"Henry, why?"

She wasn't exasperated -- okay, she was a little exasperated, but mostly she was just tired. Mike wasn't talking to her anymore, had taken a leave of absence from work, and she would have been more worried if she didn't know he was holed up in his house at the moment. Without his gun. She'd made him give her his gun and every bottle of pills he could have used, along with most of the sharp knives.

Okay, it wasn't everything she could have done. But the alternative was to lock him up in a hospital, and she wasn't willing to do that yet. He was still talking to her. Hell, he was still snapping at her and being sarcastic about it, even if he couldn't talk about what happened yet. So at least a part of the old Mike Cellucci was still there.

But she still wanted to know why. What on earth had possessed Henry -- please, God, not literally -- to do such a thing.

"Are you asking me why Mike in specific? Because, Vicki, after four hundred and fifty years you start to lose some of your hang-ups about little things like gender..."

"Yes, I'm asking you why Mike in specific, no, I'm not asking you..." One hand flailed a little. "Why men, just. Why Mike? Why did you have to do that to him?"

Henry gave her that look he got when he was dropping the teasing and starting to take her seriously, which was progress, at least. He didn't look guilty though, and she wanted him to look guilty. Wanted him to at least acknowledge what he'd done to the other man.

"He was drunk." Henry looked away. "But he didn't say no. I gave him every chance, Vicki, please believe me..."

She didn't know whether or not to believe him, and even if she did, she didn't know if Henry's idea of giving Mike every chance to back down was hers. And even then, Mike wasn't the backing down type. He was even worse when he was drunk.

"God knows how you even got him drunk in the first place."

Henry laughed. It wasn't a happy laugh, but it wasn't as nasty as she'd heard him get either, and that was something. "Vicki, there are a few things men having in common, and being frustrated by women is one of them. No, we didn't suddenly become best friends, and yes, he felt comfortable enough around me to get drunk."

With a little bit of goading. Henry wasn't above some strategic non-vampire manipulation, he had been raised at court, after all. And he knew how to read people, especially someone who was so obvious with his feelings and his reactions as Mike Cellucci. Maybe he was aces in the interrogation room, but Henry doubted it was because of any kind of deception. The other man was suspicious of Henry, disliked him immensely, not the least of which because Henry was the first threat he had ever encountered for Vicki's affections, whatever other incidents before him aside.

It was one thing that kept him from giving up altogether. Vicki's responses were disheartening, her resolve to resist him impressive. But if Mike thought he was a threat, and Henry did have to admit that Mike knew her better than anyone else Henry was likely to talk to, then perhaps there was something there. And as long as he had the ghost of a chance, he wasn't going to give up.

Neutral territory would be more likely to make him cough up his secrets. But Vicki wasn't a conversation for a bar or tavern, so they were meeting in the café section of the bookstore and then, who knew.

"I can't believe you drink that stuff." Mike's face had already been set into something between a sneer and a scowl. This was going to go well.

"You can't believe I drink coffee, or you don't believe I drink this kind of coffee?" He made himself not smile when he said it. "There are a lot of things you don't believe about me."

"Your good intentions, for one," Mike agreed.

"Let's start there." They sat down. If he was going to be serious about this, he might as well be serious. "When have I ever given you cause to believe I would do anything to hurt Vicki?"

"How about the part where you drink blood?"

Henry's glare went from non-existent to flat, ugly, and dangerous. Coffee shop may not have been the best idea, but he had preferred a public place to keep them both on their best behavior. But if Cellucci was going to start in on his less than human habits immediately, they were moving to a less public location right the hell now.

"Yeah, that." Cellucci pointed a finger at him around his coffee cup. "That's exactly what I'm talking about."

"Perhaps I should talk to Vicki about your talent for discretion." Henry smiled. It almost had teeth in it. "I'm sure she'd love to hear about how well you keep your mouth shut."

"Maybe we should take this elsewhere."

"Maybe we should."

"Henry..." She sighed. Her hands pushed through her hair again and then settled on her forehead, trying to hold her head together. He could be such a headache sometimes. "Just tell me you didn't start off trying to..." She didn't know what to call it. The idea of it still boggled her mind more than a little.

"Vicki, I swear to you, I did not set out to seduce Mike Cellucci."

He sounded so earnest. And she still didn't want him to say it like that, because when he said it like that it made it real, made it something that happened. It was hard enough to deal with Mike, knowing what they'd done and making the fact that he was upset about it the bigger deal. She didn't want to deal with Henry talking about it so blatantly. Not when Henry barely seemed concerned.

"Fine." She made an explosive sighing noise. "Fine, I believe you."

"You don't sound like you do." His head tilted to one side.

"I believe you, Henry. I'm just pissed off at you."

"Because I seduced Mike Cellucci." Pause. "Are you jealous?"

"What?"

"Are you jealous because I got to sleep with..."

"Henry..." She held up a hand, either to smack him or clap it over his mouth, she wasn't sure yet. "Just... stop. Don't say it again, and please don't suggest I'm jealous. I'm not jealous. I'm pissed because you screwed ..." She winced. Bad choice of words. Henry was leering.

"Yeah?"

"I'm pissed because you went to a friend of mine, a really good friend of mine, and I don't know what you did or how you got him in bed but you did, and now he is tearing himself apart because of it. He has locked himself in his house and I'm just glad he's actually talking to me because if he wasn't, God help me, I'd stake you out for the sun to deal with you." She was shouting and pointing a finger at him by the time she was done.

Henry's eyes widened, the first traces of hurt showing on his face. Hurt and something startled and she wasn't sure what it was. In the next moment she wasn't even sure it had been there, he was pulling back into the mask of Henry Fitzroy, son of the king, five hundred year old vampire. She wasn't sure where that left them. She was more worried about where that left Mike.

"I'm still not inviting you in."

"This is a hotel room, Mike, I don't need to be invited in." He left out any and all fallacies that Cellucci had spoken of, then or before, concerning vampires. It really wasn't the time to goad him any more than he already had been. "And anyway, I paid for it."

Well, maybe a little more goading.

"I know..." Mike didn't seem to be riled by that at least, walking around the room with all the vigilance of a police officer in hostile territory. Checking the mini-bar with all the voraciousness of a man being subject to unwanted attentions. "Pretty flashy there with your platinum cards."

Henry smiled a little, folding his arms over his chest with the casual arrogance of centuries. "I'm so glad you noticed."

Mike glanced over his shoulder at him. "You, uh. Got a little sarcasm dripping there."

Henry smiled a little more, turning it into something of a sneer. Mike seethed back at him. But the wonderful thing about being nearly killed because of Mike Cellucci's actions was that Mike couldn't be mad at him for long, at least not now, without feeling a twinge of guilt for it. Henry intended to take full advantage of that for as long as possible.

"The bar's free, too," he pointed out helpfully.

"Free?"

"It's on me." More of a smile, this time.

"Well. Aren't you generous." Maybe it was getting to him.

Henry tapped the side of his mouth. "Now who has something dripping."

Mike rolled his eyes, catching the implication and the twist on the words, but choosing to ignore it. Henry was at least a little intrigued by that, both that he had caught the implication at least enough to acknowledge it and that he ignored it so smoothly. Either he wasn't as contentious and defensive of his sexuality as most men like Cellucci that Henry had encountered, or he didn't believe Henry would do that. That his interests were focused solely on Vicki.

He was somewhat right. At least in that his long-term interests were focused on their mutual interest, she of the sultry smile and fierce eyes. But it wasn't just the sensual possibilities that interested him, and Mike would find that very hard to believe. So Henry didn't even try.

"Why are we here again?" Mike turned around. He had a drink in his hand.

Henry thought about remarking on the advisability of drinking with a vampire around, a vampire with whom he already had contentious relations. Then he decided it might be funnier if he didn't. "We're trying to get along, for Vicki's sake."

"Ah." He practically gulped the whiskey. Or whatever it was, Henry hadn't seen him pour.

"Nervous?"

"Oh, no. I like spending my evenings in hotel rooms with strange vampires. Gives my life a little... kick."

"After all we've been through, Mike, I would have thought we were past the stranger part." Henry took a couple steps towards him, arms outspread, a friendly smile on his face. Mike took a couple steps back and while not openly hostile his expression was not something the other man would have described as friendly, so he let it drop.

"What do you want from me, Cellucci?"

"I want to know ..." But he stopped, and Henry waited while he figured out exactly what he wanted to ask. They had so much between them, most of it bad. But they also had a life between them. Mike had gotten him almost killed and then had saved his life, albeit inadvertently. "Why did you do that? Why did you have to..."

"I was hungry. I wanted to survive."

"That's bullshit." Although Mike didn't sound as though he believed it, quite. "You had a choice. You were doing pretty good at holding it back when Vicki was..."

Henry took a step forward, and it was enough to make the taller cop take a step back. "That was Vicki," he said, in a flat tone that implied Mike was different. Then he took a breath and made himself relax at least a little. "And that was earlier. It was getting harder to maintain control..."

"And that's all you need ... to ..." Mike's voice faded along with his thought. Henry was close, and his eyes were wide and black. "What are you doing?"

"You want to know if there was something about it that you missed." It was all clear, and for a few minutes Henry could have killed every last one of those idiots who'd spread the stories about vampires. Starting with Stoker, who should have known better. "If there's something I'm doing to Vicki that I didn't do with you, some way I made her feel."

"You seducing her with your vampire charms?" That was the Mike he'd first met, all cocky and arrogance. He had been a prince of one of the most powerful countries in the known world. He had been raised to arrogance and grace the likes of Mike Cellucci certainly had never known.

"Would you want to find out if I was? Do you want to know what I can do?"

Cellucci swallowed and stared back at him as though he could stare him down. "You already bit me once..."

"That was in the hunger," Henry waved it away. "I was starving, desperate."

"And?"

"And..." Another step forward. Mike was running out of room to retreat. "I'm not, now."

Mike wouldn't retreat far enough to put his back against the wall, wouldn't reveal that depth of unease. Henry wouldn't stop advancing, not smiling because he knew that would be the one point of arrogance Mike couldn't stand, but his expression was something close. One hand reached up and curled around the back of the taller man's neck. Mike flinched, and then made himself stop.

"Do you want to know what it's like?"

Mike made a noise but didn't say yes. His pride wouldn't permit it, and Henry could understand that.

It was gentle. Teeth penetrated skin, blood filled his mouth and soothed the ache on his tongue and Mike gaped, gasped. It wasn't like last time. This wasn't out of need, or at least not on his part. Mike needed to know that being bitten wasn't all pain and terror and unwanted sensuality and fear and power.

Just a taste. Okay, a little more than a taste, but not enough to do more than give him momentary dizziness. His tongue soothed over the bite when he was done, sealing the bite so that not a drop was spilt. Centuries of experience had taught him to be neat. Hundreds of lovers had taught him to be attentive. He listened as he withdrew, to the sharp indrawn breath Mike made and the rustle of the curtains as his hands pressed against the window behind him. He could feel the tension in the other man's body. Could feel when his cheek turned, pressed against his hair.

"Did you have to do that?"

"Why?" Henry smirked into the crook of his shoulder. "Didn't you enjoy it."

Mike shoved. "You bast--"

Henry had heard that word enough in his lifetime that he had a ready list of snappy answers, but pulling him close and tugging his mouth down to his was much more fun. Especially since Mike was already fighting his body's instincts to take, to rut, to spring to attention and make its wishes known in all the fun ways.

Mike's hands fought but his mouth pressed back against Henry's, whimpering with confusion over the want and the disgust, and Henry wasn't sure what was directed at who. Mike wanted him. Henry had had far too much experience dealing with other men to think otherwise, but Mike hadn't yet come to grips with that. That was fine. Their hands tangled with each other as Henry advanced and Mike protested and somehow they wound up tripping over the chair and on the floor.

"Mike." Because he had to say something, and it was either Cellucci's name or some line that sounded horrible even to his ears like, is that your gun or are you just happy to see me.

Okay, no, definitely not a line that bad.

"What the hell are you doing to me?" Mike breathed, angry, confused. Helpless. Henry wanted to reach up and sooth it away, but instead he shoved Mike off of him, rolled him away.

"I'm not doing anything to you, Mike. I did exactly what you asked."

"I didn't ask you to..." One arm raised to wipe his mouth, but lowered before he completed the gesture. "I didn't ask you to kiss me."

"Not in words."

They stared at each other. Henry stayed lounging on the floor so as not to appear threatening, not to push too hard or too far. Mike didn't know which way was up anymore, and was still breathing hard, wanting something he couldn't define and had never imagined he wanted before.

"What do you want me to say, Mike? That it was part of biting you, that I put you under so you wouldn't feel the bite? I could, but I would be lying. And I know you hate it when I lie to you."

"You're a bastard."

"Yes." He was so calm. "I am."

Mike didn't know what to say to that once he realized what a silly thing it was to say to someone who really was, in an era when that had mattered. He advanced on Henry till he was practically in the other man's face, pointing a finger at him.

"You did this to me. You made me... want. You. I didn't... I don't..."

Henry sighed, irritable, shook his head. "You're drunk, Mike," he pushed past him. "Have another drink."

He took a step forward and Mike's hand closed around his arm and dragged him back, spinning him around less with strength and more with the fact that he hadn't been anticipating the other man to try that. They started at each other for one long, hot moment before Henry leaned in and up a little and kissed him much, much softer than he had before.

Mike didn't kiss back, but he trembled. He backed up against the wall, his hand still on Henry's arm so that Henry had to walk with him, press against him as they kissed with Mike's back against the wall. Which might have been deliberate, now that he thought about it, and thinking made him smile against Mike's lips. Just for a second.

He took pity on him, a little, cupping one hand against the taller man's cheek and softening the kiss even more until it was barely a touch. Mike clearly didn't know what to do with his hands, whether to push him away or just keep him at the distance they were with both hands on his shoulders, or was that too lover-like and no, not the hips. He felt Mike's hands brush over the edge of his jacket and then jerk away. Not the hips.

His fingers brushed aside the edges of Mike's jacket, slowly tugged his shirt out from his waistband. Mike was too busy trying to figure out what the kiss meant and whether or not he wanted to respond to notice what he was doing until Henry'd gotten his belt and button undone. And then, when Henry moved the kissed to his neck, it was almost too late. Alcohol and adrenaline carried him through, even when his body jerked as Henry brushed a kiss over the bite.

Fingers deftly undid buttons and skimmed down his chest, over his undershirt, though he didn't play as much as he might have with a more willing participant. Not that Mike was saying no, stop, don't. His body radiated confusion, but no denial. Which probably made it even more confusing. A sliver of sympathy shivered through Henry and disappeared again. Vicki wasn't the only one who had noticed the detective's charms.

He tasted him at his waistband, at the tiny triangle of flesh between the hem of his undershirt and the open V of his pants. Mike didn't resist. He might as well have been tied to the wall, and for a moment Henry paused, more than a little confused, himself. Surely Mike knew where he was headed. If he was going to stop the vampire, now would be the time. Another quick little darting touch of his tongue, and Mike still wasn't stopping him. He tugged the zipper down and Mike still wasn't stopping him.

By the time he had the parts most interesting completely undressed, most interesting at the moment at least, Mike was making a strange little whimper sound, and still not stopping him. Henry frowned. He hadn't made any threatening moves, even with his greater strength and speed, wasn't forcing him. Was it the alcohol that confused him? He wasn't acting like he wanted it, but he wasn't acting as though he did. Henry waited until Mike stilled and quieted down before taking his first taste and then sitting back on his heels to watch. Mike's hips jerked and his breath was coming faster, hotter, but he still wasn't saying anything. He was hard, ready, and not moving away.

Lips closed around the head of his cock as Henry's focus shifted from confusion to pleasure. To teasing every inch of skin and tasting him, sweat and flesh and little beads of fluid that welled up at his tip, curling his tongue like a cat.

Mike would never have imagined this, he was sure. His eyes fluttered closed, open and closed again, but he still wouldn't look at Henry. Who was on his knees, keeping his eyes on Mike's face, mouth busy. He slid his palms up along Mike's thighs, hands cupping his hips so he could feel every twitch and shudder. Another stroke, tilting his mouth, sliding Mike along his throat. No scrape of fangs, though some men had liked that. Just soft lips and wet tongue, undulating along the underside of his shaft, and he had to react quick as he felt Mike shudder forward, thrusting into his mouth.

When he sat back on his heels and looked up Mike had his eyes closed, and his chest was heaving too fast to be safe. Henry tucked him back in his pants and closed his coat around him before touching him again. It might set off something, make him more upset, make him do something they would both regret. And he was worried, now.

"Mike..."

"Shut up."

It was weak, but he was there at least. Henry was actually starting to feel a little bit guilty for that moment of indulgence, at least for what it had done. He had taken paralyzing fear for tacit acceptance. Or figured on the wrong balance between the two. Something like that. Mike was staring down at him with unfriendly panic and begging confusion.

"I'm sor--"

"I said shut up." He spun off the wall, storming past Henry, going to the bar and pouring himself another drink and downing it quickly.

Henry moved to the bed and sat on it with a little bounce as the mattress gave under him more than he had expected. "That's what got you into this in the first place," he pointed out, relaxing as he watched Mike not do anything more stupid than pour himself a fourth drink. Which he didn't do anything with.

"Do you ever shut up?" he asked, turning and glaring at Henry with a look that would have punched his lights out if he'd been closer. And if Henry had been human.

Henry leaned his elbows on his knees, stretched forward a little. The taste of him still filled his mouth, distracting him, but Mike wouldn't have seen a hair out of place and with him dressed again there was very little to remind him of what had happened. "I misread you," he explained, calmly. "I thought you were ready."

"Ready for what?" Mike half-yelled, shaking his head with the kind of wobbly-headed bemusement that only the fairly well drunk could manage.

Henry shrugged. "I saw you looking."

It brought back memories of the heat that had still been between them, Henry half-naked and drunk on power and victory, Mike half-drained and dizzy and leaning on him as they tottered out of the church. Most of the heat had been anger but here, after what they'd just done, Henry watched as the other man's eyes were drawn to his mouth, then lower. Curiosity was driving him more than anything else. This wasn't the seduction Henry would have chosen.

"I wasn't looking."

"Yes, you were." He snorted. "If you're going to make excuses, try dizzy from blood loss first. I might believe that one."

Mike took a step forward and tottered. Exhaustion after orgasm or the alcohol or both, plus all the conflicting responses that he didn't know how to sort through. It paralyzed him, and Henry only had to look down to see why. Maybe he was one of those men for whom lust and anger were inextricably linked. Or maybe it was just that he didn't know whether or not to be angry with Henry when it was at least partly his fault that he was there and drunk. Certainly partly his fault that they were still fighting.

Mike's fists clenched and relaxed into open hands with fingers twitching. The look held, until neither one of them was blinking more out of stubbornness than any ability to hold their eyes open like a cat. Henry's lips twitched first. Then Mike's.

"What are you laughing at, vampire?"

Only when he said it his voice was tired, with wry amusement. "This is pointless," he said instead of what he was thinking, sliding off the bed with more grace than he should have been able to manage, striding over to Mike. "Get in bed."

Just like that, the camaraderie fell away and the cop was back, staring up at him from where he'd slid to the floor with suspicion and fear. Henry was sick of fear. At least for that reason, it was so damn provincial and it seemed so foolish after hundreds of years of living, especially when there were practical reasons for Mike to be on the bed.

He stalked over to the other man with more force than was necessary and practically picked him up. Both of them had to fight off the flashbacks at that point. At least Henry wasn't half-naked and full of power and blood. That would make things a little easier on Mike.

"You better not try anything."

Henry snorted. "I won't do anything to you that you don't want me to do."

Mike wasn't stupid. He caught the implication, but didn't say anything as Henry practically carried him over to the bed and laid him down. As little as he'd taken, it must have been the alcohol having more of an effect. Although blood loss would speed it up. Mike fell back onto the bed, hands cover his eyes. Henry sat on the edge of the bed and stared at him.

"You didn't have to do that," Mike said finally, voice muffled behind his hands.

"Do which?"

"You know which."

"No, actually..." But Henry stopped after a moment, because he had fed on Mike before and it hadn't driven him to drink quite this immediately. He sighed. "Sleep it off. I'll call Vicki before morning." So he wouldn't have to spend the night. So she could pick Mike's dumb ass up and yell at him for getting drunk, bled, doing all sorts of inadvisable things that she hadn't yet succumbed to.

Succumbed. There was a good word for it. She hadn't yet given in and it frustrated him. Perhaps why he was now leaning over Mike after the cop had passed out on the bed, fifteen, twenty minutes after he'd told him too, yes. But Henry should know better. Have known better. Something. He'd had a taste already and he wanted more, and it wasn't only the Hunger talking.

He growled at himself and slid off the bed to pace up and down the room. Mike was asleep. Vicki was either handling a case she didn't need his help on or also asleep. He was alone.

This was not the way things were done.

Mike opened his eyes after an hour, as dawn started to move in closer than sunset had been far away, as Henry was starting to get nervous. Maybe he should call Vicki, interrupt her sleep, get yelled at, which he wasn't in the mood for. The detective rolled over and made retching sounds by the side of the bed, but there was no smell offending his nose. Yet.

"You drank too much," Henry observed, from his very stereotypical position of arms over his chest and facing out the window. An east-facing window. Subconscious masochism.

Mike coughed, but it sounded like a laugh. "I think you drank too much."

"Maybe I didn't drink enough."

The bed creaked. Fabric rustled. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Henry shook his head, strands of hair brushing over his cheek, meaning something or nothing. "It doesn't matter. Go back to sleep, Mike."

More rustling, and a weight settling onto the mattress. "Like I can go to sleep now that you said that. Maybe you're going to bite me in my sleep." But he didn't mean it, and Henry heard that. He even smiled a little.

"Now why would I do a thing like that?" he teased back, just a little, going over to the mini-bar and pouring a glass, ice and liquid. Water, this time, though his body shielded the actual bottle he was pouring. Mike didn't need any more alcohol, no matter how much the other man might or might not believe that.

"I don't know," Mike retorted. "Why would you do a thing like... earlier?"

"Isn't ..." Henry just shook his head. He thought it was violating some sort of rule of male ethics or something, talking about it even as obliquely as Mike had. But if the other man was going to talk about it. "I thought you were more flexible..."

He turned, glass in hand, only to find Mike collapsed back on the bed and almost howling in silent laughter. Henry felt his lips twisting into something that might have been a scowl. Or a smile. Or maybe the strangest parts of both. At least Mike was calm, or what passed for calm. There was no hysteria in the lack of sound and no fear in the sweat that still poured off his skin. After a while the laughter stopped, and perhaps it was just Mike's way of coping with everything that had happened.

The meeting was meant to be a discussion of how Mike was going to deal with having been fed on, and now not only had Henry done it again he'd engaged in sexual practices with the other, very heterosexual man.

"Why a hotel room?" Mike took the drink from him while staying as far away from Henry's fingers as possible, took a long drink without making a face at the lack of alcohol.

Henry shrugged. "Would you want me in your home?"

"No."

"Would you be willing to come to my apa..."

"No." Pause. "Ah."

"Exactly."

Sunrise was coming closer. He'd wasted most of the night either playing games with Cellucci, which was his fault, and watching the other man sleep, which was the detective's fault for coping with all the strangeness in the whiskey glass. Perhaps if Vicki had been there they would have talked about it. He allowed that it was possible that Mike simply wasn't up to having a heart to heart with the vampire who had sucked his blood, his cock, and was stealing his woman away.

And when he thought about it like that... "I have to go. You should sleep before you try to drive home." With some water in him and some rest, Cellucci didn't look as though he was in any danger of doing something stupid under the influence of alcohol any longer. Just to be safe, Henry poured the rest of the bottle down the drain.

"I'll sleep when you're gone," Mike muttered, not rolling over, not taking his eyes off the vampire.

"Does it bother you more that I drank your blood, or that I..."

Mike's face turned ugly. "Finish that sentence and we'll find out if that myth about stakes is true."

Which was an answer, or at least part of one. Henry fought back the urge to smirk or scowl about it and kept his face expressionless as he set the water bottle back in the ice bucket and brought it over to the bedside table. Something occurred to him as he did, dragged to the forefront of his mind by the still-wary expression on the detective's face.

"Are you going to have me arrested?"

Mike only looked confused. "For being a vampire?"

Evidently not. Henry shook his head, already trying to sort through his own feelings and not paying as much attention as perhaps he should have been to the other man. He could feel eyes on his back as he grabbed his coat and left, fingers working the lock with unaccustomed stiffness. It felt premature, as though there should have been more conversation to it. More action. More of something. An aborted ending to a conversation that was going nowhere but down.

It was unfinished. It had been more finished before the hotel room, before the conversation in the café even. If he had left it at one hunger-driven feeding and being the one to drag the taller man out of the den of evil, they would have remained at conflict and things would have remained the same. Now, part of the conflict was ebbed away, but everything had been thrown off-kilter. Mike was too dominant, too alpha for his usual tastes. Henry was simply too male for Mike's.

Dawn was approaching too fast to be caught in ruminations in his car. He slammed it into gear and drove home with his hands tense on the steering wheel and a twisted feeling in his gut that not only was it not over yet, it was only beginning to get strange.

He hated not being sure of the social dynamics churning around him. It felt as though he should know better than that. If life had to turn strange, he would have preferred more ghosts or goblins or things that went bump in the night. At least he could hit back.

Go to the top! For you have reached the bottom.