Title: Towery City III
By: Jessica Harris

Disclaimer: John and his family are mine. I also own an ancient VCR, a 1993 
edition of the OED, and roughly 20 pairs of shoes. But that's about it, 
really.

Notes: Thanks to Quercus and Nonie for guidance and help and general 
all-round beta-type activities.  And to Spike for being encouraging even 
though she was busy <g>. Everyone should go read their work too!

Feedback: Please! lumpj@hotmail.com

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Towery City III
Jessica Harris
17/08/99

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A thin ray of watery sunshine woke Mulder from uneasy dreams. He rolled over 
into the surprise of a warm body beside him, and opened his eyes to find 
John propped above him on one elbow, watching him sleep.

"Hi," said Mulder, blinking up at him.

"Good morning," said John with a crooked smile, and kept watching him. His 
eyes this morning were hooded and unreadable, still echoing with last 
night's distance, and Mulder felt suddenly shy. They looked at each other 
quietly for a few heartbeats until Mulder caught sight of the clock over 
John's shoulder and bolted upright in a panic.

"Shit - I have a lecture in ten minutes! And you should already be at yours! 
Why didn't you wake me up?

John shrugged one shoulder. "I didn't notice the time." He made no move to 
leave the bed as Mulder leapt to his feet and started grabbing clothes from 
the floor.

"John, I *have* to go to this lecture, it's the last one before my exam. And 
you shouldn't be missing yours either, you know."

John shrugged again but let Mulder pull him upright. His movements were slow 
and uncoordinated and his face looked strangely rumpled, but Mulder pushed 
worry to the back of his mind and chivvied John into his clothes and out the 
door with him. They were going in opposite directions from the quad, and 
Mulder, glancing swiftly around, risked a quick kiss to the corner of John's 
mouth. "I'm sorry -" he started, "but I really can't -"

John caught his face and kissed him soundly, then smiled as Mulder blushed. 
"Run along," he said. "You'll be late."

Face burning, Mulder took off at a run for the lecture hall. When he cast a 
look back over his shoulder, he saw that John was still standing in the 
middle of the quad, looking up into the sky.

*                                 *                                  *

He fell into the routine of note-taking with a certain relief, finding 
comfort in its familiarity after last night's strangeness. As he left the 
lecture hall, though, a girl tapped him on the shoulder and said, "Someone 
was looking for you earlier. Tall man, fair-haired," and his uneasiness 
flooded back.

It had to be John, he thought. Maybe he should have skipped his class after 
all, tried to get him to talk about what had happened. He felt a sudden pang 
of guilt at how relieved he had felt to get away. He set off quickly through 
the cloistered walks, anxiously scanning the crowds of students for the 
sight of John's tall form. When a hand suddenly grabbed his shoulder from 
behind, he nearly jumped out of his skin, and whirled around to find himself 
looking into a pair of angry dark brown eyes above vaguely familiar 
cheek-bones.

"Fox Mulder?" the stranger drawled, managing to sound at once accusatory and 
incredulous.

"Yes," said Mulder, suddenly conscious of his unshaven face and the random 
assortment of clothing he had snatched from the floor this morning. "Who are 
you?"

"John wasn't at his lecture this morning," the man continued brusquely, and 
a thin thread of anger began to work its way through Mulder's discomfiture.

"What business is it of yours?"

Once again the man ignored his question. "Where is he?" he asked, and ran a 
hand through his hair. At this gesture Mulder suddenly realised who this 
must be - John's cousin. Who wasn't supposed to know about him. Who 
obviously knew *something*.

"He - um - he was in the quad at about 9:30," said Mulder awkwardly. The man 
shot him a last unpleasant glance and hurried off, leaving Mulder shaken, 
angry and confused. He rubbed at his suddenly tense neck, wincing as his 
fingers hit a tender bitten spot, and sudden embarrassment was added to his 
welter of emotions as he realised just how altogether debauched he must 
look. He felt himself blushing furiously even as the cousin walked away. 
What he was feeling was too new and raw to examine too closely himself, let 
alone expose to the contemptuous eyes of this angry man with John's 
cheekbones. He felt suddenly, terribly, adrift and exposed here in the 
swirling crowds of students, and he hunched his shoulders and hurried 
rapidly away.

*		*		*

Afternoon had begun to fade into evening when the knock finally sounded at 
his door, and Mulder opened it so fast that John jumped back, his hand still 
poised awkwardly in the air. Mulder had been waiting here since his last 
class, expecting John to appear, growing first worried and then irritated 
when he didn't.

He stared at John sulkily. John looked freshly-shaven, his hair shone, and 
his clothes were even more perfect than usual. There were dark circles 
beneath his eyes, though, and he shifted nervously from foot to foot as he 
hovered in the doorway.

"You can come in, you know," said Mulder impatiently.

"Come for a walk with me?" said John.

"A walk?" Mulder looked him up and down. "What is this, the first date we 
never had or something?"

A group of people from the floor above came clattering down the stairs, 
eyeing them curiously in the doorway, John in camel-hair and cashmere, 
Mulder in his sweatpants.

"Please?" said John, ignoring them, and there was a tightness in his voice 
that made Mulder take pity.

"Alright," he said, "But I have to get dressed first. So you might as well 
come in."

John came in, but kept his coat on and stood just inside the door as Mulder 
pulled on jeans and a sweater. Mulder felt cold tension creep through him at 
John's nervousness and silence.

Mouth dry, he grabbed his jacket and shrugged into it as they walked 
silently down the stairs and across the quad, John's long legs leading them 
towards the river-bank.

The dank river smell was heavy this time of day, eddying around them with 
the mist that rose from its surface. Mulder kept silent, waiting for 
whatever John had to say. "Did you get to your lecture on time?" John 
finally asked, tone polite.

Mulder gritted his teeth. "No. No, I didn't. And after the lecture some 
asshole wearing your cheekbones grabbed me and practically accused me of 
abducting you."

John shoved his hands in his pocket and hunched his shoulders, walked 
faster. "I'm sorry, Mulder. He had no right to do that. I'll speak to him. 
My family tends to be rather - "

The statement petered out and he fell silent again. Mulder waited for a 
moment, then snapped at him. "Yes, please *tell* me what is it about your 
family, John? You obviously have some kind of a problem with them. You say 
it's because of your cousin that I can't come home with you, but he 
obviously knows about me. And you're full of impossible anecdotes about 
distant aunts-by-marriage right back to the time of Charlemagne, but I don't 
even know your parent's names or how many siblings you have, and you change 
the subject any time anything even remotely close is mentioned. And your 
brother - your *brothers* - what do they have to do with, well, with us? Why 
did you finally," and his voice in his own ears sounded suddenly young and 
unsure, his ill-temper falling away, "finally let me make, you know, really 
make love to you? And what - what *happened* last night, John? I didn't know 
what to do for you. You scared me."

John had walked faster and faster as Mulder spoke until he strode a good two 
yards ahead of him. Now he threw words back over his shoulder, his voice 
haughty. "Oh, my *family*," he said, "Is that what you want to know? Well, 
back in the time of William the Conqueror, an officer of the name Brantleigh 
performed invaluable services for his king, and was rewarded with the title 
to - "

"John!" said Mulder, protesting. "you know that's not what I mean - "

"The family seat that he built on those lands still stands, although it's 
been added onto extensively  - "

"JOHN! Stop it! All I want to know is what's going on - "

But John continued, a flood of names and dates and genealogical details, 
maiden names and marriages and the ebb and flow of finance and property, his 
gaze fixed blindly in front of him. Mulder finally ran up on the side of the 
path, leapt down in front of him, grabbed him by the lapels and shouted 
"Stop it!"

His shout was loud enough to echo off the opposite bank and John stopped 
abruptly, as though he had been switched off. He turned his head away and 
stared over Mulder's shoulder towards the river, his breathing as laboured 
as if he'd been running. One of the rowing team's sculls flashed by, 
hurrying back to the boathouse before the last light of day vanished.

"My brother rowed," said John conversationally. Mulder stared at him warily, 
not trusting this abrupt switch in mood.

"My brother Simon, that is. And he sailed. Was a superb rider, too. First 
batman on the cricket team. Prefect of his form at school. We worshipped 
him, Freddie and I. Like a god."

Mulder nodded cautiously, not wanting to interrupt this sudden stream of 
reminiscence. He made to loosen his grip on John's lapels, but John wrapped 
his hands around Mulder's fists and held them there, knotted in his coat.

"You know how certain people just effortlessly inspire love? Simon was like 
that. Our parents doted on him, and Freddie and I used to compete absolutely 
*bitterly* for his attention. Freddie once locked me in the cellar for a 
whole day just so that he could go with the driver to meet Simon's train 
alone.

"We didn't get to see that much of him, usually. He was a fair bit older, 
and he was often away at school or visiting one friend whose parents had a 
summer house the next county over. But when he did pay attention to us - he 
had a kind of gift, you know, he was remarkably perceptive about people. He 
bought me books before anyone else even noticed that I'd taught myself to 
read, bought Freddie this elaborate shaving kit just before he sprouted his 
first mouldy little moustache, when everyone else was still giving him kites 
and toy soldiers.

"Sometimes he'd swoop down and carry us off for a day, just for a walk in 
the country-side or a trip into the village, but because *he* took us, it 
was special. Everyone would stop and talk to him, and he would introduce us 
like adults... "Allow me to introduce my brothers," he'd say "Frederick and 
John," and people who had known us all our lives would solemnly shake our 
hands. And we would nod and say "Pleased to make your acquaintance..." I'm 
sure it was all a great joke to them, but still..."

John smiled a distant smile, eyes still blindly fixed on the river.

"Then one summer, after his first year at university, he came right home and 
stayed. Didn't go into the city, didn't go to visit Philip, just spent most 
of his time out with the horses. At first Freddie and I were thrilled to 
have him to ourselves, but he seemed distant and preoccupied, didn't even 
notice we were there half the time.

"And then one morning he woke us both up just as the sun was rising. He 
wanted, he said, to take us out on the little river that ran for a stretch 
though our property. "We'll sneak out now, before anyone else is awake," he 
said, "It'll be an adventure!" And we, of course, were pleased as punch to 
go along with it.

"I don't think I had ever been out that early. There was still dew on the 
grass, but you could already tell that it was going to be a gorgeous day, 
warm and bright, and the river was running clear and quick and lovely. Simon 
carried me piggyback part of the way, up high where I could see everything, 
and Freddie ran ahead towards the river, whistling and shouting. Simon even 
let him row the boat, something he never got to do since he splashed so 
badly.

"We'd stolen apples and cake and chocolate from the kitchen, and once we got 
out to the middle of the river we let the boat drift and ate our spoils as 
the sun rose higher and higher in the sky. It was so perfect...

"Freddie was hanging over the bow of the boat, watching the fish, and I was 
lying across the bench in the middle, with my book. Simon sat in the stern, 
watching us both. After a while I looked up at him, and he was watching me 
with this strange sad look on his face.

"I think I said something to him, asked him what was wrong, what he was 
thinking, and then he - he smiled at me, and threw his apple-core over the 
side of the boat, and stood up. And then, quite deliberately, he put one 
foot up on the side of the boat and flipped us over.

"It happened so fast ... I was in the water in seconds, trapped under the 
boat, and it was colder than I had thought it would be, and dark, though I 
could see shafts of light shining down through the water just feet away.

"Then I felt Simon grab hold of me. I couldn't quite believe what had 
happened, and I remember thinking that it would be all right now, that he 
wouldn't let me go.

"And - he didn't. He pulled me deeper into the water with him, let the 
weight of our clothes drag us down to where the current ran cold and fast. 
We drifted down through those shafts of light until I thought my lungs would 
burst and the whole time he was smiling at me, I could see him blurred 
through the water, a great open smile full of silver bubbles. Then the 
bubbles stopped, and we sank too deep for the light to reach us, and still 
he held onto me, and the pressure in my lungs was too great and I had to 
breathe and the water rushed in and then everything went black."

John was gripping Mulder's hands so tight now that it hurt, and he shut his 
eyes for a moment. When he opened them again they were bright with unshed 
tears.

"The next thing I knew I was on the river bank. Freddie had fallen clear 
when the boat flipped, and some men working in the fields nearby had heard 
him shouting. One of them dove in and found me, but there was no sign of 
Simon. I had stopped breathing, but they had lived beside the river all 
their lives, they knew what to do. Then they called the police, and the 
police called our parents.

"They never did find Simon's body. And we never told anyone about him 
tipping the boat - somehow we didn't think that anyone would believe us, and 
we were afraid of being blamed, though I think our parents blamed us in any 
case. They could tell there was something we weren't telling them. The house 
was very, very quiet for the rest of that summer.

"God, when I remember..." John's voice was low and rough, "Poor Freddie."

"Poor Freddie?!" said Mulder. 'What about you? After all, it wasn't Freddie 
your brother tried to - "

John's face crumpled in remembered pain and he shut his eyes for a moment.

"But don't you see - that's it. What you have to understand is - I didn't 
struggle when he pulled me down with him, I never tried to fight it at all. 
I would have gone with him. He chose *me*, not Freddie - he left Freddie 
behind."

"Oh, John," said Mulder helplessly, but John wasn't finished yet, he shook 
his head wildly and kept talking.

"I was eleven when that happened. I had nightmares for years afterwards - 
only they didn't feel like nightmares while they were happening. They would 
just be the river, and Simon hanging onto me, smiling, silver bubbles and 
then the darkness as we were swept away. And then I'd wake up screaming. And 
then - well, sometimes - I was at that age - "

He flushed, and glanced briefly at Mulder's face.

"Oh" said Mulder, "Eleven, twelve - puberty, right?"

John nodded. "And it wasn't that I  - well, I always knew I was queer, ever 
since I could remember. My first great love was Christopher Robin - I was 
five. Then it was one of the gardeners who I'd follow around, and then the 
new deacon at the church. I never really questioned it. It was just the way 
things were. But now my body was doing things I didn't understand, and at 
night there was still the dream, only now I'd wake up not only screaming but 
hard, and the first time I - it was in the dream, I was being swept away 
with Simon into the darkness, swept away, this pressure inside me building 
and building and it felt so terrible, and it felt so good, and I woke up wet 
and sticky and screaming and I knew it was wrong, and I couldn't say 
anything to anyone, and sometimes, sometimes - I just - and I never thought 
- and Freddie - and then, then - "

He twisted in Mulder's grasp, shook his whole body violently, physically 
throwing off the memory, then met Mulder's eyes with a defiant stare, as if 
daring him to judge.

"Oh John," said Mulder again. 'Why didn't you tell me?"

John released Mulder's hands and pulled away, then swept his hair back with 
both hands and snorted. "You should see the look on your face right now. You 
can't decide if you want to run like the wind or write me up as a case 
study. Your eyes have gone all clinical. Where would you like to start, Herr 
Doktor - with my delusional incest fantasies?"

Mulder was suddenly angry again. "Is that what you expect of me, John? Give 
me a little fucking credit. I grew up knowing that everyone wondered if I'd 
had something to do with my sister's disappearance. I think you can trust me 
not to leap to judgement. I know what it's like to have people stare at you 
as if you were something in a specimen jar."

John's face went momentarily blank and then his eyes darkened and he seemed 
to really look at Mulder for the first time that evening. "I'm sorry," he 
said strickenly. Then he pulled Mulder into his arms and squeezed him so 
tight that Mulder's ribs creaked painfully. He gasped in protest, and John 
released him immediately and spun away towards the river bank and the slow 
dark ribbon of water below.

Mulder lunged after him and grabbed the back of his coat, pulled him back 
onto the path and wrapped his arms tight around him in a hold that was both 
restraint and embrace.

John struggled for a moment, then stopped and looked at Mulder again.

"That's it, isn't it? There's a part of me that died when my brother did, 
and you're missing a piece as well. She took a piece of you with her when 
she went. And I never even... "

He encircled Mulder with his arms again, gently this time, and Mulder found 
himself suddenly trembling.

Sudden murmurs and a snickering laugh rose suddenly from the mist behind 
them as a couple of other students came into view. John raised his head at 
the sound and glared at them, called out "Cretins!" in a voice so loud and 
clear and dripping with autocratic contempt that they were shocked silent 
and drifted on.

The he stared down into Mulder's face, features tight with tension, one 
corner of his mouth twitching.

"I love you," said Mulder miserably, and John gave a strange half-desolate 
laugh and kissed his forehead as gently and sweetly as he had the night 
before.

"I love you too," he said.

Then he swayed and the colour drained from his face, and Mulder tugged him 
over to one of the great old trees that grew on the river-bank. John sank 
limply onto the damp grass and pulled Mulder down beside him, drawing him 
close and resting his chin on Mulder's hair.

Twilight was deepening and Mulder could see nothing but the tree and the 
river and the mist around them. They could have been entirely alone on the 
river-bank, huddled like lost children into the roots of the tree. He 
shivered and moved closer to the warmth of John's body.

"Well, my Foxkin," said John, and for once Mulder didn't protest the name. 
"What on earth are we to do now?"

"Now, John?" said Mulder, thrilled and miserable and terrified all at once. 
"Now we go back to my rooms."

*		*		*

It was awkward that night. They were suddenly shy and hesitant with each 
other, uncoordinated, fingers colliding and tangling. John's skin shivered 
into goosebumps at the slightest touch; Mulder was reduced to helpless 
giggles as they kissed and their noses collided hard enough to make his eyes 
water.

And yet it was sweet and intense and somehow profound. Mulder touched John 
with careful gentle fingers, stroked the soles of his long narrow feet, 
touched the down in his arm-pits as it dampened and curled with sweat, 
cupped his balls up against his body, feeling their subtle stir and shift at 
the touch, finally sliding down to his cock, smooth and rosy and neatly 
hooded.

He rolled back the foreskin and licked its glistening head, and this time 
John let him take it in as far as he could, and it hardly seemed to matter 
that he had little skill, that it took a few tries before his throat 
loosened enough to accept it at all. John, gasping, eventually pulled him 
off, but this time he didn't roll away. He pulled Mulder close and twined 
their fingers together, then lowered their joined hands to his cock and 
finished with a few short strokes, holding tight to Mulder all the while. 
Mulder watched their hands move together and felt his eyes widen in wonder 
as John came, as though he were witnessing some miraculous act, and realised 
to his own astonishment that he was about to come too, shooting hot against 
John's thigh with hardly a touch.

John wouldn't let him go, not even to get a towel, just rubbed the mess into 
his skin like a balm. Then he buried his face against Mulder's chest, and 
sleep rose over them like a deep dark tide.

*		*		*

Mulder swam back up from the darkness a few hours later to the sound of a 
loud knocking at the door. He squinted at the clock. It was the middle of 
the night and John, he realised, was already out of the bed, struggling with 
his pants, a look of near panic on his face.

"I'm sorry," he said strickenly over his shoulder to Mulder. "I didn't think 
he'd actually come after me here!"

"John!" called a voice from outside the door, low but carrying. "I know 
you're in there! You have an exam first thing tomorrow morning - it's on 
your schedule - you'd best come home at once. Do you know what time it is?"

"Don't answer the door!' hissed Mulder. 'What's he going to do? Break it 
down? You're an adult - it's none of his business!"

But John had gotten his pants on and was already stumbling towards the door. 
Mulder heard it open, heard a brief half-whispered angry conversation. "- 
shall have to tell your brother!" he heard the voice snap, and "...make you 
go back if you're not careful." Then John came back into the room, his face 
tense and unhappy.

"Please believe me, I wouldn't go if I didn't have to, Fox. But I - have to. 
I do have that exam first thing." For a moment it looked like he was about 
to say something more, but then he simply came over and sat on the edge of 
the bed.

"I meant what I said tonight, Fox. Meet me by the main gates tomorrow 
night?"

Mulder nodded, then wrestled John back down onto the bed for a long sweet 
kiss before he left.

The bed seemed very empty when he was gone, but Mulder rearranged the 
blankets around him and curled himself tight around the words that John had 
spoken. He had said that he loved him. And he meant what he said.

*		*		*

Mulder had only just arrived at the main gates to the university when John 
came striding quickly towards him, a leather satchel slung over one 
shoulder.

"How was the exam?" asked Mulder, and John swept him behind the gatehouse 
and into a tight embrace, nearly lifting him right off his feet.

"Let's go somewhere and celebrate," he said into Mulder's ear. "Somewhere 
ridiculously expensive. No, no, somewhere obscenely drunken and raucous. 
Somewhere scandalous and strange."

In the end they simply went for Chinese food. John drank sweet plum wine 
until two red patches bloomed high on his cheeks and he was half lying on 
his bench. "You'll make yourself sick," warned Mulder, but John merely 
beamed at him and said

"and you shall hold my head and press a cold cloth to my brow as a sign of 
true devotion."

"How romantic," said Mulder dryly, but he couldn't keep from smiling. John 
was in a strange exultant mood tonight, his gestures broad and sweeping, his 
conversation arcing manically from one subject to another in a welter of 
puns and jokes and sudden tangents, and Mulder couldn't help but be swept 
along by his exuberance.

From the restaurant they went to a pub, and from that pub to another, until 
it was finally time to stagger their way back to the university, walking 
close together in the narrow city streets. John's satchel kept swinging 
irritatingly against Mulder's side until he demanded "What the hell have you 
got in there, John?"

John looked at him sideways, a little shyly, and said:

"Some books. And a change of clothes."

And Mulder didn't know what to say, so said nothing at all, just linked his 
arm through John's and led him back to his college and up the stairs to his 
rooms.

The rest of exam time passed in a confused montage of impressions, writing 
and studying and the presence of John in his bed nearly every night. Mulder 
had vaguely worried about what this might do to his marks, but in some 
peculiar way it actually seemed to help. In his state of blurred euphoria he 
found himself caught up in moments of strange bright inspiration as he 
wrote, information and analysis flowing effortlessly from his pen. In the 
middle of one exam he found himself staring down at his own hands in a kind 
of superstitious wonder as they wrote, remembering the way John had moved at 
their touch the night before, marvelling that these could be *his* hands, so 
deft and clever and suddenly sure.

It wasn't all easy. John was still sometimes skittish and jumpy at his 
touch, prone to sudden withdrawals and moments of panic, but when he did let 
go it was so very very sweet. And if Mulder sometimes woke in the night to 
find John staring at the darkness with a fierce defiant expression, if 
John's high spirits sometimes bordered on manic or collapsed into sudden 
distant silence, he didn't question it. His sails were filled with a bright 
and unfamiliar optimism, and he was sure that it was all just a matter of 
time.

*		*		*

And then one afternoon his exam finished early, and as he left the hall he 
came face-to-face with John, accompanied by three other men and a 
dark-haired woman. He smiled up at John, and realised that John was staring 
at him with an expression that looked very much like alarm. Mulder's smile 
faltered and he stopped in his tracks.

"Hello, Mulder," John finally said, recovering his poise. "You're through 
early." Then he nodded at his friends. "Mulder, this is Terrence, Charles, 
Stephen and Bea."

They smiled at him politely, and Bea reached out and touched his arm. "So 
you're John's mysterious American friend. We're about to go for dinner - why 
don't you join us?" Somehow, without being aware of having actually agreed, 
he was swept along with them, Bea and Charles asking him about his studies 
while John walked a little ahead with the other men. Mulder answered their 
questions abstractedly, eyes fixed on John's tall form in front of him, 
wondering what was going on.

They ended up in a restaurant that he would never have braved on his own, 
full of ancient supercilious waiters and dark wood panelling. Halfway 
through dinner John stood up, casually excused himself, and didn't come 
back. His friends politely didn't comment, and once Mulder realised that 
John was really gone he was so suddenly and completely bereft that he fell 
silent mid-sentence, an ominous lump in his throat. The others let him be, 
gracefully filling in his silence, and as he struggled for composure Mulder 
gradually became aware that Bea was watching him.

When he looked up she caught his eye and leaned in close. "He hasn't told 
you, has he?" She asked.

"Told me what?" said Mulder suspiciously

"He's been sent down." She said flatly.  "He's leaving at the end of the 
week."

Mulder heard the breath hitch in his throat in a small unstoppable sound of 
pain and he stared at her, slack-jawed. "What?!" he said.

"He's been sent down. He's barely been to class this last half-term, and he 
missed most of his exams. He's brilliant, they all know that, but they can't 
keep him here, not behaving like that."

The sounds around Mulder seemed to fade into the distance. "No," he said. 
"No, he didn't tell me".

"Christ, I hate playing nursemaid!" he heard Bea mutter to herself, but she 
must have taken pity on his evident misery, for after that she was more or 
less kind, let him drink too much and blame her cigarette smoke for his 
watering eyes, saw to it that someone called him a cab when his head began 
to sink lower and lower towards the table-top.

"How much has he told you about his family?" she asked and Mulder 
incoherently stuttered something about Simon's death, then shook his head, 
not knowing how much she knew.

Bea looked at him closely and seemed to come to a decision. "Call me 
tomorrow," she commanded briskly, slipping a card into his pocket. "I'll 
probably regret this, but there are some things I think you should know."

*		*		*

By the time he got home the tears that had threatened in the restaurant had 
hardened to a lump of furious desolation in his throat, and he lay dry-eyed 
and wakeful for hours before finally giving up on sleep. In a desperate 
search for something to occupy him, he grimly cleared a patch of floor, 
dragged his bicycle out, and started to take the chain off to fix it.

Half an hour later the whole bike was in pieces, and only then, as he looked 
at its greasy scattered parts, did he finally break down and cry, ugly 
choking sobs of pain and anger and humiliation, of disgust at what he could 
only think of as his own foolish blindness. It all seemed a cruel joke now, 
his optimism of the past weeks, his blossoming pride at John's fearless 
public arm across his shoulder, his joy and pleasure at what he'd thought 
they'd had between them. He wondered now how he could have ever have 
believed in any of it. Tears exhausted at last, he dragged himself back to 
bed and lay there, watching the first light of morning come creeping through 
the window.

End Part III