They had the bedside lamp on, because they both liked to look at each other when they made love. They both loved the way that William's tanned skin contrasted with Chase's pale satin. It was sort of the way that William's gift, the doe skin armband, looked hugging Chase's bicep. Right now William, naked and spooned up behind an equally naked Chase, was running his fingers lightly around the edge of the band, feeling the contrast between the rawhide trim and Chase's much finer hide. Chase felt William's solid heat all along his back, one leg hooked between his own. He felt William's tickling touch on his arm, and he smiled a small, secret smile. William nuzzled the back of Chase's neck, and the younger man made a satisfied hum deep in his throat. William laughed, and Chase tilted his head to glance back at him. "What?"

"You're purring," said William.

"Am I? I thought I was humming."

"I didn't notice a tune."

"So what do you want--Hello, Dolly? What on earth made you think of purring?"

"Well," William hooked an arm over his waist, pulling him even closer. "You're just sort of feline sometimes. I've damn sure heard the meowing and hissing between you and Mona. You're graceful, beautiful, playful," he ruffled Chase's hair, "fluffy... Hell, you're not just a cat--you're a kitten."

Chase gave a sigh of resignation, but there was a hint of smugness in his tone. It was pretty obvious that he wasn't displeased with the comparison. "Oh, marvelous. I suppose that my next present will be a catnip mouse, or a jingle ball."

William goosed him, making him squeal. "I got your jingle balls, right here."

Chase turned toward him. "You're a bad, bad man, and I love that!"

There was a knock on the door, and Mona called. "Chase? You and your man have about twenty seconds to get decent before I come in there."

"What the fuck?" muttered William. So far Mona had been scrupulously polite in allowing William and Chase their privacy.

"She'll have a good reason," said Chase, reaching down and pulling the sheet up to their waists. "Entre vou." Mona opened the door. The moment Chase got a look at her strained expression, he sobered. He sat up, saying, "It... it isn't Mom, is it?"

"No, honey. It's part of your adopted family." She gave a nod to William, then ignored him. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she took Chase's hand. "Honey, I just got a call from the hospital. Somebody beat your friend Bootsie pretty bad, and he gave you as his emergency contact."

Chase's face crumpled. "Oh, no! Not Bootsie. What happened?"

"They wouldn't tell me crap. All I know is that it's bad enough that they want to keep him there, and he's pretty upset. He needs someone right now. Get dressed and I'll take you over."

"Of course." Showing no more concern than if he'd been alone in the room, Chase threw back the sheet and started to get dressed.

William did the same, though he kept his back turned to Mona till he got into his underwear. "You don't have to do that, Mona. I'll take him."

"Thanks, Will. I have to get up early tomorrow, but I don't want him going out at night by himself these days."

She didn't have to explain herself. The last month hadn't been a good one for gays. There had been a half dozen assaults--gay bashing. The victims had all been of the same general type: inoffensive young men, small and slender, and on the effiminate side. Two had been hospitalized, one of them suffering a broken jaw and a concussion when the man kicked him in the head after he was down. The police believed that it was all the work of a single assailant. They'd increased patrols in areas popular with the gay community, but they were urging people to stay home after dark, and if they went out, to go in pairs, or better yet trios.

"Don't worry, Mona. I'll stay with him as long as he needs, and I'll deliver him back to the door."

"You're a good man, Will."

Chase was pulling on his shoes. "Will you two old women quit nattering? We need to go."

William sped up his dressing. Chase took William's keys off the dresser and started for the door. William said sharply, "Freeze!" Chase froze, but he was almost vibrating with the need to go. "Where do you think you're going?"

"I'm not going to take off without you," said Chase. "I won't even start the car. I just want..."

"I'm not worried about that, Chase, but you aren't going outside alone." Chase's hand dropped, the keys jingling as he stared at William. William's voice was hard. "You're--not--going--out--alone. Are we clear?"

"All right," Chase said quietly, propping his hip against the dresser. "But please hurry, William. Bootsie is scared of hospitals."

William didn't allow Chase to go into the emergency room alone. He had to wait till William parked the car and escorted him in. Once inside, Chase almost loped over to the admission station. "Excuse me, but I had a friend brought in tonight."

The clerk turned toward a computer terminal. "Name?"

"Bootsie Malloy."

She typed. "We have several Malloy's, but no Bootsie."

"I said he was brought in tonight."

"We had two Malloys brought in tonight."

"He's... Oh. Try Bartholomew Malloy."

She typed. "Yes, he was brought in about an hour ago. If you'll have a seat over there someone will get to you as soon as possible."

"Get to me? I just want to know how he is."

"A nurse or physician will fill you in."

Chase stamped his foot, causing the woman to look up in surprise. "Look! He was beaten and for all I know he could be paralyzed, or blinded, or... or..."

William put an arm around his shoulder, squeezing. "Calm, baby, calm. Miss, we're very concerned."

"Really, there's nothing we can do right now." She looked at Chase. "I promise you that they're doing everything they can for him, and the best thing you can do right now is sit out here quietly and let them do their job."

Chase took a deep breath. "Okay. Sorry."

"I understand. Believe me, you aren't nearly the most stressed out person I've seen around here."

William and Chase took seats near the double doors leading back into the treatment section. Chase was strung tight. William couldn't help thinking, *Nervous as a cat.* Chase kept close watch on the doors, hands twisting together, and half rising every time someone came out. He'd drop back to his seat with a small, disappointed murmur every time the doctor or nurse walked over to someone else.

Finally a young doctor opened the door, and said something to the clerk. She responded, gesturing toward them. He looked over, calling questioningly, "You here for Malloy?"

Chase hopped up, trotting over with William at his heels. "Me! Me! How is he?"

"I'm doctor McWilliams..."

"I'm so happy for you. How is he?"

The doctor was eyeing him with mild suspicion, taking in Chase's rumpled T shirt which said I'M SINGLE, LIKE LIZA, AND SING SHOW TUNES--DO THE MATH. Then he noticed Chase's hair (which no longer looked like strawberry ice cream, cotton candy, or bubble gum, but still had a faint pink tint), and the pink lip gloss that had been a little smeared, but not wiped away, by his love session with William. "Can I ask what your relationship is with the patient?"

*Uh-oh,* thought William. *Even if Chase and this Bootsie were lovers, they might not let him in. We still haven't gotten spousal rights.*

Chase knew what he was doing. Not missing a beat he said, "He's my brother."

The doctor blinked, seeming to consider this. Chase cocked his head and put his hands on his hips, giving him a narrow stare. "Well?"

"It's just that you don't... Um... You have different... last names."

"Different fathers. Now, will you please tell me what is going on, and let me see him?"

"All right. Come on back." He led them into the wide, brightly lit hallway. It was lined with rooms that were screened only by curtains. The air was chill, and it was quiet, save for the distant murmur of voices and the mysterious, but disturbing, beep and whirr of machines.

"Just tell me now," said Chase. "He isn't dead, is he? And he isn't going to die?"

The doctor's voice was professionally calm. "No, he's very much alive, and he should stay that way."

"Should?"

"I'm not going to soft soap this. He was badly injured. There are a couple of broken ribs, a broken nose, and one of his kneecaps was torn loose. He's probably going to need some plastic surgery, too. The important thing is that his skull wasn't fractured. We've done X rays and an MRI, and there isn't any fracture, and no signs of internal bleeding. We like to be cautious with head injuries, but he should be all right. He'll have to stay with us for a few days--a week or more, at least, but there's no reason why he can't make a full recovery. Our problem is that he hasn't been able to tell us much, and we need insurance information."

Chase's voice was cold. "And what do you do if he doesn't have insurance? Ship him off to the vet's?"

"Chase," William's tone was chiding.

Chase drooped. "I'm sorry. I'm upset."

"You don't need to be, sir," said the doctor. "Believe me, he'll get everything he needs, every consideration," he smiled, "and he'll be treated with dignity and care. Trust me. We have a good care staff here. I've given him a pain killer, and it has a sedative effect, so he's probably asleep by now. If you'll excuse me, I have to go." He pointed down the hall to where a policeman was talking on a cell phone. "The officer standing outside his room wants to speak to you, then you can go in and see him. We're waiting on a bed to become available. Shouldn't be much longer." He shook his head, "Which translates out as sometime before dawn, hopefully."

"Thank you." The doctor walked off, and Chase whispered, "Police. Isn't that just lovely?"

William rubbed his back. "C'mon, kitty cat. You want to do whatever you can to help your friend, don't you?"

"Sure." He sighed. "It's a knee-jerk reaction. Some of the police are very nice. And I must say that they seem to take the recent troubles seriously. They aren't just brushing it off because that monster's only attacked gay boys."

They spoke to the officer, but the policeman told them more than they could tell him. All Chase knew was that Bootsie had been planning to go out clubbing, and that he usually favored The Flaming Flamingo, or Twizzlers. The officer told him that Bootsie had apparently taken the authorities' advice and gone out with a few friends. The problem was that the others had gradually hooked up with new 'prospects'. Bootsie, never wanting to cramp anyone's style, had assured them that he could get home all right--the bus stop was less than two blocks from the club entrance. Somewhere along that route he was dragged into an alleyway and viciously beaten. Someone had heard his groans and (luckily for Bootsie) was brave enough to investigate. He'd been barely conscious when the paramedics got to him, and it was difficult for him to speak, but from what they gathered, his attacker fit the description of the man who'd been committing the recent assaults. The policeman handed over a watch and wallet. "Here--I got these from the nurse. Apparently the son of a bitch doesn't rob them--all he wants to do is hurt someone."

As the officer walked away, Chase stared at the watch. There were flecks of blood on the band. "No," he whispered, voice shaking, "All he wants to do is hurt one of us."

He was trembling, and William put an arm around him in concern. "Are you all right with this, babe? Like the doctor said, he's probably asleep, and if you need to wait..."

Chase straightened, visibly getting hold of himself. "No. Bootsie needs me. I can do this." He went to the curtain that screened Bootsie's room, then fixed his face. He wasn't smiling, but he wasn't looking horrified, like he had been. William knew that Chase was fighting to appear strong and calm, for his friend's sake. He already cared for Chase deeply, but his respect grew. *Boy's got steel in his spine,* William thought as Chase pushed aside the curtain and stepped in.

William followed. The figure on the hospital examining bed was so slight, only barely larger than a child. One leg was stiffly splinted, and the narrow chest barely seemed to rise and fall. The breathing was labored. William had once cracked a rib playing touch football, and he was wincing in sympathy. But the really bad thing was the head. Patches had been shaved from long, coppery hair, and there were crude looking stitches in the young man's scalp. William could make out bruising in the surrounding skin. He might have once been a pretty boy, perhaps as pretty as Chase, but now his face was swollen and mishapen, a plastic splint taped in place over his damaged nose.

William saw now why the doctor had given his lover such a peculiar look when Chase had declared himself Bootsie's brother. The skin that wasn't covered by bandages or discolored by bruises was the smooth, light brown of a bar of premium milk chocolate. If the situation hadn't been so serious, William would have been tempted to laugh at Chase's audacity. *Different fathers. Oh, Chase.*

Chase almost crept over to the bed. He reached down and picked up one limp, slender hand. There was an IV needle puncturing the smooth skin just behind Bootsie's knuckles. Chase gave a watery sigh and stroked Bootsie's fingers.

One eye was bangaged, but the other one opened a slit. Bootsie licked cracked lips and whispered, "Aayyy?"

"Yes, honey, it's Chase." Chase reached out to Bootsie, wanting to comfort him with a touch. Bootsie flinched, and Chase made a small sound of distress. Where could he touch his friend without hurting him more? Finally he gently laid a hand on Bootsie's shoulder. "I'm here, Boots."

Bootsie turned his hand over, gripping Chase's fingers loosely. He tried to squeeze, but he could barely close his hand. "Hurrrs."

Chase's voice trembled. "I know, darling. Do you want me to make them give you something more for the pain? I can do it, you know. I'll make a Mama Tiger look like Doris Day."

To William's astonishment, Bootsie's lips twitched in a crooked smile. "Bitch."

Chase nodded. "An absolute bitch, when necessary."

Bootsie sighed. He closed his eyes and was silent for a moment. Then he looked at Chase once again and said simply, "Why?"

William saw Chase bite his lip, his eyes going moist--but he didn't cry. He simply said, "I'm so sorry, baby. There is no reason."

Three days later...

Chase looked up from the Cosmopolitan he'd been reading, giving his friend a stern look. "Bootsie, am I going to have to do the 'here comes the plane into the hanger' bit to get you to eat your dinner?" Bootsie, sitting up in bed, just shrugged. Chase sighed, putting aside the magazine. "Look, sweetie, you just got taken off that damn IV. Do you want them to put in another line, because they will if you don't eat."

"No taste, except bad," Bootsie muttered.

Chase was glad to hear the gripe. After those few whispered words in the emergency room, Bootsie hadn't spoken at all. Chase had finally coaxed him into speaking by warning him that the doctor was already making noises about sending someone from the psyche ward to talk to him. "And you don't want to be kept here for depression when you're physically ready to go home, do you?" Bootsie was still a long way from his normal bright chatter, but at least he was communicating.

"I know," said Chase. "'Tasty hospital food' is pretty much an oxymoron, but it's usually as nutritious as all hell, and you need every bit of vitimens and minerals you can get right now. You don't need to be doing the supermodel, half a grape, my God I'm so full bit."

"Won't have to worry 'bout being a supermodel," said Bootsie glumly.

Chase drooped. "Oh, sweetie. The doctor said it isn't as bad as it looks. You've got to be patient--wait for the swelling to go down, and the bruises to fade."

"Yeah? And what about this?" Bootsie pointed to his still bandaged nose. "I used to have a nose like Claudette Colbert--now I'm gonna look like a Pekingnese. And this." He gingerly touched a nasty lump on one cheekbone. "I'll give the doctor points for being honest. He told me that I'll need plastic surgery if I'm ever to look like I did before... before..." He started to put his face in his hands, but jerked them back down with a quiet cry when he touched the bandages.

"Oh, Boots." Chase sat on the bed beside him, hugging him. "It'll be all right. We'll figure out something."

"I dunno what." Bootsie's voice was sad. "Even if I had insurance this would be considered 'elective surgery', since I'm not gonna die without it--they say."

Chase chose, for the moment, to ignore the last two words of Bootsie's statement. "I don't know. They have victims compensation programs, don't they? Maybe when they catch the asshole you can promote enough cash for some treatment. Anyway, there's nothing we can do about that now, and our first priority is to get you well, and out of here. That means you need food." Chase rolled the bedside table-tray over from where Bootsie had pushed it, then handed him a spoon. "Eat, or I'll tell one of the nurses that you need an enema."

Bootsie giggled faintly. "Make it Antonio on the night shift, and I won't complain."

Chase patted his shoulder. "That's the horny queen I know and love. Now, I know it's a pain being on a soft diet, but you have to till those loose teeth tighten up again."

"Soft," groused Bootsie. He poked at a bowl of luridly green gelatin cubes. They bounced and swayed like rubber. "I'll have to chew those."

"Look at it this way--if you get bored you can play handball with them."

William was in the hall outside Bootsie's room, reaching for the knob, when he heared a wonderful, sweet sound. The two boys inside were giggling together. It made his heart lift. When they finally moved Bootsie to his own room, Chase had refused to leave his friend's bedside. William had reluctantly left Chase there, but only after he was shooed away, Chase telling him that he remembered how tight-ass most offices were about missed days. William had returned several times, though, to offer support during the vigil.

Bootsie had been awake the second time he'd arrived, sitting up in bed, and Chase had introduced him. The young man was groggy with pain meds, but he had exhibited an endearing mixture of shyness and graciousness. He'd extended his hand palm down, wrist relaxed, and William had taken the hint, kissing his hand like a Regency rake. Bootsie hadn't quite twittered, and he'd scolded Chase for not bringing such a 'prime slab of USDA premium beefsteak' to the clubs for proper admiration. William had bowed and told him that when he was released they'd make a night of it. Bootsie's smile had faltered. Hand going unconsciously to his battered face, he'd said he simply couldn't go out in public in such a state. Chase had patted Bootsie's hand, saying firmly that they'd go when he felt better.

William wasn't sure, though. Bootsie's pretty, bittersweet chocolate brown eyes had been bleak. During Bootsie's periods of drugged sleep, William and Chase had spoken in hushed tones, and William felt he knew a little about Bootsie. It wasn't surprising that he'd given Chase as his 'next of kin'. Bootsie was from Jamaica, and had immigrated to the USA when he was eighteen, three years before. He had no contact at all with his family. His father had slapped him around, then thrown him out into the street when Bootsie had finally gotten up the courage to admit that he was homosexual. Oh, there'd been little doubt before, but it had never been spoken of. Bootsie was expected to get married, force himself to father a few children, and lead a life that was heterosexual--at least in public. When Bootsie had refused to become engaged to the girl his father had chosen for him, and had instead come out publically--at the engagement party--his father had gone ballistic and attacked him right in front of the guests.

"He says it was the smartest thing he ever did," Chase had whispered. "But it still hurts. He still sends cards for birthdays and holidays to those shits, and there's never any response--just RETURN TO SENDER. Except last Father's Day..." Chase's eyes narrowed. "I wish I could afford to fly out there and kick his ass personally. Bootsie got back an envelope, and he was so excited. When he opened it up, all there was inside was the card he'd sent, torn in little pieces. I told God thank you for my family after that. I've about decided he's going to be all right physically--but emotionally?" Chase had shaken his head. "I'm worried. Bootsie has always sort of relied on his looks. He's not really vain, he's just insecure, and he doesn't need to be. Looks aside, he's such a beautiful person."

Now William was so glad to hear Bootsie laughing with Chase. *Should have known. That boy could cheer up a professional mourner.* He adjusted his burden, and knocked.

"Oh," said Chase. "That must be the strip-o-gram I ordered. Come on in and take your clothes off."

William entered the room, smiling at them. "You won't get jealous if I do?"

"Not me," said Chase cheerfully. "I'm secure. Besides, I'll be able to gloat as others envy me my gorgeous boyfriend." He got up and went over to give William a kiss. "Oh, flowers!"

William held the pot away from him. "Not for you, greedy." He smiled at Bootsie. "These are for the Caribbean queen."

Bootsie smiled delightedly, enjoying the gentle flirting. He knew that William and Chase were 'together', and he'd never have tried to woo his best friend's man. He also knew that William wasn't serious, but it was so nice to be admired. He was sure that it did him more good than half the medicine they pumped into him. "Let me see, then."

William pushed the food tray over and set the ceramic pot beside it. The pot was a slightly flattened bright green sphere, and it held a profusion of vibrant, butter yellow daffodils. "Roses are cliche, carnations are for moms and sick rooms, orchids are for proms, but I saw these and thought of how good they'd go with your complexion."

Bootsie fanned himself. "How you do go on. You've got yourself a silver-tongued devil, Chase."

"He didn't have to speak," said Chase. "He had me the first time I saw him shift from one foot to the other while he was wearing those tight jeans."

William examined Bootsie's still mostly full tray, and poked Chase. "Kitten, I thought you were going to get him to eat."

Chase rolled his eyes, and Bootsie said, "Kitten? How Father Knows Best."

"Nope. Maybe Daddy knows best. You need to eat some of that. At least eat the pudding--it has milk in it, and it's hard to screw up."

Bootsie had gotten rid of the eye bandage, and now he batted long, curly lashes at William. "Feed me?"

William dipped up some of the chocolate pudding as Chase said dryly, "It's a good thing I trust you both." He went back to his magazine while William coaxed Bootsie into cleaning his plate. Chase had learned a long time ago that an attractive person could sometimes get the best results, and he personally wasn't Bootsie's type.

William was just pushing away the tray when a young woman in a business suit, carrying a thick folder, entered. "Hi!" She looked at Bootsie. "I see you've just finished dinner. Do you feel up to talking to me for a minute or two?"

"I don't think I've seen you before," said Bootsie, hesitant, but friendly. "You're not dressed as a nurse, and I thought I'd seen all my doctors."

"I'm Hannah Rubelan, and I'm going to be your liason."

Bootsie blinked. "Not that I'm not flattered, but you aren't my type."

She smiled. "Not that kind of liason. I'm going to work with you concerning the financial arrangements."

Bootsie's face fell, and Chase immediately tensed, looking as hostile as it was possible for him to get to a total stranger. "Can't this wait for another day or two? He doesn't need any more stress right now."

She came the rest of the way in the room, shutting the door. "Don't worry. This won't take long, and I believe our little discussion is going to cheer you up."

"I don't see how." Bootsie said faintly. "I don't have any insurance, and my savings account is anemic. I don't even have a second hand car for them to seize, and I doubt it would do any good to garnishee my wages--I'm probably fired by now."

"That's not why I'm here, Mister Malloy. I come bearing good news." She opened the folder. "You have no insurance, correct?"

"My employer doesn't offer it, and I darn sure couldn't afford it on what he pays me."

"In such cases you'd usually be billed on your release, and allowed to make a sliding scale payment over a period of time..."

"Even with a discount that would probably take me till I got Social Security."

She studied a sheet of paper. "The expenses do mount up, and you've had to have specialists. There are still a number of days left to your stay as well, and when you factor in the plastic surgery expense..."

Bootsie's voice was raw. "Don't figure on charging me for that. There's no way I'll be able to afford it."

She looked up. "But that's what I came here to tell you. You don't have to worry about paying for it. Mister Malloy, all of your expenses are going to be covered by a patron of the hospital."

Chase and Bootsie gaped. Finally Bootsie squeaked, "Really? You-- No, you wouldn't be teasing me."

"No, I wouldn't."

"Who is it?" asked Chase.

"I'm sorry," said Hannah, "but he chooses to remain anonymous. I can just say that his family has been a generous contributor to this hospital, and he's decided to continue the tradition on another, more personal level."

"But I want to know," said Chase. "I want to bake him cookies."

She laughed. "I'm sure he'd appreciate it, but I have to honor his wishes." She pulled out several sheets of paper. "I'll need to get your signature, showing that you accept the arrangement, and I think that a doctor will be in soon to start talking to you about arranging the corrective surgery. He may want to do it before you're released, to save you a second hospital stay."

"Whatever." Bootsie sounded dazed as he signed the papers.

"Okay." Hannah put the papers back in the folder. "I'll get this in the works right away." She offered her hand, and as they shook, she said, "Mister Malloy, I'd like to say personally that I'm very sorry about what happened to you, and I hope that the hospital will be able to help you get back on your feet again. I also hope that the police catch the monster and string him up by his privates."

She left, and Chase said, "I like her."

Bootsie was looking stunned, but happy. "William, why don't you take that little muffin of yours home and put him to bed before they put him in another bed here for exhaustion?" Chase started to protest, and Bootsie said, "You go home before you drop. Don't worry about me. Some of the kids promised to drop by later, and I feel like taking a nap now." He yawned. "Funny thing--after being unconscious, and even with all the meds they're pumping into me, I feel like I haven't slept for ages."

William and Chase both dropped a kiss on an uninjured patch of Bootsie's forehead and left, turning out the light. Bootsie was already half asleep before the door closed. They took a few steps down the hall, then Chase suddenly turned and hugged William, burying his face against the taller man's shoulder. William thought, *Crap! He must've guessed.*

He relaxed when Chase said, "He hasn't slept, not without enough drugs to knock a Clydesdale flat. It's not worrying--knowing that he's going to be able to get the surgery he needs to look like he did before this horror show." Chase's fingers worked at the leather of William's jacket. "I knew that people like that existed in the world, but I never expected one of them to find Bootsie."

William patted Chase's back. "Whoever it is can use it as a tax write off."

Chase slapped his arm gently as he pulled away. "Don't say that. He did it out of the generous goodness of his heart," he said firmly. "He didn't do it for anything."

"Oh, and you know how this person thinks?"

"Stop being such a cynic. Yes, I believe he was altruistic, but I really don't care if he did it to rack up cosmic brownie points. The fact is--he did it. I hope he does get something out of it."

"I'm pretty sure that he's at least getting warm fuzzies. Now, let's get you home, get something other than hospital food in your belly, give you a hot bath, and put you to bed."

"Excuse me, but did you just say give me a bath, then put me to bed?" He let the tip of his tongue peek out between his teeth.

"If you were a woman, I'd call you a saucy wench."

"Don't let gender stop you, honey."

"Bath--alone. Bed--I wouldn't mind snuggling a little. But you really need to rest and recharge your batteries."

"Pooh."

"Don't talk dirty." He kissed Chase, drawing a few looks--some startled, some amused. "Besides, we've got lots of time ahead of us for that sort of thing. Be patient."

"Okay," said Chase agreeably. "You know how I open packages--I can do patient."

A little over a week after they got the good news at the hospital, Bootsie had moved in with Chase and Mona to recuperate from his surgery. As Chase had assured Bootsie, once the swelling went down it didn't look quite so bad. The surgeon assured Bootsie that once he healed up, no one would ever be able to tell that anything had happened. Mona and Chase alternated looking after Bootsie--Mona nights and Chase days--and they spoiled him rotten. They enjoyed doing it, and Bootsie was very grateful for the pampering.

Chase had gone back to work. He'd spent four days away from work, but he only had one day credited against him (two had been days off, and one was marked down at a sick day). His manager was making noises about it, but Chase just baked him a peach cobbler, and that shut him up. The manager swore lustily enough, though, when the transformer that supplied power to the diner blew, plunging them into darkness. According to the power company they couldn't expect a return of power till early the next morning, so the employees were grudgingly given a paid day off.

Chase was happy about the extra time off. He and Bootsie were waiting for Mona to come home from work, and Chase was trying to tempt Bootsie into a game of Trivial Pursuit. "Oh, no," said Bootsie. "I don't know American pop culture as well as you do, Chase. And you keep kicking my ass on Sports. I can understand the Entertainment, but," he pouted, "fairy boys aren't supposed to be good at sports."

Chase shrugged. "What can I say? Sometimes the sports gene overhelms the queer gene. If you won't let me kick your butt on a board, how about playing a drinking game. Friends is on. We can do shots every time they drink coffee, or talk about sex."

"You kidding me? I just got out of the hospital. I don't want to go back in for alcohol poisoning."

"You can do it with ginger ale."

Bootsie rolled his eyes. "Look, honey, I'm tired, so I'm gonna go to bed early."

"But I'm bored."

"Call that hunk of love called William." He kissed Chase on the cheek, turned, and bumped him with his hip. "Give him those for me." He sashayed into the bedroom he was sharing with Chase.

Chase paced for a few minutes. He considered working on his recipe collection, but he really felt too antsy to sit down. Chase finally decided that, since Mona would be home in less than an hour, it was safe to leave Bootsie alone. He got the phone and dialed William's number. He made a face when he got voice mail. When he got the tone, he said, "Will, it's me. Look, I haven't been out clubbing in a month, and I need to cut loose a little. If you want to join me, I'll be at The Flaming Flamengo. You'll know me--I'll be the one wearing 1950s sorority girl casual."

He hung up and found the laundry that Mona had brought home on her lunch break. He was glad that he'd sent one of his good outfits out to be cleaned--this way he didn't have to disturb Bootsie. He located his white Toreador pants and his single good scoop necked Angora sweater. It was in it's own little plastic bag, so it wouldn't get lavender lint over everything. He finished off the outfit with his white Hushpuppies and a white chiffon scarf knotted around his neck and a sequined fannypack. Then he got two twenties out of the lid of the sugar bowl--the household bank--reminding himself to replace it from his next paycheck.

He figured this would be enough to get a taxi to the club and back, with enough left over for two drinks--if the bartender was still susceptible to flirting. Before he'd met William, he'd never had any problems getting drinks. There was always someone wanting to buy a pretty boy some refreshment, but now... If a friend offered, he's accept, but he just didn't feel right taking drinks from strangers anymore. He considered himself taken, and he was going to be frank about it.

He had called the taxi right after calling William, and it arrived just after he'd finished dressing. He scrawled a note to Mona on the pad by the phone, then taped it to the television screen, where she'd be sure to see it, then he trotted out to the taxi. He was so happy to be going out again that he Ponied a few steps before he got in the cab.

The driver took his destination and drove off, shaking his head a little. The man pulled up as close to the club entrance as he could. When Chase paid him he said, "Hey kid, you meeting friends here?"

"Probably. I don't know who's out." Chase offered a bill.

The driver took it, but as he counted out change, he said, "If you can't get a ride home with one of them, you call again, right?"

Chase cocked an eyebrow. "Promoting return business?"

The man made a dismissive gesture. "I got all I need. It's just that there's some asshole out there huntin' down cute kids like you. You don't need to take a chance."

Chase's expression softened. "Thank you. I'll be careful."

William had been in the shower. He noticed the tiny light flashing on his cell phone when he got out. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he went and checked it. He listened to the message, and his eyes narrowed in irritation and concern. He quickly dialed Chase's number. Mona answered, and before he could speak she said, "Chase, if that's you, you get your narrow ass home! You don't need to be out at the clubs till they catch that..."

"Slow down, Mona. It's me."

"You! And why the fuck aren't you out there with him?"

"I didn't hear the phone ring when he called to ask me, or I would be."

She took a deep breath. "Okay, I'm probably over reacting, but I still think you need to go out there and drag him back--by his pink hair if you have to. The idea of goin' out to one of the very spots that bastard is hunting, and..."

"Shit!"

Distress was clear in William's voice, and Mona felt a little ashamed of frightening him. "Hold on, let's not let our imagination run away with us. Chase is cautious, and he takes care of himself."

"But Mona, he's so fragile."

She snorted. "Fragile? Mister, if he was from the South, Chase would be a steel magnolia."

"Right. And kittens terrorize Dobermans. Where's that club located?"

"I'm not sure. It's not too far away--that's why Chase likes to go there. Somewhere around Polk Square, I think."

"I can get the information. Thanks. I may have to spank that boy sooner than I intended." He hung up and called information.

Mona hung up on her end, shaking her head. "He'll learn."

The crowd was thin at The Flaming Flamengo, but it was lively--as always. There was more room to dance, which was okay with Chase. He was in the middle of Walkin' on Sunshine when he noticed the bartender trying to catch his attention. He wondered if someone had made off with what was left of his Brandy Alexander, but it didn't seem important enough to give up the last few seconds of the dance. He saw the bartender shrug, and speak into the phone he was holding. He flinched, as if the person on the other end had said something either very rude, or very loud, and he once again waved at Chase, calling, "Chase! Phone--now!"

"Rats." He strolled over and took the receiver. "Whoever you are, you're interrupting my terpsichorian display."

The voice on the other end was a growl. "Chase..."

He grimaced. "I don't suppose this is the start of an obscene phonecall."

"You know damn good and well that you're somewhere you shouldn't be."

"Au contrair, mon frere. I'm in my element."

"You should have waited to hear back from me."

"Really?" His voice lowered, and it was both curious and teasing. "Have we reached the stage where I have to check with you before I go out?"

There was a moment, and William finally said, "You know what I mean. I'm worried about you out there with that mugger running around."

"Awww, sweetie. Don't worry. I'm not going to go waltzing off somewhere dark and secluded."

"He's getting more bold, Chase. He grabbed Bootsie within sight and sound of that other club, didn't he? I don't want to risk you."

"I'll take a taxi home--promise."

"How about if instead I come pick you up? I'll take you back home and we can snuggle in front of the television, and I'll listen to you and Mona snark at each other."

Chase laughed. "Oh, all right. Do you know how to get here?"

"I have On Star. I'll be there in twenty minutes."

Chase made a kiss at the mouthpiece. "See you soon, lover."

He hung up and the bartender said sympathetically, "Boyfriend checking up on you?"

Chase nodded, then grinned, "And don't I love it? I'll bring him by some time and you can see why."

Chase said good-bye to the two friends he'd met, turning down their offer to wait with him. "Don't worry. I'm not going to be trotting out into the dark. William is going to pick me up right out front."

The club had an entry way, a phone booth sized passage between the club proper and the sidewalk. At first Chase waited inside, but he soon stepped into the entry way, pacing three steps back and forth, peering through the glass impatiently. He hadn't been able to have William over before Bootsie came home, and since then there'd been no privacy, so he was eager to see William. He'd seen the Thunderbird, and he was kind of hoping he could talk William into parking somewhere and giving the back seat a workout.

There weren't too many streetlamps on this street. There was a light over the club's entrance, but there were long stretches of darkness between it and the first street lights. As he stepped closer to the glass, a black-and-white patrol car cruised up, pulling close to the curb.

A policeman leaned out the driver's side window, studying the club front. He made eye contact with Chase. Chase kept his expression neutral till the man gave him a friendly smile, then he returned it, twiddling his fingers in greeting. The policeman crooked a finger at him. Chase glanced quickly up the street in each direction, then went out and approached the car. "Hi."

"Hey," said the policeman. "You need an escort to the bus stop?"

"No, thank you. I'm waiting for my friend."

"That's good. You know why you shouldn't be wandering around out here alone?"

Chase sobered. "Yes, sir. My friend Bootsie was the last one he got."

"No, he wasn't, son. I'm sorry to say that he attacked another one tonight about six blocks from here. This one didn't make it--DOS."

Chase gasped, then asked, "DOS?"

"Dead on the scene. The paramedics didn't even have a chance to try to help him."

"That's horrible!"

"Yeah. We're doing what we can, but we can't be everywhere, so you be careful, okay?"

"Will do. I'm not even going to wait on the sidewalk."

"Good boy." The officer saluted him, then pulled away slowly.

Chase stood and waved till they turned a corner, then he stepped back into the entry. Learning about that other poor victim had killed all his pleasure, and now he just wanted to see William and go home. He was even willing to take a scolding, which was a good thing, because even if William didn't tear him a new one, Mona damn sure would.

He paced for another couple of minutes. A mixed couple (a boy and what at least looked like a girl, came in, nodding to him cordially in passing. When they opened the door to the club, cool air and hot music washed over Chase, and he couldn't help twitching his hips a little to the beat.

He was just completing his dance move when another man walked slowly past the entrance. A moment later he passed again, coming from the other direction, peering in the door. Chase bit his lip to keep from smiling. *Must be someone who isn't quite sure of himself yet. I know how nervous I was the first time I went into a gay bar.* The man had been pretty non-descript: just an average looking guy in clothes that were a little better than every day, but not quite 'good'. He came back, pausing in front of the club, looking in, with an undecided look on his face. Chase gave him a smile. *Come on in, sugar. No one here will bite you, and it's a damn sight safer than out there tonight.*

Seeming to make up his mind, the man opened the door and stepped into the entry. He didn't pass straight through. After glancing behind Chase at the club interior, he looked at him and said, "Hello, fairy."

Chase's smile faded. He and his friends used that term, but only among themselves, and always with affection. It was something like the way Mona and Duke teased each other sometimes, using the term 'nigger'. Chase had been horrified at first, till Mona had explained that by using it themselves, they took away some of the power of the word to sting. Some--not all. In any case, Chase definitely did not like this man's tone, so he snapped back. "Hello, troll. What are you doing away from your bridge?"

The man's expression turned ugly. "Smart mouthed faggot."

*Not good,* Chase thought, suddenly tense. *He came into what is obviously a gay bar, just to confront me? Not good at all.* "You'd better go. This isn't your sort of place."

"But it IS your sort." His gaze raked over Chase, contemptuous and hostile. "That's pretty obvious. It ain't enough you've got to be perverted--you can't even do it in privacy, you have to flaunt it in public."

"You haven't seen me flaunt. You'd better leave." Chase turned to go into the club, intent on getting the bartender to call the police and have this man ejected, if not arrested.

He didn't even get the door open. A strong arm was looped around his throat, and he was suddenly being dragged back, out onto the street. Due to fire regulations the door opened outward, and his assailant didn't even have to pause to open it, just bulling it open with his shoulder. Chase grabbed at the door frame, screaming, "Help! Killer, killer!" Because there was no doubt in his mind as to who this was. The policeman had said that the man's violence was escalating, and he'd apparently decided that one victim a night wasn't enough.

Chase continued to scream, but the music inside was loud, and the crowd tended to drift toward the back of the bar. It was by no means certain that anyone would hear him. He knew he had to hang on and hope someone came, because if he allowed this maniac to drag him off into the dark... Well, it was likely that the next time his mother saw him it would be in a box, and he wasn't going to let that happen if he could help it.

Then the 'girl' from the couple who'd just entered passed across his line of vision. She spotted him, and her eyes flew wide in shock. She pointed like that last scene with Donald Sutherland in Invasion of the Body Snatchers and let loose a scream that would have cut through concrete, never mind a thin pane of glass. Even as she screamed she was scrabbling a cell phone out of her purse, and Chase encouraged her, changing his yell to, "Nine-one-one! Nine-one-one!"

The man was still swearing and tugging at him, and this scared Chase more than the initial attack. He should be running by now. If he was crazy enough to continue an assault when he had to know he'd been spotted... Chase clung like grim death to the door frame. The man was cursing and ordering him to let go, and finally he used his free hand to grab at Chase's right wrist, in an attempt to pry him loose.

It was all Chase had been hoping for.

William passed a police car as he headed toward The Flaming Flamingo. It made him a little calmer to see a police presence. It was good to know that they were taking the threat seriously. His cell phone buzzed, and he put it on the car speaker. "Yeah?"

"Will, it's Mona. You hurry up and get that baby. The news just said that asshole killed someone tonight, and it was right in the neighborhood Chase was heading for."

"Son of a bitch! I'm almost there, Mona. I'll call you back as soon as I have him." He hung up and stepped on the gas.

His tires squealed, and the police car made a quick U turn and followed him, lights starting to flash. William considered pulling over, but he was within three blocks of the club. He decided he'd risk irritating them in favor of getting to the club as quickly as possible.

When he was within two blocks, he realized that something was wrong. The club was easy to recognize--a big pink neon flamingo graced the front--and the sidewalk right in front of the entrance was well lighted. That's why the couple struggling at the door seemed to almost be in a spotlight. William got a glimpse of white, lavender, and pale pink hair on the smaller figure--the one in a choke hold. He didn't even waste breath swearing. The police had only thought he was speeding before.

His tires screamed like banshees.

Chase scrabbled at the hand that was trying to pry him loose from the door frame. He managed to wrap his fist around the man's pinky finger. Then he jerked back, hard and fast, with all his strength. There was a crack as the finger bent back at an unnatural angle, almost ending up flat against the back of the man's hand. He screamed even louder than Chase had, his grip on Chase's neck loosening with shock and pain.

Chase then grabbed the man's forearm and managed to drag it a couple of inches away from his windpipe. The man was wearing short sleeves, and Chase sank his teeth deep into the man's forearm. He didn't stop till the man screamed again and grabbed at his hair. The pain in his arm had momentarily made him forget the broken finger, but trying to grip something reminded the mugger. Chase kept hold of the man's arm, but now it was as much to hold him in place as it was to keep from being choked.

He could see people in the bar hurrying toward him, and it was possible that he might have been able to get away and get inside. But he was caught up in the adrenaline rush, and the image of Bootsie's battered face flashed into him mind. "No more!" he screamed. He lifted his right leg, bringing the knee up sharply, level with his waist, then kicked down and back like a Missouri mule. The hard heel of his Hushpuppy raked down the man's shin, ripping skin even through his pants, bruising the shin, and landed on his instep. Bones crunched, and the man had something new to scream about. Then Chase did it again, catching his toes this time.

Now the man was holding on to him more for support than through aggression, but Chase wasn't quite finished. He didn't want there to be any chance of this bastard escaping. He shoved his left leg back between the man's legs and bent at the waist, reaching back. The man let go instinctively. Chase caught hold of the man's pants leg and jerked--hard. The man tumbled backward in a pratfall that would have been funny in a silent ocmedy. The comdedic effect was rather ruined by the hard sound his head made when it met the pavement.

Chase locked his hands around the man's ankle, determined to hold him in place (even though he wasn't moving). He looked up to find a small crowd just on the other side of the door, watching him in astonishment. "Well, don't just stand there! Someone call..." That was when he became away of the approaching lights and sirens. "Never mind."

But the police car didn't arrive first. Instead William's Thunderbird slid to a halt in front of the club, stopping half across both lanes. William piled out of the driver's side and raced toward him, white faced. Chase started talking as soon as he saw him, "I'malrightI'malrightI'malrightdon'tkillhim!"

William, teeth bared and eyes feral, had been drawing back his foot, aiming for the moaning man's head. He stopped and looked at Chase, eyes wild. "You're not going to give me that crap movie argument about how it'll make me like him, are you?"

"That would be stupid." He smiled. "But just imagine how much fun he'll have in prison when the gay brothers find out what he's in for, and the straight homophobes find out who beat him to the ground."

The police wondered why the two men were laughing when they arrived.

"Of all the crack-brained inconsiderate, reckless stunts..."

"Yes, Mona." Chase's voice was meek.

"Walking right into a place you knew wasn't safe, all by yourself..."

"Yes, Mona."

"Scaring me half to death, almost getting yourself killed. Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

"Yes, Mona."

"What?"

"I mean no, Mona. Look, we've established that this was monumental bad judgement on my part. Why keep rehashing my bad choices?"

"Because it doesn't seem to have sunk into your cotton candy covered thick skull!" She threw up her hands. "I give up! William--talk to this boy. Spank his ass! I'm going to go make him cocoa." She left for the kitchen.

William muttered, "I will not laugh, I will not laugh." He raised his voice. "I'm surprised she was so gentle about it."

"Actually, that's pretty much as my Mom would have reacted, except Mom would have smacked me to get the point across..." Mona was coming back from the kitchen. She swatted him smartly on the back of the head. "Ow!" He rubbed the offended spot. "Gah, Mona, I've already had one person trying to beat me tonight."

"That was just to get your attention, fruitcake." She suddenly hugged him fiercely, then went back to the kitchen again.

"Yup," said Chase. "Exactly Mom's sort of reaction."

He was sitting on the living room sofa, cuddled up under William's sheltering arm. William had latched onto him as soon as the police got the mugger under control, and he hadn't wanted to let go. He'd only done so on the way home because he couldn't drive with Chase on his lap.

When they got back to the apartment he let go of him long enough to let Mona and Bootsie hug him and make an initial fuss over him. Bootsie was wrapped in a fluffy orange chenille robe that was so big it swallowed him, almost dragging on the floor (it was Mona's--one from Chase would have nearly fit him). Bootsie grabbed Chase's ears and kissed him, then hugged him and cried. "O pouco doce. Meu irmao pequeno bravo."

The paramedics had checked Chase out, after having sent the mugger ahead to the emergency room. He was in a lot worse shape than Chase. He had at least one obviously broken bone, a bloody set of teeth prints on his arm, and he'd only just regained consciousness. He'd come awake swearing and fighting, threatening to 'slaughter that fag bastard!', so when he was strapped on the stretcher he was handcuffed, and his arms were strapped down.

The only reason that William was dissuaded from having Chase taken to the emergency room was the whispered conference with one of the EMTs, who assured him that the boy would be all right, though he might get a check up in the next day or so, and did William really want Chase in the same emergency room as that jerk? The man didn't seem ready to quiet down, and Chase would be able to hear the vicious obscenities.

William hovered while the paramedic checked Chase over, then stood beside while Chase described what had happened to the arresting officer. Chase's adrenaline had finally run out, leaving him shaky. William had insisted that the officer (who was the one who'd cautioned Chase when he arrived at the club) let Chase sit in the Thunderbird while he gave his statement.

It didn't take long. Chase agreed to come in the next day to give a more detailed account, but now all they needed to know was that the man had, without provocation, attacked him. A small crowd of people had witnessed most of the attack, and there was absolutely no doubt that Chase had simply been defending himself. They were taking turns giving their accounts to the second officer, jostling each other in their eagerness to speak.

Two vans pulled up nearby, and several people piled out, including a well dressed and coiffed man from one, and a similar woman from the other, and a man toting video equipment from both. They both hurried over to the group before the club, pulling aside people on the fringe to speak to them.

"It was him, wasn't it?" said Chase. "The man who's been hunting gays?"

"It's not official--we'll have to see if the other victims can identify him--but I can hardly doubt that he's the one," said the officer. He closed his notebook and tapped it with his pen. "That was the neatest citizen's arrest I've ever heard of." He smiled. "Funny. You don't look like Chuck Norris."

Chase pushed a wisp of rosy hair back behind his ear. "Thanks go to my Uncle Mortimer." He noticed the officer's lips twitching. "I'm not making that up. I do occasionally embellish my personal history, but I could never have made up Uncle Mortimer. Great-uncle Jonathan and Great-aunt Lilah had been seeing a showing of Arsenic and Old Lace when she went into labor. Anyway, Uncle Mortimer was a career Marine drill instructor. He told me that if I was going to grow up gay in a rural redneck county--if I wanted to grow up, I'd damn sure better know how to take care of myself. I didn't get really sissy till I left home, but it didn't take much to set off some of the mouth breathers I grew up with. Reading something other than Playboy or Popular Mechanic could do it."

Over on the sidewalk one of the club patrons who was speaking to a newscaster pointed toward Chase, then gestured vigorously, as if demonstrating. According to the gestures, it looked like Chase had defeated the man with martial arts worthy of Jackie Chan. The woman he'd been speaking to took a tighter grip on her microphone and started toward the car, her crew on her heels.

"Okay, you can go on home, and get some rest," said the officer. "There's no hurry getting in tomorrow--he's not likely to go anywhere for a long, long time. They won't be able to arrane him till a day or so after he's released from the hospital, and if they set bail it'll be through the roof, with the uproar that the community has been making. If he's smart, he'll tell his lawyer to try to cut a deal for him."

As the officer turned around, the reporter moved up quickly beside him. A bright light fell on Chase's face, making him blink, and a microphone was thrust into his face. "Sir, is it true that you captured The Marauder?"

Chase gaped at her. "You people gave him a name?"

"The man who's been assaulting members of the gay community. We've heard that he tried to attack you, and you subdued him."

"I really don't think I should comment. Defense lawyers can get very creative, and I don't want to jeapordize the case."

William, from the driver's seat, growled, "Buckle up." He raised his voice. "Anyone who doesn't want flat toes better move!" He started the engine.

The newsgroup had enough sense to get out of the way, but the reporter had to take one final shot. Holding out the microphone toward Chase she called, "Do you want to say anything?"

"Sure," said Chase cheerfully. He threw his arms out toward the camera and carrolled, "Hello, everybody! This is Mrs. Norman Maine!"