coming up with new comfort food. The paella had been a big success - but it hadn't accomplished what he was hoping for.

He laid the pen down with a sigh, coming face to face with the realization that developing fantastic new recipes to wow the critics wasn't what he wanted to do. He wanted to create something, cook something that would be so wonderful, so perfect that it would somehow entice his husband to come home. Kevin, despite an ability to enjoy pretty much any culinary effort Scotty might make, actually preferred simpler meals - home cooking. Thus it wasn't that the chef wanted to come up with a fabulous new pasta dish; rather, it was that the husband wanted to find a new way to prepare chicken pot pie - one of Kevin's favorites - that would be so wonderful that Kevin would be drawn home by the sheer perfection of it.

So . . . free range, organic chicken and a beautiful selection of fresh carrots, peppers, and herbs from the farmer's market.

He was being silly, and he knew it. It wasn't as if the aroma of his culinary triumph would waft through the ether to seek out Kevin, and tempt him home. So he wasn't making sense, but Scotty decided that making sense had been over-rated, of late. Perhaps it was time for a bit of wishful thinking.

He sipped at his scotch, and wondered when everything had gone so wrong. Then he sighed. Stupid question, of course. He knew exactly when.

He wished - sometimes - that he remembered it better, when he wasn't wishing that he didn't remember it at all.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

There wasn't really a fog - was there? Maybe it was just steam - or smoke, but from what? From where?

He didn't know much at that moment, but he was absolutely certain that he'd never been so terrified in his entire life. Not for his own injuries; yes, there was pain, in his head and his chest, and he was dizzy and confused, and his ears didn't seem to be working at all, as the world had gone silent. But there was something more important than his physical condition.

Kevin. Where was Kevin?

His heart was pounding in his chest as he lifted his head and tried to see through the blood pouring from the gash in his scalp.

He still couldn't hear when he became aware that someone was touching him, talking to him, faces filled with panic, and he understood that he should know who they were, but he didn't have time to wonder. He had to find . . .

Then they were gone, and the silence set back in. There were lights and bodies - but no sound.

And no Kevin.

He managed to stand finally, and turned to look at the car - the car which was now a crumpled mass of metal, resting on its roof, resting amid a vast sea of broken glass.

Time seemed to stretch and warp around him. How long had he been here? And how long since that last moment . . . he remembered stretching his hand out and placing it high on his husband's thigh, inspiring Kevin's trademark only-for-Scotty smile and wondering if he dared go further - if Kevin would be able to concentrate on driving if . . . Oh, my God! Had he . . . had he caused this? Had his lust for his beloved caused Kevin to look away at exactly the wrong moment? Had he . . .

But then, it didn't matter any more, because, suddenly, Kevin was there. Kevin - larger than life; Kevin - filling his arms and his heart. Kevin - his anchor, his talisman . . . his everything.

He would never remember everything about that night, but a few things would linger in his mind - things he would have preferred to forget: the terrible fear in Kitty's eyes; the sight of Nora, huddled in her brother's arms and devastated by her inability to prevent the crumbling of her family's lives; Jason McCalister's arrival at the hospital and his almost instinctive move to push himself into Kevin's arms; Rebecca's terrible confusion, causing a vacillation between anguish and anger and an inability to choose a target for either.

And Kevin. He would always remember quick, broken images of Kevin - tireless, determined, moving heaven and earth to make sure that his family received the appropriate care. Kevin - doing everything for everyone, but somehow . . . not there when he needed him, not available to answer Scotty's questions or hold Scotty's hand, except for an occasional shared moment. 

Mostly, he would remember being alone - warm under the blanket Kevin had provided, and medically stable due to the professional treatment he'd received, and mostly floating in a drug-induced somnolence - but still basically alone. And Kevin . . . most of what Kevin was doing came to him through a fog; Scotty understood that his husband was taking on the burden of caring for the entire Walker brood, but he still couldn't help feeling just a bit neglected. 

Especially when he noticed that Kevin was becoming more and more convinced that he was failing in his efforts. Especially in the biggest effort of all.

He saw it in the depths of those beloved blue eyes when Kevin stared into the face of the ER doctor who came out to speak to Kitty concerning Robert's condition. Kitty did what Kitty always did at such moments: she refused to accept it and sought a comforting alternative, and she was supported in that effort by Nora and Saul and Sarah. But not Justin and not Kevin. 

Leaving Kitty at the center of the family's comfort specialists, Justin retreated, hurrying out of the hospital to find a quiet place to clear his thoughts. But Kevin . . . Kevin didn't run away. Nor did he join in the offering of useless platitudes. He just stood there as something inside him - something precious and irreplaceable - just . . . died.

And Scotty would always wonder why he - even in his drug-induced stupor - was the only one who noticed.

Not that he was particularly good at noticing anything that night. He would spend endless hours over the next year feeling horribly guilty when Kitty - after an extended interview with Robert's cardiologist and the resident neurologist - came back into the waiting room and, in the grip of an incredible degree of agony as her brother held her, noticed what no one else had bothered to see.

Scotty was staring at Kevin's expression when the family realized that the son who had taken care of them all throughout the endless hours of this ordeal had himself gone untreated, uncared for. They were all appalled at their own ignorance and negligence, but Kevin . . . there was no trace of anger or resentment in Kevin's eyes. There was only defeat, and Scotty knew, at that moment, that there always would be. Kevin would blame himself because . . . because that's what Kevin always did best, wasn't it?

The medical staff, belatedly alarmed, rushed him into a trauma treatment room, and it was at that point that members of the McCallister entourage stepped in and insisted on driving the Walkers home, pointing out - correctly - that they had all been there at the hospital for many hours and that there was nothing more that any of them could do for the victims. Kitty would stay, of course; as the wife of a U.S. senator, she was entitled to ignore protocols and be granted temporary quarters on site to allow her immediate and unrestricted access to her husband. And Rebecca would stay with David, as Holly's life still hung in the balance. Justin would linger as well, determined to help his wife. But for the rest, it was just foolish to hang around.

Scotty wanted to stay, to wait for Kevin, but he was, by that time, dead on his feet and so spaced out on painkillers and exhaustion that he could barely hold his head up. Saul had insisted that he could not continue to sit in the waiting room, and Scotty had not had the energy to resist. In the end, he docilely accepted the judgment of the group and allowed Saul to escort him home, with a member of Robert's staff driving.

He would remember nothing of the drive, nothing of his arrival at the loft, nothing of the rest of the night. He would only remember waking in the morning, aching and in pain . . . and alone. 

It was the first time in a very long time - but it would not be the last.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Scotty rolled his shoulders, trying without success to ease the ache in his muscles, and sighed as he extinguished the desk lamp - the very same lamp he had bought for his husband as an office-warming gift when they'd first moved into the building.

Somehow, it looked smaller now - even cramped - and slightly seedy. Once, it had felt different; it had even managed to achieve some level of elegance. But not now.

Not now - because it wasn't the office that had been elegant. It had been the man who occupied it, and now . . . 

Now, it was just a room, cluttered and disorganized, but basically - empty.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

• As Long as You're Mine - Stephen Schwartz

TBC