"Look, I'm a feet on the ground kind of guy. Rules, logic, problem-solving - that's my world. And I'm good at it. Damn good. But outside of that, my life's kind of a mess."

When he said it, she could see the face of an older man - graying at the temples, distinguished. For a split second, she thought it might be Agent Dean's father, but the follow-up images proved that wrong - Dean and the older man on a bed, Dean moaning and panting, his face buried in the pillow as the other man's hips moved in an unmistakable rhythm. Ash...his name was Ash, and...

Freya forcibly pulled herself out of his head. His personal life - messed up or not - wasn't any of her business. She had no right to know. All she needed to know was that his apology and sympathy were both sincere, and that he really did want a second chance for their working relationship to succeed.

That'd been almost two years ago, and Freya still didn't know much more about Brendan's private life. She really did try to stay out of his head, except when it was necessary for a case. Even then, she asked permission whenever she could.

Brendan was good about sharing his eidetic memory with her - it made them doubly effective in the field, and they were getting a reputation as a top-tier team, which meant that they usually got the highest-profile cases.

Not today.

"What?" she asked Brendan.

"Dolphins," Brendan said, helpfully thinking a picture of Flipper at her. "We're investigating dolphins. We are the Fish Police." At her quizzical look, he shot her another picture, this one of cartoon fish. She didn't get the reference.

"Dolphins," she said slowly.

Brendan sighed and got up from his chair, pulling on his suit coat. "A cell of the Kamar terrorist network is using a code that someone in cryptology seems to think is based on the sounds that dolphins make. Get your coat; we're going to the aquarium."

"Can we stop on the way for a tuna sandwich?" she asked brightly, and grinned when Brendan let out the obnoxious, braying laugh that meant he was really amused. He didn't smile or laugh nearly enough.

Fish, Brendan thought. My life is reduced to fish. Okay, so he had been getting spoiled with all the plum assignments...he had Freya to thank for that. As weird as the whole mind-reading thing was, she was a really good partner. The best. His mind flashed to Ash again - god, he couldn't keep the guy out of his head lately. One casual mention by a sometime friend and Brendan was wallowing. Wallowing more than usual.

"I ran into Ash Jacobs last week," Donovan had said. "He's second-in-command in Phoenix now - moving on up. You guys ever talk anymore?"

"Not really," Brendan had said, clenching his jaw so hard it hurt. The more accurate answer to the question would have been "not likely" or "not in a million, billion fucking years."

Ash. A name Brendan never wanted to hear again. God, Ash had been his whole goddamn life for two and a half years - Ash and work, the two inextricably linked - and that had gotten him exactly nothing. He glanced over at Freya, who was looking out the window. Okay, so Ash had been the impetus for his transfer to New York, and the transfer had put him in the right place to meet Freya, but he'd be damned if he'd credit that to Ash. Royally fucking him over - and, if he was being honest, breaking his heart - wasn't going to win Ash any gratitude points.

As he pulled into the underground parking deck, he shook it off. "We're seeing Dr. Monica Allen of the Osborn Laboratories of Marine Sciences. She's the dolphin lady."

"Okay," Freya said, taking off her seatbelt. "But promise me we can get lunch after. I'm starving."

"How about sushi?" Brendan said.

They showed their credentials at the entrance of the lab facility and were directed to follow the signs to the Marine Mammal Cognitive and Behavioral Research Laboratory. They went through a pair of double doors into a large open area with a pool in the center. Offices opened off the back wall, and there were two people and six dolphins in the pool. A young man carrying a bucket of fish in each hand walked up to them.

"Can I help you?"

Brendan took out his credentials. "I'm Agent Brendan Dean with the NSA, and this is Freya McAllister. We need to see Dr. Allen."

Freya could hear the guy's thoughts: NSA? Is Dr. Allen in trouble? Is being a bitch a arrestable offence now? Freya choked back a laugh and tried to look innocent when Brendan glanced at her.

"Dr. Allen is in the pool," the man said. "Come with me."

They walked to the edge of the pool, and the man sat the buckets down. As soon as they hit the ground, one of the dolphins swam rapidly toward them and flung itself up onto the side of the pool, curling its tail high and chittering.

"Bullet, you pig," their guide said, reaching out to pat the dolphin on the head. He turned to Freya and Brendan, who had stepped back to avoid getting splashed. "You can come closer - he's friendly."

They moved forward, and Brendan held out a hand. The dolphin - Bullet - nudged it with his nose, and Freya had to smile at the bolt of pure joy that went through Brendan. "He likes you," she said.

He turned his head sharply toward her. "Can you...?"

"No," she said, laughing. "He just does - look at him." The dolphin was pushing his nose into Brendan's palm like an eager puppy.

Brendan moved closer and rubbed his thumb against Bullet's snout. "Rubbery," he said. All their heads jerked up at the sharp bleat of a whistle, and Bullet slid back into the pool, splashing water onto the bottom of Brendan's pants. "Hey!" he said. "I thought he liked me."

"Sorry," came another voice. "Ted, get that fish over to the table. I can't work with Bullet if he's over there begging. You know better than that."

Ted smiled, but Freya could clearly hear him think, cunt at the woman in the pool who'd just swum up to the ladder. "Dr. Allen," he said out loud. "These nice agents from the National Security Agency would like to speak to you."

Freya turned her attention to the wet-suited figure climbing out of the water. The woman was petite and curvy; her wet hair would probably dry blonde. Blue eyes raked over Freya and lingered on Brendan, but he only gave her that quick, appraising look that Freya knew so well - the one that gave him an indelible picture of a person in a single sweeping glance.

"Monica Allen," she said, holding out a hand. Brendan shook it and introduced both of them.

"Is there somewhere private we could talk, Dr. Allen?" Brendan asked.

"Call me Monica," she said warmly, and Freya couldn't resist a quick peek at her thoughts. Mmmm, hot. Probably less of an ass than Emmett...everybody's less of an ass than Emmett, though. God, he's pretty. Freya wondered briefly who Emmett was.

Monica grabbed a towel and squeezed water out of her hair. She led them to a medium-sized office and excused herself before ducking into an attached bathroom. She came back in a tee shirt and track pants - the wet top of her bikini showing through the thin cotton. Wrong team, Freya though, a little meanly.

"Okay," Monica said. "What does the NSA want with me?" She sat behind her desk and motioned Brendan and Freya to sit.

"First," Freya said, reaching into her bag and pulling out a small sheaf of papers. "We have to ask you to sign a confidentiality agreement. This is a matter of national security."

Monica looked taken aback, but she took the papers and skimmed them before signing the last page and handing them back. "So, what's this about?" she asked.

"Dolphin sounds," Brendan said, reaching into his breast pocket for a digital recorder. "We need to know if they mean anything. We know you're working on dolphin cognition and language here."

"Well," Monica said ruefully. "'Language' may be overstating it. I mean, we know they communicate among themselves, but we haven't had any luck deciphering it. They don't come with a handy Rosetta Stone."

"That's okay," Brendan said with a professional smile. "We're just trying to put some pieces together, gather information. Will you listen to this and tell us what you hear?"

"Sure," Monica said. "Anything for national security."

Freya could hear Brendan's mental eyeroll at her emphasis of "anything." It was good to know he wasn't falling for it.

Brendan pushed a button on the recorder, and the snaps and clicks of dolphin chatter filled the room. Monica tilted her head attentively.

The door to the office swung open. "Hey," a man said, stepping into the room. "Fish-boy said you were in here...and why are you listening to dolphin and frog noises with Mulder and Scully?"

Brendan snapped the recorder off and turned to glare at the guy. "Do you mind?" he snapped. "We're trying to have a private meeting here...and did you say frogs?"

"Yeah," the man said, looking them both over. "And, seriously, unclench. You're gonna strain something."

Freya smothered a giggle. She stood up and extended her hand. "I'm Freya McAllister and this is Agent Brendan Dean, National Security Agency."

He shook her hand. "Emmett Carter, and I was actually kidding about the Mulder and Scully thing."

Freya watched as Brendan and Emmett exchanged manly handshakes, and she noticed that Brendan's appraising stare lingered a fraction longer on Emmett than it had on Monica.

Monica's voice cut through the silence. "Emmett, what are you doing here?"

Emmett sighed. "We're supposed to have lunch, Monica."

"Can't," she snapped. "I'm behind on my work with Bullet." And I don't want to, Freya heard. Wow, she thought, Fish Boy was right; what a cunt.

Emmett raised an eyebrow at her. "So, dinner at home?"

She shrugged. Emmett leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. He was broadcasting annoyance; Freya didn't even have to look into his head to see that.

Freya turned to Monica. "Can you tell us anything about the sounds on the tape?"

"Just that it's definitely dolphin noises, and frogs, I guess. There's not really much else to tell."

Brendan slipped the recorder into his pocket. "Okay, then," he said. "Thank you for your time, Dr. Allen. We appreciate it." He shook her hand and turned toward the door while Freya did the same. As he reached Emmett, Brendan hesitated. "Is there anything significant about the frog noises?"

Emmett frowned. "Well, there were at least two different types, and I could hear several other animal noises on there."

Brendan smiled. "Would you mind listening to it some more and seeing what you can hear?"

"Sure," Emmett said. "I'm free for lunch."

"Cool," Brendan said, steering Emmett out the door by his elbow. "How do you feel about sushi?"

Freya could almost hear Monica grinding her teeth.

Emmett ate sushi like it was going to swim away. Which was a good thing, because so did Brendan. Freya nibbled at her octopus salad and watched in horrified fascination as the two men stuffed nigiri into their faces.

"Okay," Emmett said, pushing back from the table finally. "What do you want me to listen to?"

Brendan pulled out the recorder, and Freya laid a hand on his arm. "Confidentiality agreement," she said, turning to rummage in her bag.

Fuck, Brendan thought, and he could feel his face flush. He'd almost given this guy an earful - again - without the proper protections in place. Just because Emmett was good-looking and pretty much exactly his type and even liked the same sushi he did didn't mean he could fall down on the job. Way to lose your objectivity, B.

Freya handed over the papers and Emmett signed. Brendan plugged a pair of earphones into the recorder and handed it to Emmett, who listened quietly for a minute.

"Okay," he said, pulling the earbuds out. "Dolphins, frogs, and maybe some sort of weird birds. I don't think it matters, though." He handed the recorder back to Brendan. "Someone's using this as a code. It's recorded on at least four separate tracks, too. I don't know if that's important. Anyway, you'd need to know their key to break the code."

"Maybe not," Brendan said. "We have people that break codes for a living."

"Cool," Emmett said. "Can I keep the tape? Maybe listen to it later and see if I can pick anything else up?"

"Sure," Brendan said. He popped the tape out and handed it over before tucking the recorder back into his pocket. "We have other copies at the office."

"What do you do for a living?" Freya asked Emmett.

"I work with snakes," he said.

"Do you mean your co-workers are kind of sleazy, or actual snakes?" Brendan gave Emmett a lazy half-smile.

"I'm a herpetologist, but I specialize in ophiology - the study of snakes."

"Ew," Freya said.

"Hey," Emmett said. "Snakes are awesome."

"One of my college roommates had a Columbian boa. It was pretty cool," Brendan chimed it. "We used to wear it around the house," he said, just to creep Freya out.

"I have a pet boa." Emmett sounded wistful. "She's on loan to the San Diego Zoo."

"Why does the San Diego Zoo need a pet boa?" Brendan figured there were bigger and better things for a top zoo to display.

Emmett laughed, and Brendan noticed how blue his eyes were, the way his mouth quirked when he laughed. No, he told himself. Not again. Emmett had a girlfriend. He wasn't that guy anymore.

"Betty's kind of special," Emmett said. "Scarlet Queen boa, biggest in captivity. They're one of the largest snakes in existence."

"Please don't take this the wrong way," Freya said. "But, how big is your snake?"

"Big enough," Emmett said quickly, and he and Brendan laughed hard at the shocked look on Freya's face. "No, seriously. She's seventy feet long."

"That's your...pet?" Freya asked weakly.

Emmett nodded.

"Cool," Brendan said.

Back in the car, Freya thought about Brendan's reactions to Emmett. They'd both seemed reluctant to end lunch, but she and Brendan had needed to leave for a meeting. Brendan had given Emmett his card, asking him to call if he discovered anything new on the tape.

"I liked him," Freya said. "He was nice."

"What about Monica?" Brendan asked, smirking.

"Her, not so much. They do seem an odd couple."

Brendan made a noncommittal noise.

"What about you," Freya teased. "Did you like Monica?"

Brendan glanced at her. "She was all right, I guess. Kinda bitchy, though."

"Yeah," Freya agreed. "He could do better."

Brendan made the same noise again. "Hey," he said. "What are you doing after the meeting?"

"I'm leaving on time tonight," she said. "I have a date."

"Bill?" Brendan asked, perking up. He lived to tease her about her romantic life since she'd started dating about six months ago. "Isn't this the third date?" He thought porn-soundtrack music at her.

"Dammit, Brendan!" She smacked him lightly on the arm. "If you earworm me with 'bow-chicka-bow-wow' I will kill you in your sleep on our next stakeout."

"Okay, okay," he said, and changed the music to the wedding march. "Getting pretty serious?"

She smacked him again, and he quit with the music. "It's fine," she said. "I don't want to get too serious, but I like Bill."

"Does he like you?" Brendan asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

"I don't go into his head, Brendan. It wouldn't be fair."

"You go into my head all the time," he whined.

"Not for personal stuff," she said, cringing a little bit at the not-totally-true statement. "If I did, I'd know why you never date."

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Too much work, not enough time."

"And that's bullshit," she said mildly. "You just don't want to."

He was quiet for a while, his bottom lip stuck out in what she thought of as his 'thinking face.'

"I...I had a bad breakup a couple of years ago," he finally said. "I don't know if I want to try again."

"Did you love her?"

"Him, Freya. Come on, you've got to know I'm gay. If I wasn't, I'd have asked your sister out." He cut his eyes at her and smiled. "As many times as you've read my mind, it had to come up."

She nodded. "Okay, so I knew. But you didn't answer my question."

Brendan sighed. "Yeah, I did. I loved him. And he didn't love me and it didn't work out and I'm emotionally scarred for life, doomed to be a lonely workaholic and die alone, surrounded by my own filth."

"You're an anal-retentive neat freak, Brendan," Freya said. "There won't be any filth."

"Fine," he said. "Alone and surrounded by perfectly aligned magazines and an alphabetized DVD collection."

"By title or genre?"

"Both," he admitted. "Cross-referenced."

"There is something so wrong with you.”

Brendan waved at Freya as she left, purposely giving her a big shit-eating grin. She flipped him off through the glass wall. He finished his report on the animal noises and caught up on his paperwork. Then he sat at his desk and made a little man and a little dog out of paperclips before he admitted to himself that he really, really didn't want to go home.

He went anyway.

The train was mostly empty, and he made it to his building in Spanish Harlem just before 9:00. Mrs. Rodriguez and Mrs. Tomero were sitting on the stoop, watching a gaggle of bright-eyed, black-haired kids play on the sidewalk in the puddle of golden light thrown by the streetlamps. Most of the neighborhood badasses knew that Brendan and three cops lived in the building, so the lights mostly stayed unbroken and the doors untagged.

The ladies wished him a good evening, calling him "Officer Brendan" - no amount of gentle correction would convince them that his actual title was "Agent," and it seemed picky to keep at it. Besides, they considered him to be something on the order of extended family, and they brought him tamales sometimes.

His apartment was on the third floor in the back. He had a view of the building across the alley and an anemic tree. His place was small but ruthlessly clean and organized - he hadn't been joking about the DVDs. He hung his coat in the hall closet and went to the bedroom to change, meticulously hanging up his suit and tie and placing his shoes precisely on the floor of his closet.

Brendan padded to the kitchen in his boxers, tee shirt and dress socks, opening the fridge to find the usual - beer, condiments and takeout leftovers. Tuesday's sesame noodles still smelled okay, so he stuck a fork into the carton and ate standing up at the counter. Then he washed the fork and threw the carton away. He walked to the bathroom and stripped, putting his clothes into the hamper. He thought for a second, then took a sock back out and threw it on the floor. He turned the water on in the shower, before pulling back the curtain to get in; with one foot in the tub, he turned around, got back out, picked up the sock and put it in the hamper.

The shower was quick - the pipes in the building were iffy, and a cold-water wash was not what he needed. Within five minutes, he was on the mat, drying off. He hung up his towel and went into the bedroom, falling damp and naked on top of the covers. Brendan put one hand on his belly and slid it down, and his cock twitched and began to harden. Damn thing was like Pavlov's dog, and this was a standing routine of two years. He worked, he came home, ate a crappy dinner, showered, jerked off and went to sleep. Then it started all over in the morning.

Brendan wrapped one hand around his cock and started stroking, long and slow - the way he liked to start. His mind was still racing, flicking through pictures, looking for the image that would do the trick. Predictably, more than half the pictures were of Ash: Ash in the car, pulling Brendan's head down into his lap. Ash behind him, pounding into his ass. Ash screwing three fingers into him and jerking him off at the same time. Ash. It was always goddamn Ash. Sex with Ash had been great - incendiary even, and they'd worked together seamlessly. If he didn't know what the real thing was like, he'd have sworn they could read each others' minds.

But Ash never stayed the night, they never woke up together in the morning. Ash didn't stay; he was the king of the fuck and run. Brendan knew why - he'd seen the wedding picture on Ash's desk the day they met. And to his immense shame, he hadn't cared. He'd started fucking Ash the minute the opportunity arose; fulfilled every stereotype of the "other woman," even going so far as to daydream about Ash leaving Sarah for him.

As much as Brendan had played his role, Ash had played his own. He'd told Brendan that Sarah didn't understand him, that she couldn't understand his needs, his work. And, of course, Brendan could. Because they were partners - together all day and comfortable with each other in a way that couldn't be described. Brendan still couldn't believe that he'd gotten involved with his partner. He couldn't believe he'd fallen in love with his married partner and allowed himself to be Ash's dirty little secret for over two years. Granted, he'd been so fucking young - just twenty-four and brand new to the Bureau when they'd started - but it wasn't any kind of excuse.

He should have broken it off as soon as it started - chalked it up to lack of sleep and crazy adrenalin, but he hadn't, and he'd been just as complicit as Ash all the way. He'd let it go on for as long as Ash wanted it to, until Ash sat in his car and looked him in the eye and told him that there was talk of a promotion, and that he couldn't throw his career away just because Brendan was a good partner and good fuck.

A good fuck.

Brendan had requested a transfer the next morning.

Brendan opened his eyes and looked down at his dick, now limp in his hand. He sighed and rolled his head to try and release some of the tension in his shoulders - it didn't work. He eeled his way under the covers and turned out the light. Rolling onto his stomach and tucking his hands under the pillow, he counted his own breaths before falling into a fitful sleep.

The next couple of days were quiet. Too quiet as far as Freya was concerned. The office was slow, and Brendan was mopey and uncommunicative. He didn't even crack a smile when she brought him a doughnut.

"What's wrong, Bren?" she said, sliding the plate toward him.

"Don't call me that," he snapped, pushing it back.

"Sorry," she said in a small voice. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"No," he said sharply, and then more quietly. "No. I'll get over it."

"You've been really cranky. Terri said you scared her yesterday when you yelled at her." Freya reached out and touched his shoulder, surprised when he leaned into the contact for a second before pulling away.

"I already apologized," Brendan said. "Why don't you take her the doughnut and tell her it's from me?" He turned puppy-dog eyes on her.

"No," she said.

They were interrupted by Harper waving at them from the doorway to the bullpen. "Dean, Freya - I need you to go down to the courthouse and interview a suspect."

Freya sighed, and Brendan stood to shrug into his jacket. He picked up the doughnut and broke it in half, handing one half to Freya and shoving the other into his mouth.

They spent an hour and a half with the mid-level drug dealer. When they left, Freya knew the names of his contacts, the addresses and times of two shipments, and that the suspect wondered what it would be like to have a threesome with her and Brendan. Ew. She called Harper to report their findings on the way to the car.

As soon as she hung up, Brendan's phone rang.

"Dean," he said into it, and then he stopped walking.

Freya peeked.

Emmett. A flash of blue eyes and a crooked grin, strong fingers wrapped around a set of chopsticks. Want him. Emmett laughing, his head thrown back, his wavy hair brushing below his collar. That neck. Could kiss it; bite it. I bet he makes good noises.

"Uh huh," Brendan said into the phone. "That's great. Can I get that from you this afternoon or tomorrow? It might help us out."

Want to see him. No. NO. Stop it, B - you're not that guy. Not anymore.

"Not necessary," Brendan said. "I'll come pick it up. No, just tell me the address - I've got a good memory."

Not that guy. Not that guy. Forget it. Forget him.

"Okay, I'll come by after 4:30. See you then."

Just business. Pick it up, get out. Don't make it any more than it is. Thank god Freya will be there.

Brendan pocketed his phone. "That was Emmett Carter. He's isolated the different animal sounds and charted some of them out. He thinks it might be useful to the crypto guys."

"That's nice," Freya said mildly, still wondering what the hell was going on with Brendan. Why "not that guy?" What guy? What mistake was he so intent on not repeating? "But if you're going this afternoon, you're going alone. I have to see Dr. Welles at 4:00."

"No, you can't!" Brendan said, sounding genuinely upset. "I need you with me on this."

"Brendan," she said patiently. "It's a simple pick-up. I think you can handle it."

He sighed and turned away. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Brendan dropped Freya back at the office after pouting for the entire trip. He was man enough to admit that he was pouting. He dreaded going to see Emmett, almost as much as he was looking forward to it. Dammit.

Forget it, he admonished himself. He's got a girlfriend. He's not available. Make it quick, make it impersonal. Get in, get the info, get your ass back in the car and get back to the office. Boom, boom, boom. He had to laugh just a little when he realized he was giving himself the same sort of internal pep talk he used before a takedown. Freya was right: there was something so wrong with him.

He found street parking a block away from Emmett's building - a pretty nice address. He guessed snake-handling paid well. No doorman, so he took the stairs to the fourth floor, happy that he wasn't breathing too hard as he came out of the stairwell. He located apartment C with no trouble, but hesitated before knocking on the door.

Do it, he told himself, and reached out to knock.

After a minute, Emmett answered. He looked good - casual in faded cargo pants and a plain tee shirt. Brendan looked down and noticed that Emmett's feet were bare.

"Hey," Emmett said, motioning him inside.

The apartment was pretty, done in light tones with several large statues situated in corners.

"Nice place," Brendan said.

Emmett held a hand out for his coat. "It belongs to a friend of Monica's - she's subletting. Her friend is a sculptor."

"Cool," Brendan said. "You...uh, you have some data for me?"

"Yeah, over here." Emmett gestured toward the couch. "Can I get you a beer or something?"

"Water?" Brendan said. "I'm going back to the office after this."

"Oh. Okay." Emmett walked across the thick beige carpet. "You work a lot, huh?"

"Too much, if you ask some people. Like Freya." Brendan sat down on the couch and reached for the open folder on the coffee table.

Emmett joined him and sat a glass of water and a beer onto two handy coasters. He leaned in close to look at the papers. "See here? I separated the different sounds by source and then graphed the decibel levels and the modulation between the sounds. Your people may be able to work out if they mean anything."

"Nice work," Brendan said. Emmett was close, and he smelled good - like some sort of soap or light aftershave. His thigh was pressed lightly against Brendan's, hard and muscular. Brendan drank more water. "Do you have a lot of experience with data analysis?"

"Yeah." Emmett sat back on the sofa and crossed one leg over the opposite knee. "I'm working on a universal anti-venom in my spare time, when I'm not consulting at the Center for North American Herpetology. They both involve a lot of data-crunching. Once my contract's up in a month or so, I'll go back to my lab full time."

"Where's your lab?"

"Virginia," Emmett said. "About an hour out of DC, in the boonies. Just me and my snakes."

"What about Monica?" Brendan asked, before he could stop himself.

"What about her?"

"Will she go back to Virginia with you?" He wasn't sure why he was asking, except that he was kind of an idiot.

"She's under contract to the aquarium until the end of the year. Besides, things are..."

"Complicated?" Brendan supplied.

"Well yeah, I was gonna go with 'doomed,' but 'complicated' works." Emmett caught Brendan's eye and smiled, wry and crooked.

Brendan felt a little spark of hope in his chest, but he reined himself in tightly. They were still together. Not that guy. But, god, he wanted to be that guy. Instead, he shook it off and closed the folder, tapping it on his leg to straighten the papers.

"Thanks for this," he said. "I think it might prove useful." He stood up, and Emmett did, too.

"Let me get your coat," Emmett said, and Brendan took the opportunity to check out his ass - nicely defined in his tight pants. Emmett came back and handed over the coat, taking the folder from Brendan's hand as he shrugged into it.

"Thanks," Brendan said, retrieving the folder. "We really do appreciate your help." He was startled when Emmett muttered, "aw, fuck it," and kissed him.

Emmett's mouth was wide and soft, curiously gentle as it mapped out the contours of Brendan's lips. One hand cupped his shoulder, and the other came up to curve around his jaw and tilt his head just enough, just to the perfect angle. Emmett kissed like he was learning something, like he was taking notes. For his part, Brendan simply melted into the touch, kissing back with that same slow, methodical exploration. He brought his hand up to rest on the front of Emmett's shoulder, the other one clutching the folder to his chest.

When a shrill and obviously feminine voice shrieked, "What the fuck?" from the doorway, they both jumped back, Brendan's fingers going guiltily to his lips.

Monica. Oh, fucking fuck.

"I...uh...I better go," Brendan said, cringing at how lame he sounded. He couldn't really look at Monica as he passed her, and she was glaring daggers at Emmett, who Brendan assumed was in a world of shit. He glanced back as he went through the door, and Emmett gave him a beseeching look that was either "save me" or "I'll call you" or "thanks a lot for ruining my life."

Brendan fled.

He thought about the kiss in the car, and when he looked up, he was parking at his apartment, not the office. Well, fuck. He barely made it in the door before he was shrugging off his coat and suit jacket, leaving them crumpled on the floor as he tore at his belt and zipper. He made it to the couch and flopped down, finally getting his hand on his bare cock, which had been rock hard since about a second after Emmett's lips had touched him.

Brendan thanked any god that was listening for his memory, because he had about ninety seconds of Emmett's hot, thorough kiss to remember in perfect detail while he squeezed and stroked his cock. Rolling onto his front, he fucked into his fist and clutched at the pillows, groaning out loud. He stroked himself with ruthless efficiency until he came hard, the sensation jolting up his spine.

When his breathing slowed, he looked down. He still had his shoes on and his pants, boxers and the couch were streaked with come. His coat, jacket, shirt, tie and undershirt made a trail on the floor from the entryway to the sofa. He was probably lucky that he'd managed to close the door.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" he said aloud. Fuck.

Brendan punched in his code on his desk phone.

"Brendan, this is Emmett..."

He pushed 7 and the tinny voice said, "Voice message deleted."

Brendan sighed and rubbed his eyes. That made the third message he'd deleted unheard. He was well aware that he was being a chicken, but he was equally as aware that if Emmett asked, he was going to do it. Do whatever it took to be with Emmett, even if it meant sneaking around and hiding and cheating. He knew it, and he hated himself for it.

"Stop," Freya said, sitting on the corner of his desk.

He jumped - he hadn't even heard her approach. "Stop what? And quit sneaking up on me."

"Stop thinking the word 'fuck' over and over. You're driving me crazy." She started swinging one foot.

"Shit!" Brendan said. "You're not supposed to listen in," he accused.

"I'm trying not to, but you're projecting. Anything I can help you with?"

"No," he said quickly. "I'll try to get it under control. You ready to go do those interviews?"

"Sure," she said, hopping down from the desk. She punched him lightly on the arm. "Stop thinking the Scooby Doo theme at me."

Brendan was standing in his kitchen, eating leftover chicken parmesan out of a takeout box, wearing his suit pants, tee shirt and socks when the doorbell rang.

He walked over and looked out the peephole, expecting to see Mrs. Tomero with a plate of tamales. Instead, he saw Emmett. He rubbed his suddenly-sweaty palms down the legs of his pants, then ran one hand over his mouth to check for stray sauce.

He opened the door.

"Hi, I'm homeless. It's totally your fault," Emmett said, barging in with a suitcase in his hand and a computer bag and backpack slung over his shoulder.

"What?" Brendan said, automatically closing and locking the door behind him.

Emmett let all the bags fall to the floor and turned to face him. "Monica and I are over. It was her place. I stayed in a hotel last night, but I'm not made of money. My homelessness is at least partially your fault, so I'm staying with you for the next three and a half weeks."

Brendan just stared at him.

Emmett's smile faltered. "Unless...unless you don't want me to."

Brendan crossed the floor before he could think about it too much and cupped Emmett's face in his hands. He paused before leaning in to bring their mouths together. Emmett's hands fell to his hips, and he kissed back, just as softly and gently as he had the first time. Brendan moaned into his mouth, and Emmett deepened the kiss, letting his tongue-tip explore Brendan's lips before dipping inside for a quick taste.

Brendan leaned back and smiled. "Hi," he said.

"Hi," Emmett answered. "Is it okay if I stay for a while?"

Brendan swallowed hard. "Yeah. I...uh, have a guest room, if that's okay?" He really wanted to just say "fuck it" and drag Emmett off to his bedroom, but he also didn't know if he could. He hoped Emmett would be all right with taking things slowly.

Emmett smiled back. "That's fine." He stepped back and gathered up his bags. "Lead on."

The guest room was tiny, but, like the rest of the apartment, ruthlessly neat. A bed took up most of the room, but there was a nightstand with a lamp and a small dresser.

"You'll have to share my bathroom, though," Brendan said. "Sorry."

Emmett put his stuff on the bed. "It's fine, Brendan." He looked up. "Are you sure you're okay with this?"

Brendan shook his head 'no' but said, "Yeah."

"Very convincing." Emmett moved in again and pulled Brendan to him with a hand on his shoulder. "I'm not expecting anything here," he said. "This can be whatever you want it to be."

"What if I don't know what I want it to be?" Brendan's question was as honest as he knew how to make it.

"Then we'll figure it out," Emmett said. He pushed Brendan backward into the hall. "What's for dinner?"

Brendan gave him a choice of the chicken parmesan or anything else in the refrigerator, and Emmett dug around until he found half of a meatball sub. They ate standing up in the kitchen.

Emmett swallowed a bite of his sandwich. "You don't mind if I make myself at home, do you? I'm a bit of a slob - I tend to fling my stuff out all over the place."

Brendan could feel the horrified look spreading over his face when he noticed that Emmett's eyes were twinkling. "Ass," he said. He ate a bite of chicken. "How did you find out where I live, anyway?"

"Freya," Emmett said. "You wouldn't return my calls."

"Yeah," Brendan said. "Sorry about that."

"It's okay," Emmett said. "You didn't know what you were stepping into - me and Monica. I can understand that."

That wasn't it, Brendan thought, but he couldn't bring himself to start the inevitable conversation, so he just shrugged and smiled. They cleaned up the little bit of mess from dinner in companionable silence. Brendan excused himself and went to take a shower, still very unsettled, but smiling to himself just the same. He put on a tee shirt and sweat pants before going back out to the living room. Emmett was propped in front of the TV with his laptop balanced on his thighs.

"Working from home?" Brendan asked, settling on the other end of the sofa, but not too far away.

"Surfing," Emmett admitted. "I keep up with a couple of snake forums: correcting misinformation, slagging off rival scientists."

"You have a lot of rivals?"

"A few." Emmett pursed his lips. "There isn't a lot of support for the universal anti-venom concept. Do you do much work at home?"

"Not really." Brendan ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck. "I kept staying up all night with it, so Freya made me promise not to. She used to frisk me for files before she'd let me leave for the day."

"So now you just stay really late at the office, right?" Emmett gave him a knowing look.

"Usually," Brendan said. "But I think that might be changing for a while."

Emmett laughed and stretched out one hand to rest on Brendan's leg, just above the knee. "The circumstances aren't ideal," he said, looking Brendan in the eye. "But I'm glad I'm here."

"Me, too," Brendan said honestly. "Me, too."

"Quit it with the Scooby Doo theme," Freya begged. "Why can't you just whistle like normal people?"

"Sorry," Brendan said.

"You're cheerful," Freya observed.

"Like you don't know why," Brendan said tartly. "All your fault."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said loftily. "Unless you got laid or something."

"Freya!" he said. "I'm not that kind of boy."

"Ha! What kind of boy are you, then?"

Emmett, barefoot and casually dressed, sitting next to Brendan on the sofa, his hand on Brendan's leg. A flash of the two of them, standing between the doors of the two bedrooms in Brendan's apartment, kissing. The languid movements of their lips, Emmett's hand warm on Brendan's jaw, and the reluctant parting. Brendan watching as Emmett disappeared behind the closing door.

"Aw!" Freya said, unable to help herself. "How sweet."

Brendan scowled at her. "Shut up." He paused and then, softer, "Thanks."

"For what?"

"I know you told him where I live," Brendan said, shooting her a look. "I hope you're not going to get into the habit of doing that?"

"No," she said. "I won't." She paused, then said softly. "Brendan, I just...I want you to be happy."

"I know," he said, just as softly. "I...I think I am."

"Emmett?" Brendan stood at the door to the kitchen and stared.

Emmett was cooking.

"Since when is there food in my kitchen?"

"Since when is there food in your apartment?" Emmett said. He was barefoot as usual, and had a hand towel slung over one shoulder. He stirred something on the stove, then crossed the couple of feet to Brendan. He grabbed the lapel of Brendan's jacket and pulled him even closer, kissing him softly. "Hey," he said.

Brendan returned the kiss. "Hey, yourself. Food?"

"Yeah. I figured I should earn my keep. Besides, all that takeout isn't good for you." He turned back to the stove, which was a good thing, because Brendan had to swallow hard. It had been a very long time since someone cared what he ate. "Go get changed - it'll be ready in fifteen minutes or so."

Brendan walked numbly through the apartment, noting that the small table was set with the dishes he rarely used and that Emmett's laptop was on the coffee table with a stack of notes lying on top of it. He changed and hung up his suit, then looked in the bathroom mirror. He looked pale and kind of shocky. It was a pretty sad commentary on his life that a little kindness made him so...god, he didn't even know what he was feeling. Freya was right, he thought. He was an emotional cripple. He splashed cold water on his face, trying to restore his equilibrium.

Back in the kitchen, Emmett was messing around with more pots and pans than Brendan thought he owned. He watched for a second. When there was a break in the action, he really wanted to step up behind Emmett and ease his arms around Emmett's waist, but he couldn't seem to make his legs move, so he leaned against the doorframe. He was trying for casual, but when Emmett looked at him, he realized he'd achieved stiff and awkward.

"Thank you," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. "For, uh, dinner."

"No problem." Emmett tilted his head and looked at him for a long minute. "I like cooking."

Brendan liked watching Emmett move around his kitchen like he belonged there, but it also made him nervous as hell. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"There's a bottle of wine in the fridge," Emmett said.

"Do I own wine glasses? Or a corkscrew?"

"You do now," Emmett said. He turned away from the stove and looked at Brendan appraisingly. "You work a lot, don't you?"

Brendan busied himself with the wine. "Yeah," he said. "I kind of live the job."

Emmett's voice was soft when he spoke. "Why?"

Brendan shrugged. "Just do," he finally said. What could he say? My asshole partner broke my heart? or I'm afraid to let anybody in? or I've been alone so long that I barely know how to talk to you? Or worst of all: There's nothing else.

Emmett nodded. "There's something going on under that mop," he said. "You'll tell me when you're ready. Dinner's almost finished - go pour the wine."

Brendan did as he was told, and by the time Emmett brought the food out, he had some of his equilibrium back. He couldn't help staring at the table in awe. There were vegetables.

"So," Emmett said, grinning a little. "How was your day?"

Brendan was jittery all through dinner and the clean-up after. He trailed Emmett to the living room and watched as he settled himself on the sofa with his laptop and notes. Brendan shifted his weight from foot to foot for a few minutes, then made a decision.

"I'm going to go for a run," he said.

"You run?" Emmett looked up. "On purpose?"

Brendan laughed. "Yeah, it keeps me in shape for those times when it's not on purpose."

"If you say so." Emmett looked back down at his computer. "Have fun."

Brendan changed and left. He waved at Mrs. Rodriguez, stretched a little on the steps, then took off at a slow pace. The slap-slap of his shoes against the sidewalk was soothing, as was the cool evening air. He made a conscious effort to relax his hands, easing them out of the tight fists they'd automatically curled into. He had to relax.

Emmett was easygoing and patient, two things that Ash hadn't been. Brendan wasn't sure what to make of it. Ash had taken over his life pretty much on sight, and Brendan wasn't sure he even knew how to be an equal partner in a relationship. That's why he'd resisted having a work partner, getting by on going it alone until Freya got pushed on him.

Thank god for Freya. She'd come into his life even more fucked-up than him, and watching her blossom had been wonderful. He'd never had a close female friend before -close friends at all - and Freya had definitely wormed her way into his heart. She was approaching little sister levels of esteem; he was an only child, he didn't really know what that meant. He did know that he cared about her, maybe even loved her, and that she cared about him. That felt pretty good.

Freya had made no bones about the fact that she heartily approved of Emmett, and that, too, was new for Brendan. His liaison with Ash had always been strictly undercover, in direct contrast to their exemplary public partnership. No one had ever known anything about them except that they had the highest case clear rate in the field office. Even the little bit about Emmett he could bring himself to share with Freya made him feel good. It made him feel like a human again after feeling disconnected for so long.

When he got to the next corner, Brendan stopped in the circle of light cast by a streetlamp. He pulled his phone out of the zippered pocket of his jacket and speed-dialed Freya.

"Yes, Brendan?" she said.

"He likes me, right?" he said into the phone, hoping he didn't sound too pathetic.

"Who, Emmett?"

"No, Harper - I really want to ask him out. Of course, Emmett!"

Freya laughed. "Idiot," she said fondly. "He's thought you were totally hot from the second he met you."

"Okay," he said, feeling a little calmer. "So what do I do now?"

"Wait, where are you? You'd better not be at the office."

"I'm not," he promised. "I came home and he was cooking. With actual food."

"You ate something that wasn't encased in cardboard or Styrofoam? Alert the media."

"Ha ha," Brendan said. "Anyway, after that I was freaking out a little, so I went for a run."

Freya's tone turned wry. "Let me guess: you're on the street about four blocks from your apartment."

"Three," he admitted.

"Brendan," she sighed. "Go home. Hang out with Emmett. Let him know you're interested. And, really, try to keep your emotional retardation under control. He likes you."

"Don't screw it up - got it," he said. "Okay, I can do this."

"Yes, you can."

"Okay. Thanks." He flipped the phone closed and put it back into his pocket before turning around and jogging back toward his building. He let himself in and stripped off his jacket, hanging it neatly in the closet. The living room was empty and the door to the guest room was closed.

Brendan was deep in thought as he walked into his bedroom, which was probably why he didn't hear the shower until he walked into the steamy bathroom. He was about to turn and go back out when he heard a low groan from the shower.

"Emmett?"

"Yeah," Emmett sounded breathless.

Brendan closed his eyes, He was pretty sure that Emmett was jerking off in his shower, and the thought of it was enough to make his cock get hard in about three seconds. "Are you...are you?" he asked.

"Yeah," Emmett said again, his voice still low. "You wanna join me in here?"

Brendan was taken aback. "I...I don't..."

The shower curtain slid back, and Emmett smiled at him. "Or you could just watch."

Brendan leaned back against the wall, staring openly at Emmett's body, at his broad chest and slim hips, at his cock standing proud and hard against his belly, at the water slicking his thighs. He couldn't tear his eyes away as one of Emmett's hands came up to touch himself. Brendan felt his mouth go dry.

The billowing steam somewhat obscured his view, but he could still see the motion of Emmett's hand working up and down his cock at a slow, even pace. Emmett's fingers were long and blunt at the tips, and his broad thumb swept over the head of his cock every few strokes. Brendan kept watching, his hands hanging loosely at his sides as Emmett braced his free hand on the wall and tipped his head back as he picked up the pace.

"Not gonna last," he gritted out. "God, Brendan..." He choked out another long moan, and Brendan watched his face contort with pleasure as he came over his hand.

Brendan felt rooted to the spot. He wanted - desperately - to cross the floor and go to Emmett, to strip off his own clothes and feel water-slick skin against his. But he couldn't make himself push off the wall. If he took that step, if he fell, he was very sure that there was no going back. If he took Emmett to bed, he was going to fall in love with him. Brendan just didn't know if he could survive it, if he could avoid losing himself in Emmett like he had in Ash. He didn't know if he could give anyone that much power over him.

Emmett stepped back under the shower spray to rinse, then turned the water off. The silence was almost deafening. Brendan stayed where he was, shuddering with tension as he watched Emmett dry off and wrap a towel around his hips. He didn't move when Emmett crossed the floor to him and leaned in for a kiss, telegraphing his actions, giving Brendan time to avoid it if he wanted to. Brendan didn't want to. He closed his eyes and kissed Emmett slowly and sweetly, trying to say everything he couldn't manage to put into words.

Emmett's kiss was just as sweet, and he laid his hand against Brendan's bicep, the way you'd gentle a skittish horse. "Brendan?" he murmured as the kiss ended.

"Yeah?" Brendan said, his voice husky.

"Enjoy your shower." With that, he left Brendan leaning on the wall, his knees weak and his erection tenting his sweat pants obscenely. By the time got finished jerking off in the shower, Emmett had already gone to bed.

Coffee. Coffeecoffeecoffee. As he stood at the counter, sluggishly watching the drip-drip-drip of the coffeemaker, all Brendan could think was, coffeecoffeecoffee.

With a hiss and a gurgle, the process finished, and he pulled the pot out so fast that a few last drops of coffee sizzled on the hot burner. He poured a cup and blew on it, waiting just long enough that he wouldn't scorch his tongue. Oh, god - *coffee*, he thought, as the rich, black liquid warmed him and woke him up.

"Coffee," Emmett moaned from the doorway, stumbling in, his fluffy blue bathrobe tied haphazardly over his boxers and tee shirt. He ran straight into Brendan, who, after a minute's hesitation, wrapped an arm around him to hold him up. Emmett took the mug out of his hand and drank, moaning again. Brendan let some of the stiffness go out of his spine as he nuzzled his face into the sleep-warmed skin of Emmett's neck. He took the cup back and drained it. Setting it on the counter, he pulled Emmett even closer.

He hadn't held anyone like this since college. Tommy, whom he'd dated for several months. They'd both been juniors, barely twenty-one, and he'd spent most nights at Tommy's little apartment, rather than his shared dorm room. Short, skinny and red-headed, Tommy had been the funniest person Brendan'd ever met. He'd also been the biggest slacker. When Tommy failed out of school and had to go home, the distance between them - in both geography and lifestyle - ended the relationship. But Tommy had been a snuggler, and Brendan liked it a lot. He and Ash had rarely stayed close after sex - they always had a case waiting, or some other crisis that needed their attention. That many of those crises revolved around Ash's marriage was something Brendan tried not to remember.

Emmett was much bigger and broader than Tommy, but felt just as good leaning against him in a half-asleep fog. He kissed the top of Emmett's head. "More coffee?"

"In a minute." Emmett's voice was scratchy with sleep, but his lips were warm and dry moving against Brendan's neck. "Did you sleep well?"

"Like the dead," Brendan said with a laugh. After the knee-shaking orgasm in the shower, he'd fallen into bed and not even moved for eight hours. He'd even neglected to put his clothes into the hamper. Emmett was clearly a bad influence. Brendan maneuvered them over to the counter without breaking the embrace and poured another mug of coffee. He drank half and nudged Emmett, rousing him enough to take and drain the cup.

"This is nice," Emmett said.

"I know." Brendan tightened his arms. "But I do have to get ready for work."

Emmett made a protesting noise, pressing his face into Brendan's neck. He let go and stepped back after a minute or so. "Go get ready for work," he said. "I'll make breakfast."

"What is this breakfast of which you speak?"

Emmett pushed him toward the door by the shoulder. "You'll see," he said.

When Brendan made it back, washed, dried and suited, with his tie draped loosely around his neck, Emmett was sliding two plates onto the table. Brendan looked down at the omelets and toast, then looked at the glass of orange juice and mug of coffee.

"It's food," Emmett said. "It doesn't actually come out of a vending machine."

Brendan would have had a smart rejoinder, but he was too busy moaning around the bite of eggs in his mouth.

After breakfast and a quick clean-up, Brendan tied his tie and went back into his bedroom for his gun, automatically checking it before sliding it into his shoulder holster.

"That probably shouldn't be so sexy," Emmett said from the doorway, and Brendan looked up with a sheepish smile.

Aw, fuck it, he thought, and crossed the floor to Emmett pulling him in by the front of his bathrobe for a short but gentle kiss. "Have a good day," he said. "Don't get bitten by any snakes or co-workers."

"I'll be good," Emmett replied, moving aside so Brendan could leave. "And don't work so damn late!" he called, just as Brendan slipped out the front door.

Mrs. Rodriguez was gathering her morning paper from the hallway, and she beamed at Brendan. He muttered a "good morning" and fled.

"Ow," Brendan said, still trying to catch his breath. "That hurt."

Freya ignored him as she pulled at the industrial-grade Velcro tabs holding his bulletproof vest together. She managed to peel it off and started running her hands over the front of his unmarked white dress shirt.

"Quit it," Brendan said. "The bullet didn't penetrate." He reached for his headset, which had gone flying when he hit the ground hard. "Stevens," he snapped. "Tell me you got him."

A voice came back, tinny. "We got him. Andrews is sitting on him."

"Good," Brendan said. "Get someone heavier to sit on him for a while." He cut the connection in the middle of Stevens' laughter and let Freya help him to his feet. He walked carefully over to the car and peeled the bulletproof vest all the way off, giving it a grateful pat and sparing a kind thought for wannabe terrorists who didn't think to buy armor-piercing rounds.

Brendan slid into the driver's seat. Freya was already in the car, closing her cell phone. "Harper says to take the rest of the day off."

"Freya!" He could hear the whine in his own voice. "I can't believe you ratted me out."

She smiled at him and crossed her hands in her lap primly. "Well, I knew you wouldn't go to the hospital, so I made sure you'd go home. Now drop me at the office and go home and use some of those painkillers left over from last time."

"You are such a mother hen."

She reached over and patted his knee. "You need one."

He did as he was told and dropped her off, then made his way home. By the time he got out of the car, he was stiffening up, and his ribs ached. Bruised but not broken - he recognized that particular pain. He was also going to have a pretty spectacular bruise on his ass, because he'd landed on it, but at least he hadn't hit his head. That would have bought him an overnight at the hospital for sure.

He trudged into the house and downed a glass of water, a pain pill and a muscle relaxant, then crawled into bed without removing his shirt, pants or socks - it hurt to bend. He'd just found a comfortable position on his side that wouldn't aggravate any of his bruises when he heard a key in the door. A moment later, Emmett appeared in the doorway.

"Freya?" Brendan said.

"No, it's Emmett." He sounded worried.

Brendan sighed. "No, dork - I was assuming that Freya called you."

"Yeah." The bed dipped a little as Emmett sat beside him. "She said you got shot a little. How does someone get shot 'a little'?"

"By wearing Kevlar," Brendan explained. "Lots of bruising, but much less bleeding and dying. It's a good trade."

Emmett laid a hand on his hip to roll him onto his back, and Brendan hissed.

"What?" Emmett said. "Did he shoot you in the ass? Do you have Kevlar boxer shorts?"

Brendan settled himself gently and scowled. "No, he shot me in the chest and I fell on my ass. It's a velocity thing. And a gravity thing."

"Jesus," Emmett said, running a hand lightly over Brendan's chest. He paused, then tilted his head. "Why are you still dressed?"

Brendan grumbled. "I was waiting for the muscle relaxer to kick in so it wouldn't hurt so much."

Emmett batted his hands away. "Let me." He unbuttoned Brendan's shirt, then held each of his wrists as he undid the cuffs. He rolled Brendan to one side and then the other, working the shirt out from under him.

Brendan sucked in a quick breath at the feel of Emmett's fingers at his belt, and Emmett smiled down at him. "You're in no condition," he said.

"No kidding." He tried to keep his composure as the suit pants and socks were stripped away. When Emmett's hands went to the hem of his undershirt, he said, "Leave it."

"Hush," Emmett said, pushing the shirt up to bunch under his arms. He traced the large red blotch on Brendan's chest tenderly. "That's gonna leave a mark," he said.

"Yeah," Brendan agreed. "Last time was pretty spectacular."

"God," Emmett said. "How often do you get shot?"

Brendan counted in his head. "It works out to about once a year." He could clearly remember each time - six in the vest and one in the leg. That one had hurt the most. He unconsciously reached down toward the scar on his thigh, but pulled up when the abused muscles of his chest and ribs protested.

Emmett followed the motion and pushed the hem of Brendan's boxers up a little, exposing the ragged scar. It was roughly circular. He traced it with a fingertip.

Brendan shuddered from the light contact. "Through and through," he said. "The exit wound scar is much more impressive." He sucked in a breath when Emmett lowered his head and kissed the raised skin softly.

"Do you need anything?" Emmett laid his head gently on Brendan's hip and looked up at him with worried blue eyes.

"Just to roll back onto my side; this hurts."

Emmett helped him roll, carefully working the covers out from under him. Once he had Brendan settled, he tucked him in.

Brendan relaxed, thankful to have the pressure off his sore ass. He could hear rustling behind him, and then the bed dipped again as Emmett slipped under the sheets.

"You don't have to..." Brendan started.

"I said hush," Emmett said. "Get some sleep." He scooted up close, but not close enough to hurt, then carefully eased his arm around Brendan's hip, worming his hand beneath the undershirt to rest, large and possessive, on Brendan's belly. He fell asleep with Emmett's radiating warmth all along his back.

"Motherfucker," Brendan moaned, opening his eyes just enough to see that the room was pitch dark. Still nighttime, but he'd managed to roll onto his stomach and the pillow he'd been curled around was pushed brutally against his bruised side.

"Hey, you all right?" Emmett propped himself up on his elbow, hovering.

"No," Brendan said, painfully aware that he sounded about five years old. "There's a pillow in my ribs and I can't move."

"I've got you."

Brendan bit his lip as Emmett helped him turn over, the pain flaring as his ass hit the bed and then receding as he got over on his other side. He panted roughly. His chest and side were burning with pain. To add insult to injury, his arm was asleep. He could feel the pins and needles starting up.

When the bed dipped, evidence of Emmett getting up, Brendan reached out blindly in the dark. "Don't go."

Emmett caught his hand a pressed a kiss to his knuckles before placing it gently on the bed. "I'm just going to get you some more meds," he said. "I'll be right back. Promise."

Brendan closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing, trying to ignore the throbbing bruises. When Emmett came back, he left the light on in the hall so Brendan could see him. He handed Brendan two pills and helped him take them with a glass of water, thankfully one with a straw, so he didn't have to sit up.

Emmett carried the glass back to the kitchen and returned, this time turning the light off, plunging the room back into soothing darkness. He climbed back into the bed and settled near Brendan, fitting his arm around Brendan's shoulders and pulling him forward a little. Brendan eased himself down, letting his head come to rest against the center of Emmett's chest. The rhythmic stroking of a hand through his hair and the steady thump of Emmett's heartbeat lulled him back to sleep.

When he woke up again, it was morning. Late morning. And he was alone in bed. "Emmett?" he called.

Emmett walked to the doorway. "Hey," he said. "You're up."

"What happened to my alarm? I need to get to work." Brendan managed to pull himself into a seated position on the edge of the bed, but getting upright proved to be too much of a challenge. When he moaned in pain, Emmett moved to his side and got him onto his feet and steered him toward the bathroom.

"I turned your alarm off and called us both in sick. Freya said somebody named Harper said not to come back 'til Monday." Emmett disentangled them at the bathroom door and gave Brendan a light push. He gave Emmett a dirty look, but went anyway. When he came out, Emmett was waiting to help him back to bed.

"Oh, god - no more bed," Brendan moaned. "Couch, maybe?"

Emmett left him standing in the bedroom for a minute, then came back with his fluffy blue robe. He helped Brendan into it. Brendan turned his head to the side and inhaled, smelling the soap/aftershave scent that he already associated with Emmett, then let himself be taken to the couch.

Emmett settled him, then went to the kitchen, coming back with more pills and a glass of orange juice before leaving again. The second time, he came back with a plate of toast and a pair of flat ice packs. He leaned Brendan to the side and slid one under his bruised ass, then used an Ace bandage on the table to bind the other to his ribs. Brendan ate toast, took his pills and let it happen. It was pretty nice to be fussed over.

Eventually, Emmett turned on crappy daytime TV and Brendan felt himself listing to the left. He woke up several hours later with his head in Emmett's lap, luxuriating in the feeling of strong fingers carding through his hair. He sighed and rubbed his cheek against Emmett's thigh.

"How're you feeling?" The hand in his hair moved to the back of his neck.

"Shitty," Brendan said. "Can I have more drugs?"

"About another hour," Emmett told him. "Can you hang on?"

"Yeah. Help me up, and unwrap my ribs. I need a shower." He felt sweaty and gross, and his ribs were throbbing under the bandage and melted ice pack.

Emmett got him upright and unbound and assisted him to the bathroom. He leaned Brendan against the wall and turned the shower on.

"Hot," Brendan said. "Really hot."

"You're not too bad yourself," Emmett said jokingly.

Brendan reached out to run his fingertips down Emmett's arm, making him shiver. "I meant the water, but you're pretty hot, too."

Emmett walked over and put his hands lightly onto Brendan's hips. Brendan leaned forward and kissed him. It started out slow, but quickly became heated, with Brendan clutching at Emmett's shoulders and kissing him wet and deep. He jumped when Emmett's thumbs started stroking the hollows of his hips.

"It's okay," Emmett whispered against his lips. "I just want to touch you."

Brendan tried to relax, but the hands on him so intimately, the way he was pinned between Emmett's broad chest and the wall and the lingering pain made him tense up even further.

Emmett stepped back and broke the kiss, letting his hands fall naturally away from Brendan's body. "You ever going to tell me what's going on?"

Brendan closed his eyes and swallowed hard. "It's just...fuck. It's been a really long time since I've done this." He felt stupid, and he felt scared and tired and achy and out of control, and he hated feeling out of control more than anything. "Can we talk about it later?"

"Of course," Emmett said. "Hang on a minute and I'll get you some clean clothes. Then I'll go fix lunch."

Brendan nodded, turning his head away. Once he was alone, he scrubbed his hands roughly over his face, grimacing at the stubble. Emmett came back with boxers and sweats and a tee shirt. "Are you going to be able to manage these?" he asked.

"I hope so," Brendan said. "I'll call you if I can't." He had absolutely no intention of doing so.

"No you won't," Emmett said. He hesitated for a second, then kissed Brendan softly on the cheek before he left.

Brendan struggled out of his clothes without too much trouble and stepped under the water. The heat felt almost as good on his aching muscles as it did raining down on his head and face. God, he didn't want to think, didn't want to remember how Emmett's hands had felt on his body. He especially didn't want to remember his freak-out. He just...he just didn't know how to react to being touched any more. For two solid years no one had put their hands on him in a sexual way. Freya occasionally patted his hand or shoulder. Sometimes on long stakeouts she leaned against his shoulder to sleep, but she wasn't a big toucher either. Holding Emmett in the kitchen had been fine, too - comfortable, but not sexy in any way, and he had dealt with that just fine.

Emmett's touches felt good - felt great, even. Brendan reached for the soap and started carefully lathering his chest. He couldn't stand being this way, too cut off from the things that normal people just did, too scared to even try. It hurt to raise his arms, but he shampooed his hair anyway.

"I see you got the job done," Emmett said as Brendan walked back into the living room. He let him get himself down onto the sofa, then brought him two pills and a glass of water.

"Thank god," Brendan groaned, swallowing the painkiller and muscle relaxer. "I'd forgotten how much this hurts."

"Freya called," Emmett called from the kitchen. "She's coming over after work and bringing dinner."

Brendan blanched. "She didn't say she was cooking it, did she?"

"No, she said something about Chinese."

Brendan was thankful - Freya had a lot going for her: she was beautiful and smart, she was becoming a good shot, but her cooking was the stuff of horror movies and food poisoning. Emmett came back with plates for them both - sandwiches and chips.

"Where is all this food coming from?" Brendan asked, just before taking an enormous bite of his sandwich.

"I went to the grocery store. You know - that place where they have so much food they even sell it?" Emmett's eyes laughed at him over his own sandwich.

"Ass," Brendan said. "But, really, thanks."

"No sweat," Emmett said. "Besides, I like taking care of you."

Brendan ducked his head and ate a chip, stalling for time. "I guess I owe you an explanation," he said finally.

"You don't owe me anything." Emmett turned to look at him, his face serious. "You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to."

"His name was Ash," Brendan blurted out as quickly as he could. "And he was my partner and he was married and I had an affair with him that lasted a little over two years."

"Okay," Emmett said slowly, obviously taken aback by the barrage of words.

Brendan looked down at his plate, his appetite suddenly gone. "I should have stopped it when I found out about his wife, but I couldn't. He...he was everything, and I did something I never thought I'd do because I let him..."

"You were pretty young, weren't you?" Emmett broke in.

Brendan nodded. "Twenty-four."

"And you'd never been in a real relationship before?"

"Yeah." Brendan let out a breath, absurdly grateful that Emmett hadn't jumped off the couch or looked at him like he was something nasty he'd stepped in. "I dated in college, had a sort-of-boyfriend for a little while, but never anything like Ash." He started a little when Emmett's big, warm hand came to rest softly on his back.

"We do stupid shit when we're young, Brendan," he said. "You can't keep beating yourself up about it. It's in the past."

Brendan leaned back slightly into the touch. "Yeah," he said shakily. "But I just don't know how to...be with anybody on equal footing. All I cared about was his happiness, and I don't want to lose myself like that again."

"You won't." Emmett's voice was low and soothing, and Brendan just wanted to fall into it, to stay where it was safe. He figured the drugs were really kicking in. "You won't," Emmett repeated. "I'd never want you to be that way with me."

Brendan kept looking down at his hands. "I...I want this thing." He looked up and waved his hand between them. "Us."

"You can have it," Emmett said, catching the waving hand and kissing the palm with warm, dry lips. "You will have it. But, first, eat your lunch."

"Yes, mom," Brendan said, trying to joke, but even he could hear the roughness of his voice. He could have this, he thought. If he could just ease up, just unclench, like Emmett had told him to the first moment they'd met. He could have this.

Nine days. That's how long Brendan had been waiting. Nine long, frustrating days. Nine days in which every kiss with Emmett that he tried to deepen was deflected to sweet and soft. Nine days in which his roving hands were gently held back. Nine days in which he was kissed good night at the door to his bedroom and sent off to bed. Where he jerked off to the crystal-clear memory of Emmett's cock in his hand in the shower and what Emmett's face had looked like when he came.

Every one of those nine days Emmett had pushed Brendan's shirt up and looked at the faded bruising over his chest and side and shaken his head, running warm fingers over skin that slowly faded from black to blue to greenish-yellow.

On day ten, Brendan snapped. He left work early - Freya telling him to get as far away from her as possible because his insane frustration was bleeding through and making her jumpy - and got home before Emmett. He took a shower and jerked off, easing his hand up and down his cock as slowly as he could stand, one soap-slicked finger teasing at his ass and then pushing inside as the spasms of his orgasm wracked his body. He got out and pulled on faded jeans and a tee shirt, then went to the living room to wait for Emmett.

Emmett got two steps inside the door and the words "You're home..." out of his mouth before Brendan pounced. He took Emmett's face in his hands and kissed him - slow and hot and deep. He kicked the door shut and noted with satisfaction the thump of Emmett's briefcase hitting the floor. Hands went to Brendan's hips, trying to ease him away.

"Forget it," Brendan said, breaking the kiss but not his hold on Emmett. "I want you. I want this."

"But your ribs," Emmett said, a concerned look on his face.

"They're fine. I haven't taken anything stronger than Advil in three days and I can't wait any more." Brendan pleaded with his eyes. "Please, Emmett."

"Are you sure?" Emmett asked, but his arms were already sliding around Brendan's waist, hands reaching up to grip the muscles of his back.

"Yes," Brendan growled. "Yes, I'm sure. I need you."

Those must have been the magic words, because Emmett quit fighting and took Brendan's rough, hard kisses that were the product of nine days of frustration, opening his mouth to Brendan's tongue and leaning into his touch.

"Yes," Emmett said, his voice tight. "God, yes. Finally."

"It's your fault," Brendan said. "I've been trying to jump you for days." He bent his head and kissed Emmett's neck, licking along the tendon and biting gently at the underside of his jaw.

"I just..." Emmett stuttered as Brendan bit down again. "I just didn't want to hurt you."

"Well, unless you consider the near-fatal case of blue balls, I'm perfectly fine." Brendan spoke into the hollow of Emmett's throat. "Come on - bed. Now."

He let Emmett take charge enough to walk him backward into the bedroom, then pushed away to peel his shirt off. Emmett reached out and touched the last vestiges of the bruises. Brendan didn't even make a noise at the tiny bit of tenderness there. He'd bite through his tongue before he'd let Emmett get away again.

Emmett stopped tracing the bruises and started touching him for real, pushing his fingers through Brendan's chest hair and finding his nipple with the calloused edge of his thumb, making Brendan gasp. He got his hands under Emmett's shirt and pushed it up, his own thumbs teasing the nipples that had taunted him through Emmett's shirts since the day they'd met. He laughed a little when Emmett threw his head back.

"Oh, you like that," Brendan said. "I just knew you would."

"Yeah," Emmett moaned, and he said, "More," when Brendan pinched him lightly. Brendan closed his fingertips harder, closing his eyes and swallowing hard at the rough sounds Emmett made. He replaced the fingers of one hand with his lips, sucking and biting while Emmett peeled his shirt off above his head.

When he felt Emmett's fingers at the waistband of his jeans, Brendan stepped back, letting Emmett strip them off. He was bare beneath the wash-worn cotton, and he groaned when Emmett trailed his fingertips up the length of his cock as he stood back up.

"Now you," Brendan said, and watched avidly as Emmett removed his shoes, socks, pants and boxers. When Emmett was naked, Brendan sat on the edge of the bed and pulled him forward by the hips. He mouthed the skin just under Emmett's navel, and smiled when Emmett's cock bumped against the underside of his chin.

Emmett pushed him back, and Brendan took the hint, stretching out full-length on the bed and opening his arms. Emmett settled half on top of him and kissed him. Brendan gave the kisses back, keeping it slow - they had plenty of time. Emmett's stubble scratched across his lower lip and chin, making his skin sting, a wash of pleasure following the slight pain.

They kissed for a long time, taking turns sliding their tongues into each others' mouths and breaking away to scatter kisses from foreheads to collarbones. Brendan found a small spot that made Emmett buck his hips, and Emmett found one in return, biting Brendan lightly at the hinge of his jaw, making him cry out.

Brendan went straight for Emmett's nipples and sucked and bit until Emmett was holding his head and moaning non-stop. When Emmett pulled at him, he shook off the hands and moved lower, tracing the line of soft brown hair the led all the way down. When he got to Emmett's cock, he paused to look up. Emmett's face was slack with pleasure, his eyes closed, and Brendan thought that he was beautiful that way. He dipped his head and licked the side of Emmett's cock, then blew a breath over it.

"God," Emmett said, his voice choking off somewhere in the middle of the word. "Brendan."

"I'm right here," Brendan said, each word gusting over Emmett's cock. "I've got you." He licked across the head and then around, picking up the taste and feel of velvety soft skin over steely hardness. He pushed down, swirling his tongue and tightening his lips as much as he could, clenching his fingers on Emmett's hips to hold him down.

"Oh, god. Fuck. Fuck, Brendan." Words poured out of Emmett's mouth and his hands wove their way into Brendan's hair, pulling upward. "If you don't stop this is gonna be over."

Brendan pulled off, giving Emmett one last lick as he shimmied up the bed. Emmett kissed him, pressing his tongue into Brendan's mouth and biting his lower lip when he pulled back. "I want you in me," he said, and Brendan froze in his arms. Emmett stopped moving, too, and looked down. "Is that okay?"

Brendan took and released a deep breath. "Yeah, I...it's been a really long time since I've done that. A really long time."

"Right," Emmett said, one hand coming up to smooth Brendan's hair off his forehead. "Like, two years."

"No," Brendan said slowly. "Like, five years."

"You never...with..."

Brendan covered Emmett's mouth with his hand. He wasn't going to let Ash's name taint this. No way. "Never," he said. "A few times in college, but never with...him. He didn't...do that."

"Well, I'm not him." Emmett rolled back and looked at the bedside table. A bottle of lube and a box of condoms were already there. Emmett grabbed them and barked out a laugh. "You really were ready to jump me," he said. "What else did you do?"

"Jerked off in the shower," Brendan said, taking the box of condoms, ripping it open and fishing one out before tossing the box to the floor. "So this will last at least a little bit longer." And, god, was he excited. He hadn't been inside anyone since grad school - just before he'd joined the Bureau - and he hadn't realized how much he'd missed it. Just the thought of pushing into Emmett's ass had his stomach clenching and his balls tightening.

"Good plan," Emmett said, then rolled onto his side, curling into the curve of Brendan's body. "Like this," he said. "You can lie on your good side and not hurt your ribs."

"You are such a mother hen." Brendan looked down at Emmett's ass and had to run a hand over the generous curve. He pushed Emmett's top leg forward and Emmett obliged him by bending his knee and planting his foot on the bed.

Emmett handed the lube over his shoulder. "Go slow. It's been a while for me, too."

Brendan took the tube and got some on his fingers before trailing them down the cleft of Emmett's ass, searching for the entrance to his body. He really hoped this was like riding a bicycle - that he hadn't forgotten how to do it. He rubbed the lube around a little, then pushed his fingertip in. Oh, god, Emmett was tight. Brendan moaned and pushed a little harder, and Emmett's hips shoved back to meet him, to take a little more of his finger.

"Oh," Emmett said. "I'd forgotten how good this is. All the way, Brendan."

Brendan slid his finger in, moaning at the soft slickness. He, too, had forgotten how good it could be. How intimate it felt to have part of him inside someone else. He brought his attention back to Emmett, who was shifting his hips back and forth, trying to get Brendan to move.

Brendan leaned forward and kissed Emmett's neck before staring to slide his finger gently in and out, opening Emmett up by millimeters. "Can I do two?" he asked, and Emmett moaned and nodded. It took a few minutes and more lube, but Brendan got the second finger inside, and the sight of Emmett's body taking him in was enough to make him pant and review takedown procedures in his head in an effort to not come.

"One more," Emmett said, and Brendan held him under the chin and tipped his head back, kissing him despite the awkward angle.

The third finger went in, and Brendan tried to think about anything except the fact that he was making a place inside Emmett for his cock, for part of him. When he couldn't take it anymore, he rolled onto his back and tore open the condom package. He slicked it over his cock, the unfamiliar tightness bringing him back from the edge a little. He smoothed lube over himself and moved back onto his side.

"Are you ready?" he asked, and got his answer when Emmett canted his hips and gave him a breathless, "Yes, dammit."

"Okay," Brendan said, and he used his fingers to guide the head of his cock. When he pushed inside the first inch, he had to stop and take several deep breaths. Emmett's ass was hot and tight against the head of his cock and it was all coming back to him, the unbelievable feeling of this, of being inside, of fucking someone.

Emmett jerked backward, taking him in, and Brendan yelped at the sudden motion, at the sudden pressure. His fingers dug into Emmett's shoulders and he pushed once - hard - and they were locked body to body for an eyeblink and an eternity at the same time.

He reached over Emmett's hip and found his cock, hot and hard and a little slick, Emmett's hand already on it. "I've got it," Emmett said tightly. "Just move."

Brendan did, and he tried to go slow - really, he did - but his body had different ideas, and he moved his hand back to clutch Emmett's hip and fuck into him with fast strokes that went as deep as he could. He shifted his hips, looking for the perfect angle, and he knew he'd found it when Emmett's hips pistoned back against him and he cursed in a hoarse voice.

"Tell me you're close," Brendan gritted out. "Oh, god, please tell me you're close."

"Do it," Emmett said, and Brendan could feel the tremors wracking his body, could feel Emmett come.

He managed to ride it out about halfway, but the pressure and the pleasure were too much, and he shoved his hips all the way forward and came and came. He stayed close, breathing hard on the back of Emmett's neck, not willing to lose the closeness for a second.

"Was it as good as you remembered?" Emmett asked, still a little breathless.

"Better," Brendan said, kissing his cheek, "because it was you."

After Brendan got up and cleaned them both up, he laid back on the bed. Emmett pulled him close, and Brendan traced swirls in his chest hair.

"We wasted too much time," Brendan said. "You're going back to Virginia soon."

"Well," Emmett said, drawing out the word. "I might have gotten an offer to stay on at the Center."

"You might have?" Brendan sat up and stared down at Emmett, his small smile getting bigger and bigger.

"I might have accepted it, too." Emmett's smile was just as big.

Brendan kissed him softly, and then leaned their foreheads together. "Good," he said.

"You're killing me, Brendan. You've been killing me for weeks," Freya said, staring at him from her desk.

"What?" he said, trying to frown at her. It didn't really work; he hadn't been able to drop the constant smile since Emmett had accepted the contract at the Center and moved in with him for the foreseeable future.

"It's obnoxious," she said. "You're glowing."

He deliberately thought a picture at her, one of Emmett above him, smiling down as his hips moved in an unmistakable rhythm.

"Holy crap!" she yelped. "God, Brendan!"

"I thought you deserved something squirm-inducing for the meeting," Brendan said, smirking.

"I hate you so, so much."

When they came out of the meeting three and a half hours later, they argued good-naturedly on the way back to their desks. Brendan's voice trailed off as he saw Harper walking toward them. Harper and Ash. He felt Freya move closer, standing so that the front of her shoulder was against the back of his arm, providing support that no one else could see.

"Agent Dean," Harper said. "I'm sure you remember Ash Jacobs from Phoenix. He needs our help on a difficult case. I'm assigning him to Stevens and Andrews. I'd send him with you two, but your assignment being what it is..." Brendan knew Harper was doing his best not to have to explain Freya.

Ash held out his hand. "Agent Dean, good to see you again." His blank face gave away nothing, and Brendan felt his own professional mask slide into place as he briefly shook Ash's hand.

"Agent Jacobs, this is my partner, Freya McAllister." Freya shook his hand quickly, and her face had the small frown that Brendan knew meant that she was reading someone's mind and didn't much care for what she was seeing.

Harper got called to a nearby desk, and they stood for a moment, looking at one another. Ash leaned in closer to Brendan. "So, Bren," he said smoothly. "What do you say we have lunch? For old times' sake."

For a split-second, Brendan remembered saying yes. He'd always said yes to Ash. There had never been a time when Brendan hadn't fallen into line and done exactly as Ash wanted, and been happy to do it. He was jolted out of his reverie by Freya nudging him with her shoulder.

"Sorry," Brendan finally said. "But I have a date. And don't call me that."

Ash raised an eyebrow and gave him a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Well, if you're busy, maybe your lovely partner would like to accompany me."

Freya gave him a long look from head to toe, and then smiled sweetly. "Not on a bet," she said, slipping her arm through Brendan's.

They left the building arm-in-arm and went to meet Emmett for lunch.