Date: Sun, 26 Jul 2009 20:26:45 -0600
From: Roy <roynm@mac.com>
Subject: Chapter 29 - Owen - Gay College Section

Owen

Chapter twenty-nine

by Roy Reinikainen


	Lucas smiled, declining yet another refill of his coffee cup with a
shake of his head.  For the past hour, he and Owen had shared the
five-table restaurant with a constant stream of well-wishers who had
learned of Owen's return.  Each had greeted Lucas cordially, but it had
been clear they had purposely come to the restaurant to see Owen.  Adults
would smile and laugh at Owen's stories.  Young children would either sit
on his lap, or stand at his side and hold his hand.  Older children managed
with only a brief hug.

	Owen seemed interested in hearing about everything every person,
especially the younger people, had done.  And *his* stories!  'The story of
Owen's first snow storm is certainly getting a work out,' Lucas smiled to
himself.  With every new group of people who arrived, Owen would introduce
Lucas, his, 'best friend in the whole world.  During every story Owen told,
whether it be about arriving at the airport, or his first snow storm, or
his apartment burning down, Lucas played a prominent role.  "I wouldn't
have been able to survive if it hadn't been for him," Owen said, for at
least the third time that morning.

	"Many times, people would take a moment, before leaving, to thank
Lucas, both for helping Owen when he was away from home, and for bringing
him back.  Just as at Bea's dinner the night they arrived, he was
immediately made to feel a welcome part of the community.

	'I never would have imagined all this,' Lucas thought, watching
Owen from beneath his eyelashes.  'This is not the same man who can be
painfully unsure of himself.  *Here*, he's at home, surrounded by people
who love him.  He knows everyone, and makes sure to ask about all the
members of the family, down to the youngest children, always smiling,
always shaking hands, or holding the newest baby, or exclaiming how much a
shy young boy had grown since they'd last seen one another.

	Sally McKenzie, the restaurant's owner, laughed as the latest group
departed.  "I swear, Owen!" She stood at the table's side with her hands on
her hips.  "I should hire you to sit and visit with folks.  I haven't had
this much business since . . ."  She paused, staring into the distance,
then shrugged.  "Come to think of it, I don't recall ever having this much
business in one morning!"  She patted Owen on the shoulder and bounced off,
pencil and pad in hand, to take the order of a group of newcomers, who
smiled and waved their greetings in Owen's direction.

	An hour later, Owen had declared himself, "able to survive until
lunch."  Sally laughed, as Owen, wearing a sheepish smile, decided, after
the slightest bit of persuasion, to have, 'just one last pastry.'

	"Haven't changed a bit, have you Owen?" she smiled, sliding a
chocolate and cream confection topped with chopped nuts in front of him.

	Owen shook his head.  "Sally, I've changed a lot since leavin', but
one thing's for sure, I'll never get tired of your cooking, or of your
delicious desserts."

	"Or the generous portions," Lucas interjected.  Sally patted Owen
on the hand and gave Lucas a kind smile.

	"It's good to have you back, Owen," she murmured, sitting on the
edge of a chair across from the two men.  "Real good.  I'll tell Scott.
He'll be happy to know.  He was down-right scared to death for your Mama,
seein' her lying on the floor, as she was, all cut up and bruised."  Sally
stood, making a dismissive gesture with one hand as she picked up the
coffee pot with the other.  "Enough of that sorta talk."  Before turning
away, she added, "It's been a pleasure Lucas.  Welcome to Riverton.  I hope
you'll be a regular here at the restaurant."

	"Nice folks," Lucas said, as he and Owen left the restaurant,
followed by the voices of well-wishers.  "They seem to really like you."

	Owen thrust his hands into his pockets.  "And I like them."  He
turned to Lucas.  "I'm glad everyone was so nice to you.  It means a lot to
me to see that you're happy here."  He paused, nodding a greeting at two
more well-wishers who passed, but didn't stop.  "Are you really serious
about maybe staying?"

	Owen glanced across the two-lane main street, his mouth curving
into an amused smile, crinkling the corners of his eyes, as he listened to
someone singing through an open window, while across the street, a group of
laughing children, each carrying a large sucker, burst through the door of
the general store and headed toward the park and the playground equipment.

	'Everything seems so simple here,' Lucas thought.  'It's as if the
people in this place have never had to worry about anything.'  He smiled in
Owen's direction, raising his hand to shade his eyes from the bright sun.
"Yes, I'm serious, Cowboy."  He grinned at Owen's pleased expression at the
use of his pet name.  "If this is where you're going to be, this is where
*I* want to be."  He lowered his hand to stop the protest forming on Owen's
lips.

	"I'm not going to interfere with your and Sam's relationship, so
don't worry.  It's just important to me to be near you."  He grinned and
nudged Owen with a hip.  "I want to be able to see your smile and hear your
laughter."  He lowered his voice.  "Maybe . . . once in a while . . . we
might even be able to hug.  Y'think?"

	Owen hesitated, seemingly on the verge of saying something, then
laughed and rested an arm across Lucas' shoulders.  "Oh, Lucas.  What would
I ever do without you?"  He turned to his friend.  "If we hug, it goes
without saying that I'd want to kiss you."  He made a theatrical kissing
sound and chuckled when Lucas blushed.  "You're a great kisser.  Has anyone
ever told you that?"

	Immediately, his smile faded.  "Don't answer that," he said, with a
crooked smile, removing his arm from Lucas' shoulder.  "I already know the
answer."

	In a sudden change of mood, he pointed to the building they were
approaching.  "Would you mind if we stop by the doctor's place?" he asked.
"I need to thank him for lookin' out after Mama n'all."

	Lucas reached out with a restraining hand to Owen's forearm,
stopping him before he turned toward the doctor's apartment.  "Owen," Lucas
murmured, "standing in the middle of the sidewalk, as we are, isn't the
place to discuss what you're thinking, but we *have* to discuss it."  His
voice became more insistent.  "You know me.  You know what my feelings
toward you are.  I do not see them changing, not for Jonah, not for
anyone."  He tightened his fingers.  "Do you understand me?  I mean
*really* understand?  Because if you don't, we need to see the doctor
later, and go back to Sam's so I can do whatever it takes to *make* you
understand my feelings."

	Owen had tensed at the first touch.  By the time Lucas had finished
speaking, Owen had relaxed enough to place his hand on top of Lucas', and
to nod.  "I do understand your feelings Lucas.  It's me that I'm having
more difficulty with."  His mouth formed a crooked smile.  "I'm feeling so
clueless that if we were playing in a game, I wouldn't even know which
one."  He sobered.  "But, this isn't all a game, is it?"  At Lucas' shake
of his head, Owen's mouth tightened.  "That's what makes everything so
scary."

	"Don't forget, Cowboy, that you are not alone.  You'll never be
alone.  No matter where you are, or what you're doing, I will be close-by."

	Owen thought a moment before a smile blossomed.  "So . . . you're
tellin' me you're a stalker?"  He playfully punched Lucas on the shoulder.
"A stalker, and he can *wrestle* too!  Ooooo, I'm lovin' it!"


----------


	Daniel looked up, surprised at the unexpected knock at his
apartment door.  He had been attempting to make himself some coffee and
breakfast, but was finding that having an arm, broken in three places,
wrapped in an overly large immobilizing cast, strapped to his chest, did
not make things at all easy.  He looked down at his bare chest and sighed.
'Showing some skin to a visitor can't be helped,' he thought to himself.
'I can't get into any shirts.  Hell, I'm doing good to wrap a towel around
my waist.'

	He ran the fingers of one hand through his hair as he crossed the
living room on bare feet, wishing he had shaved, and wondering how he was
going to treat someone's problems when he was so stiff he could barely
move.  It had been a couple days since he and Bea had returned to Riverton,
both heading their own way to nurse their injuries.  Since their parting,
he'd wanted to do nothing but sleep, or sit in front of the fire, his feet
propped up on the leather ottoman.

	'Whatever was I thinking, bursting through Bea's front door and
making a flying tackle like I did?' he asked himself for the hundredth time
since throwing himself at Jonathan Carver in an attempt to stop him from
hitting his wife one more time.  He smiled to himself.  'The tackle itself
went okay.  At least, I landed on *him*.  If I hadn't tripped over the
twice-damned chair when I stood up, I wouldn't have ended up in worse shape
than Jonathan!'  He grinned grimly.  'At least, I wasn't taken into
custody.'

	"Coming," he shouted, after another knock.  He fumbled, alternating
between the latch and trying to hold the towel closed, all with the same
hand.

	"Owen!" He shouted in surprise, smiling and nodding a distracted
greeting at Lucas.  "Come in, come in."  He stepped aside, allowing the two
men to enter.  "Welcome home!  Would one of you please latch the door?
Every hand I've got is occupied at the moment."

	Lucas pushed the door closed and latched it.  The room smelled of
waxed wood, and last night's fire.  It was a handsome apartment, 'very
masculine,' he thought.  Almost as masculine as the man who was doing his
best to act nonchalant, as he grasped the too-small towel which circled his
waist.

	"Umm, Doc," Owen began, his amusement barely held in check.  "Did
we catch you as you were about to shower, or do you normally hang around
the house dressed like that?  Not that I'm complaining, or anything," he
added, with a smile in his voice, his grin blossoming into a smile when he
realized the doctor was doing his best to keep his back to the wall,
presumably to hide the gap in the towel.  "It's just, I . . . ahem, never
saw you bein' so . . . casual.  His voice held laughter barely concealed."

	"In fact," Owen continued, examining the ever increasingly
ill-at-ease doctor, "You remind me of that Tarzan guy.  You know who I'm
talkin' about?"  The doctor rolled his eyes as Lucas snorted in the
background.  "He's that guy who wore something that once was an animal,
around his waist like you're wearing that towel.  You look like him too
. . . all rugged and stuff . . . except for the broken arm and cast
strapped to your chest and stuff.  If you weren't injured, I'd expect you
to pound on your chest to let everyone know how macho you are, then you'd
swing from a vine and yell at the sky."

	"Very funny."

	"No," Owen corrected, returning the doctor's glare.  "I think it's
sorta cool, though if you don't pay more attention to how you're movin'
about the room, trying to keep us from seeing your . . . ahem . . . butt
. . . you'll trip over something.  You wouldn't want to break something
else.  Then, where would you be?"

	Daniel grinned.  "You're right, of course.  It's just that I'm
normally a little more sedate than this, no matter that you think I look
like Tarzan.  I'm a little uncomfortable wearing only this dish towel."  He
chuckled.  "If I'd known you were coming I'd have at least tried to wrap
myself in a bath towel, then I wouldn't feel so ill at ease."  Owen made a
dismissive gesture; then turned to Lucas, inviting him closer with an
extended arm, which he kept around his waist.

	"Doctor Johnson," he said, glancing first at the doctor, then
Lucas.  "I'd like you to meet Lucas Horton.  We've been livin' together,
back at college.  He's 'bout the best friend a guy can have."  He leaned
close to the doctor and spoke in a low voice.  "You don't have to shake his
hand.  After all, we wouldn't want you to lose control of your towel."

	Before greeting Lucas, the doctor paused a moment and gave Owen a
close look, as if not believing that the person who stood before him was
the same person who left for school, months earlier.  When he'd satisfied
himself, he turned to Lucas, who had been watching the byplay with a
pleased grin.  Lucas had seldom seen Owen in such high spirits, but, ever
since arriving back in Riverton, he'd been almost manic, showing his joy.

	'Now, if he could only settle his mind where Sam stands in his
life, things would be much easier, for Owen, Sam, *and*, me.'

	"It's a pleasure, Lucas." Daniel smiled, then nodded in Owen's
direction.  "Did you slip something into his coffee this morning?  I'm
still not sure this is the same young man I've always known."  Owen
snorted, while Lucas nodded a greeting.

	"I really do apologize for my state of . . . undress . . ." the
doctor added, guiding the two visitors to the apartment's living room, and
the overstuffed leather furniture.  "When your mother's sister dropped me
off a couple days ago, I began to realize that I'm hurting in many more
places than this," he nodded toward his immobilized arm, "would indicate.
I can barely move!" he wailed.  "I can't shower, make myself a meal
. . . anything.  I'm sick of eating apples," he added, in a lower voice.
"It took me . . . what seemed like hours . . . to get out of my clothes
when I got home.  Then," he snorted, "I found that, with one arm, I can't
get *into* anything clean.  In fact, I haven't even been able to get
cleaned up!"

	"Do you think . . .?" he asked, a calculated gleam lighting his
eyes.  "That you could, at least help me with a meal and get showered?  I'd
probably feel a little better if I had some real food in my stomach, and
was clean."

	"We can do better than a single meal," Lucas interrupted.  "Owen
can stay here and help you out with the shower.  I'll go back to Sally's
restaurant and order a few meals for you."  He paused, looking toward Owen.
"Do you think they'll deliver?"  He brushed aside his question, unanswered.
"For you, Doctor, I'm sure they'll deliver."

	"You'll have to be wearin' something when you're answerin' the door
though, Doc," Owen teased, perching on the arm of a chair.  "You'll have
all the ladies, and some of the guys, all hot and bothered, seeing you like
this."

	"Smart ass," Daniel groused.  "I'd punch you, but I'd lose my
towel, and embarrass myself."

	"That's okay, Doc.  It's just us guys." Owen's good humor grew, as
he lowered his voice.  "Besides, not everyone can be, ahem, y'know
. . . blessed.  Isn't that right, Lucas?"  Owen looked over his shoulder
for an answer.

	"I'm not going anywhere near *that* one, men," Lucas laughed,
letting himself out of the apartment with Daniel's playful shout following
him.

	"Hey!" Daniel called out, as the door closed.  "What's that
supposed to mean?"  He turned to Owen.  "Where we just talking about what I
think we were talking about?"

	Daniel watched Owen's eyes follow his friend as he passed the
windows at the front of the apartment.  "A nice man," Daniel ventured
aloud, wondering if Owen was aware that his feelings painted his face.
Owen nodded once, turning back to the doctor with a wistful smile.

	"The best friend a guy could have, bar none."  Owen grinned,
returning his attention to the doctor.  "I don't know what I would have
done without him all these months.  He seems to make it a habit of helping
people."

	"Like someone else I know," Daniel murmured, returning Owen's
questioning glance with a blank look, before dismissing the comment with a
flick of his hand as he changed the subject.

	"Shower.  Now.  Please," Daniel begged.  "I'm feeling like I need a
good scrubbing-down."  Owen followed the doctor into the bathroom,
preoccupied with wondering what Lucas would do to keep himself occupied
while he tended to the doctor's needs.

	"Are you happy to be home?" the doctor asked, dropping his towel
and standing aside while Owen turned on the shower spray, testing the water
for warmth.

	Owen grinned, trying not to be too obvious about studying the
doctor's naked body.  'Tarzan never looked so good,' Owen grinned.  "Oh
yeah, I'm happy to be here, though not under the present circumstances.  I
mean, with all the stuff Pops has done n'all."  Owen motioned for the
doctor to get into the tub, taking the opportunity, while the doctor's back
was turned, to appreciate the man's broad shoulders, slim waist, and
muscular buttocks, which flexed as he stepped into the tub.  "Ahem," he
cleared his throat.  "I'm glad you've got one of these shower heads on a
hose," he continued, tearing his mind away from sexual fantasies and
returning his attention to the doctor.  "That way, I can soap you up and we
can keep your arm dry.  We'll have to wash your hair, using the sink
though."

	Daniel nodded, holding still while Owen scrubbed his body.  He
never would have imagined a time when Owen would be giving him a shower,
'but,' he snorted, 'I never would have thought I'd be in the shape I'm in
right now, either.'

	Owen noticed the snort of amusement and paused, looking up for an
explanation.

	"Just thinking how strange it is for you to be bathing me."

	Owen shifted position.  "For you, I would do anything."  He perched
on the edge of the tub, the hand-held showerhead spraying the far wall,
forgotten, as he spoke.  "Doc," Owen began, not meeting the doctor's eyes.
When the silence stretched, the doctor interrupted.

	"Call me Daniel."  He grinned.  "I figure anyone who I've allowed
to bathe me, should be allowed to call me by my first name."

	Owen couldn't help grinning at the doctor's crooked smile and
sparkling eyes.  "Daniel, it is, then."  Owen paused, his serious mood not
entirely forgotten.  "I can't begin to thank you for lookin' out for Mama
the way you have.  Not only during this thing with Pops," Owen hastened to
add, "but ever since I've been away.  Jonah told me how much you've worried
about her."  Owen cleared his throat.  "Thanks."  He bowed his head.  "I
feel as if I owe you so much."

	"She's a wonderful lady, Owen, who's been through much more, I
think, than either of us realize.  And, you have to remember that you
. . . do . . . not . . . owe . . . me . . . anything.  I like and admire
your mother a great deal.  Now . . ." Daniel sought to change the subject,
since he was perilously close to revealing more about his feelings than he
was ready to.

	A few minutes later, the shower finished, Owen leaned against the
bathroom vanity once more in a preoccupied mood, the towel he'd been using
to dry the doctor hanging from his hands, while the Daniel stood, dripping
wet, frustrated at being at the mercy of someone else for such basic needs.
He didn't want to do anything to hurry Owen though.  Today, Owen had been
more open with him than at any time.  He'd always cared for the sensitive
young man, and was pleased, more than he could express, that Owen had found
someone like Lucas to care for while at school.  It would have been so easy
for him to fall prey to someone who would take advantage of his good nature
and, by doing so, would have been irreparably harmed.  "Daniel . . .," Owen
asked, hesitatingly, not meeting the doctor's eyes.

	"What is it, Owen?" Daniel asked, in a soothing voice, his wet skin
forgotten.  "Is there something you'd like to talk about?"

	Owen pressed his lips together and shrugged.  "I don't know, truly.
Sometimes I feel like I want to but, then . . . I'm not sure that I know
enough of my own mind to talk."  He looked up. "When I get things figured
out a little more, would you be free to give me some advice."

	"I'll listen to you and, between us, we might be able to figure
things out; but I won't advise you what to do.  Are you worried about
Lucas?"

	Owen bowed his head, nodding with the barest hint of movement.
"And Sam."  His mobile mouth twisted into a forced smile.

	"Life's just so complicated," Owen murmured.  "Until I left
Riverton and met Lucas, everything seemed so . . . simple."  He huffed a
breath of a laugh.  "Of course, leavin' and meeting Lucas happened on the
same day."  If possible, Owen's voice lowered even further.  "He's rescued
me time n'again.  Without him, I . . ." Owen shrugged, his voice catching.

	'I thought as much,' the doctor told himself.  'For all his
laughing and teasing, this boy's in pain.'

	"Then, we'll talk whenever you wish.  Just you and me," Daniel
added, anticipating Owen's next question.  "No one'll ever know, unless you
want them to.  Think about something for me though, will you?"  Owen
nodded, still not looking up.  "Really examine how *simple* things were
before you left.  For as many problems as you think you currently have, *I*
have to believe that you felt many more . . . complications . . . before
leaving.  Don't romanticize things, Owen.  Remember them as you truly
believed them to be."  Daniel squeezed Owen's shoulder, pleased with the
young man's grin.

	"Now," he theatrically shuddered, "finish drying me off before I
have to treat myself for pneumonia."


----------


	Lucas waved over his shoulder as he closed the restaurant door.
Sally McKenzie had been more than pleased to deliver some meals to the
doctor.  "He's a good man, Lucas," she'd said.  "I'm glad it was him who
helped Bea.  She's a strong woman, but I think even *she* had 'bout reached
her limit."  Sally gave him a tight-lipped grin.

	"It'll be good for her to have Owen back to lend support.  It's
good of you to come with him.  Someone needs to be giving Owen some support
too.  He's suffered at the hands of that father of his, more'n he probably
even knows."  She patted Lucas' hand, signaling the end to her thoughts,
promising to make sure the doctor was eating well.

	'Damn, but the sun is bright," Lucas thought, turning from the
restaurant's entrance toward a row of empty storefronts close-by the
doctor's apartment.  His attention was immediately arrested by the rich
detail of the buildings.

	'These are wonderful!' he exclaimed to himself, peering into the
spaces within through the large street-front windows.  The three empty
buildings stood side-by-side like three lonely sisters at a ball, all
dressed up and waiting for someone to ask them to dance.

	He ran his fingers over the once-proud stonework.  "You've been
waiting a long time for someone to pay attention to you, haven't you ol'
girl?" he mused, looking up to the second and third floor windows, their
large panes of glass overlooking the two-lane street, proudly recalling
times when people called these places home.

	Lucas spared one more glance through the window, idly running his
fingertips over the aged copper window frame, amazed at the possibilities
the empty buildings presented.

	"Hello there!"  A jolly man huffed across the street, extending a
beefy hand in greeting.  "I'm Art, the town's barber."  He examined Lucas
closely, the corners of his lips twitching in suppressed amusement.  "Need
a haircut?" he laughed.  Before Lucas could answer, Art answered his own
question.  "You'll have to forgive me.  I ask everyone that.  You'd be
surprised at the number of folks who say, yes."

	Lucas smiled, instantly sure this man would become a good friend.
"Nice to meet you, Art.  I'm Lucas," he said, grasping the man's hand.
"Owen and I just arrived in town yesterday."  The barber's eyebrows rose.
"He's helping the doctor get cleaned up," Lucas continued.  I guess the
doctor's found it to be pretty rough trying to take care of himself, with
that cast strapped to his chest n'all."

	Art cast a look of concern in the direction of the doctor's
apartment.  "I didn't know Owen had come back, or that things with the
doctor were quite that bad.  I've been urging everyone to leave Daniel and
Bea alone for a few days, so they could do a bit of recoverin' and not have
to fend off bunches of well-wishers.  I should probably have checked in to
make sure everything was okay before I started making suggestions."  He
smiled crookedly.

	"I'm glad Owen's back.  Are you one of his college friends?" Art
asked, motioning for Lucas to join him in his shop, offering him a cool
drink as they stepped out of the bright sunlight.  "He's never had enough
friends his own age, that one; always surrounded by well-wishers, but never
enough true friends.  He's got so much to give.  I think he's happiest when
he's givin' of himself."  Art motioned for Lucas to take one of the faded
red leather chairs, and sat opposite him, handing him a cold soft drink.
"It was rough on Owen, leavin' Sam'n everyone, to go to school, but it was
something he had to do.  He never would have rested until he found out what
life elsewhere is like."  Art rested his elbows on his knees and leaned
closer, his eyes intent.

	"Has he been happy, Lucas?  Has the world treated him well?"

	Lucas thought for a moment, wondering how much of Owen's college
experiences he was free to talk about.  "Yes, Art," he answered, after
taking a sip of soft drink, giving himself a moment to organize his
thoughts.  "I think he's been happy.  There've been a few rough spots for
him, but overall, I think he'd agree that leaving has been a good
experience.  But," he hastened to add, "that doesn't mean he's not thrilled
to be back home.  He's missed everyone more than he's been willing to
admit.

	"He certainly does seem to be popular," Lucas laughed.  "We had
breakfast at Sally's, and it seemed as if half the town found a reason to
stop by, just to say hi."

	"I'd venture to say that he's helped every one of those people in
some way.  We stand by our own, Lucas," Art added.  "If Owen left today and
never came back, God forbid, he'd have already left his mark.  All those
people who sought him out are better, in some way, because of knowin' that
young man."  Art sat back, stretching his legs in front of him, and folded
his hands over his ample belly.

	"I can't begin to tell you of all the things he's done, some of 'em
small, like rescuin' a cat that was stuck way up in a tree, to other,
really important ones, like when he tutored a little disabled boy until the
boy's folks moved away to get specialized full-time help for their son, or
when he sat up with a sick child night-after-night to give the parents a
chance to get some rest.  He's always coming to someone's rescue, and never
asks anything in return."  Art shook his head.  "A wonderful, wonderful,
young man."

	"I think so, too, Art.  Everyone he touches seems to benefit.  I
know I have."

	Art smiled in perfect understanding.


----------


	"Wait, Owen!  Have patience," the doctor laughed.  "I think we've
got them on backward!"  Daniel tried to push the pair of underwear Owen had
been helping him with, while ignoring Owen's laughter.

	"I'm not going to forget the indignity you're putting me through,
you know."  Daniel reached out and held on to Owen's shoulder as he managed
to step out of the underwear, which now lay on the floor in a small puddle
of bright orange fabric.

	"Y'know, Doc," Owen tried to stop laughing as he looked up from
where he knelt in front of the naked doctor.  "If people saw me kneeling in
front of you, naked as you are, tongues would be wagging."  He reached out
and flicked the doctor's flaccid cock with a finger.  "Just like you're
waggin' now."

	"Hey!" The doctor jumped, surprised by Owen's action.  "You're free
to do that with Sam or whomever, but not with me!"  He covered himself with
his free hand, suddenly self-conscious, nodding toward the puddle of orange
fabric.  "Now, straighten those out and let's get 'em on . . . the correct
way, this time, if you please."

	Owen tried to suppress his laughter.  "You gotta uncover yourself,
y'know."  He held up the bikini briefs.  "There's not enough fabric here to
cover both your thing *and* your hand.  Besides, it'd look a little weird
for you to be seen goin' around with your hand down the front of your
pants."

	"Smart ass!"  Daniel playfully pushed at Owen with his bare foot.
"Now, no funny stuff," he continued, in a voice he hoped concealed his
amusement, "or I'll have to show you who's boss!"

	"Ohhh, look at me." Owen laughed, rocking back on his heels and
holding up a hand, as if in self-defense.  "I'm trembling in my boots,
worryin' that a guy who's got his feet all tangled in his underwear, and
looks like he's playing with himself with one hand, while the other is all
wrapped up in a big ol' clunky cast, is gonna show me who's boss.  Wooo,
I'm scared."

	The doctor's laughter joined Owen's, as he became aware of the
ludicrousness of the scene.

	"C'mon, Doc, move the hand.  I won't look," Owen teased, trying to
be serious, as he managed to tug the briefs over the doctor's muscular
legs, pausing at the swell of his buttocks and his hand-covered groin.
"I've already soaped-up the goods.  You don't have to hide anything."
Daniel gave him an uncertain look, then relented, removing his hand and
allowing the waistband of the briefs to snap tightly against his lower
belly.

	'I have to admit it,' the doctor thought.  'Owen's right.  These
briefs *are* a bit . . . *brief.* Hell,' he thought to himself, as he
glanced downward, 'they don't even cover my pubes!'

	"Y'know, Doc," Owen continued, once more sitting back on his heels
and scrutinizing the man before him, "leopard print bikini undies do not
fit your rugged he-man image.  I would have expected plaid boxers, perhaps
in wool, not something one of the guys at the gym might be wearing."  He
snapped his fingers, as if struck with an idea.  "All you need to do is
shave and you'd look just like one of my gym-friends."  He smiled, pleased
with himself.

	"This is the last time I ask you for help," Daniel groused, tossing
Owen a pair of cargo shorts he needed help with.  Dutifully, without
comment, Owen slid the shorts up the doctor's long legs to his waist.

	Daniel snorted, shaking his head, rejecting the idea of shaving his
pubic hair; indeed, *any* hair other than his face.  'I'm a man,' he
thought, 'not some pre-pubescent.  I'm proud of being a man, and' he
thought, glancing down his chest and belly, to the black pubic hair which
peeked above the waist of his briefs, 'and, I'm proud of the hair I have."

	"If you're gonna . . . y'know . . . adjust the goods, you better do
it now, otherwise you'll be sticking your hand down the front of your pants
again."  Owen playfully turned his head away.  "I won't watch.  But, I am
wonderin' how you're gonna get all zipped up again if you . . . you know
. . . have to go to the bathroom."  Owen chuckled, holding a hand to his
ear as if speaking on the telephone.

	"Hellooo," he mimicked the doctor, who was apparently in some
distress.  "Owen," he laughed, "could you drop whatever it is you're doing
and come over here to tuck me back into my undies and zip me up?"  Owen
threw back his head and howled with laughter.

	"You know," the doctor commented, as Owen stopped laughing and
finished zipping up the fly.  "You suddenly seem to be in an especially
good mood.  It's nice to see."

	Owen perched on the arm of a nearby chair.  "Yeah, other than
everything going on with Pops, and needing to figure some other stuff out,"
his eyes flicked to the doctor's, "things are going good.  I'm back home;
I'm not trying to hide the fact that I'm into guys; Lucas is with me; and
Jonah; and, of course, Sam.  Things are pretty good."  He looked around the
doctor's small apartment.  "I'm enjoying myself."

	There was a hesitant knock at the door.  "I'll get it."  Owen
bounded across the room, as Daniel sat down and began to struggle with a
sock.  "It's probably Lucas!"

	"Unless someone's bleedin' to death, tell 'em to take two aspirin
and come back in six months!" Daniel shouted to Owen's back.  "By then,
I'll probably have one of my socks on," he mumbled to himself.

	"Mama!"  Owen exclaimed, swinging the door wide, facing his mother,
who looked startled, then smiled uneasily.

	"Um, g'morning, Owen," Bea managed, unsure what to do with the loaf
of freshly baked bread, wrapped in a red-checked cloth, she was carrying in
a basket.  "I'm here to check on the doctor.  Why are *you* here?"

	"I volunteered to lend a hand to help him take a shower and get
dressed.  It's not an easy chore," he chuckled, moving aside to let his
mother enter.  "Your timing is a little off," he added, perversely hoping
the doctor would hear.  "A few minutes ago, he was naked."

	Bea's slight frown was marred by the twitch at the corners of her
mouth.  The doctor wasn't the only person pleased by her oldest son's good
humor.

	"Who is it?" Daniel asked, appearing at the door bare-chested,
holding a sock in one hand the other, half-on, flopping as he walked.

	"Beatrice!  How nice!  Now that I've gotten cleaned up, I was going
to call you to see how you're doing.

	"Come in!  Come in!"  Bea gave him a shy smile as she walked past
into the living room, and the homey smell of a pinewood fire, leaving her
son to stare open-mouthed at his mother, and the doctor, who seemed to have
forgotten his presence.

	"I've never been in your home before," Owen heard his mother say.
She was openly examining the cozy livingroom, so different from the living
room she was accustomed to.  She smiled.  "It looks just as I would have
imagined a home of yours would look.  Masculine," she added, as the doctor
crooked an inquiring eyebrow.  "It even *smells* wonderful!"  Her smile
faded as she took in his bruises and broken arm.

	"Oh," she said, stepping close and hesitating before reaching out a
tentative hand.  "You appear to be as battered as I am."  She tenderly
touched the immobilized arm.  "I never did thank you for everything you did
the other night.  I . . ."  She hesitated and bowed her head.  "I don't
know how much longer I could have lasted."

	"Shhh," he murmured, touching her hair and wishing he could take
her in his arms . . . arm.  She looked so much in need of comforting.  She
gave him a wavering smile and nodded, glancing toward Owen, who had been
looking on in wide-eyed silence.

	"I'd offer you a cup of coffee," Daniel said, trying to find
something neutral to talk about to take his mind off of being in the same
room with the woman he'd dreamt of.  He tried to shrug, wincing slightly
with the pain. "I'm afraid I haven't been able to figure out a way to make
any for myself with this."  He nodded to his arm.  "Of course, since I'm
right-handed, I *had* to break my right arm.  It also seems I've strained
all the muscles in my shoulders.  I can't even lift my arm far enough to
reach the bottom shelf of the kitchen cabinets!"  He grinned ruefully.
"Here I am, complaining, when *you're* the one who took the brunt of
. . . everything.  But," his smile broadened, "the offer of food certainly
is appreciated."

	Bea's eyes widened.  "You've had no real food since we got back?
Oh dear!"  She looked around, and after spotting the kitchen, hustled into
the room.  "Coffee and food I can do something about," she laughed.  She
turned to him, looking as if being in his apartment was the most natural
thing in the world.  "I brought some freshly baked bread.  That'll be a
good start."  She paused, "You've had nothing to eat?  Truly?"

	He shook his head, standing in the doorway to the kitchen, with
Owen one step behind.  "No, I've been subsisting on apples, unshaven and
un-bathed, until I was rescued by your son, here.  I'm so stiff, I've not
attempted to do much other than sit in front of the fireplace and soak up
the warmth."  He grinned.  "But, I figured that since I've got Owen's help,
I'd at least get cleaned up and wear *something*.  If you'd come by
yesterday, I'd have been wearing nothing more than a blush."  She turned to
him and grinned.  In the background, Owen choked back a laugh.

	"So," Daniel continued, "I guess my clients are going to have to
become accustomed to seeing me like this."  He gave her what he hoped was a
disarming smile.  "It's going to take ages for three broken bones to heal."
He lowered his voice.  "I'm a doctor.  I know these things."

	This time, Owen couldn't suppress his laughter.  Daniel looked over
his shoulder, wearing a playful scowl.

	"Your son is being a wise ass, y'know.  Either that, or that school
he's been going to sent back someone who looks like Owen, but is really a
stranger."  Daniel shuffled from the kitchen to the dining room, ignoring
the flopping sock barely clinging to the toes of one foot, and the young
man who stepped aside to let him pass.  "I definitely think a psychological
evaluation is called for," Daniel sighed, collapsing onto a hard chair,
with a grunt and a wince.  "Most likely, the boy," he nodded in Owen's
direction, "is suffering from a multitude of personality disorders which
involve lots of unnecessary laughter, and flicking a finger at my private
parts, causing grievous bodily embarrassment, not to mention . . ."  He
hesitated.  "Let's just say he made jokes."

	Bea snorted a surprised response at Daniel's openness.

	"I was teasing him about what people would say about me being on my
knees in front of him, with him bein' naked n'all, not cause of . . . you
know . . . size, or anything," Owen joked, trying to maintain a straight
face.

	"You're not helping, Owen," the doctor grumbled, extending a foot
and wiggling the flaccid sock in a silent request for help.

	"Would you both like some coffee?" Bea asked, turning back to the
kitchen to hide her smile.  'Owen's found himself!' she cheered, silently.
'He's not afraid to be who he is!'  She paused.  "I could kiss Lucas for
his help in setting my son free.'

	"I'd like some," Daniel answered, immediately.  "Owen has caused
enough damage already, so he's leaving . . . never to return."  Daniel
waved a hand in Owen's direction. "Adios, sayonara, nŠkemiin, auf
weidersehen, au revoir, aloha, hit the road, see 'ya . . . get the hint?
Send Sam, or your friend, tomorrow.  Anyone would show more sympathy for my
being an invalid than you."  He playfully frowned in Owen's direction.

	"Hey, Mama." Owen couldn't help himself, refusing to take the
doctor's suggestion that he leave.  "What sort of underwear do you suppose
. . . *Daniel* . . . wears?"

	Bea wandered back to the dining room from the kitchen, with two
cups of coffee, one for Daniel, the other for herself; and sat down
opposite Daniel, grinning at her son's good humor.  "Oh, plaid boxers, I
suppose, in flannel or wool."  She raised her eyebrows in response to
Owen's twinkling eyes and shake of his head, and the doctor's
long-suffering pose.

	"Nope," Owen chuckled.

	"Owen . . .!"  The doctor warned.  "I thought you said you were
going to leave."

	Owen shook his head.  "Nope.  You said that, not me.

	"They're bikini-type ones, about two sizes too small, and they look
like leopard skin!"  Owen's eyes sparkled as he spoke.

	'I've never seen him so animated,' Bea thought.  'He's never felt
free enough to *be* himself.'  She paused.  'Oh, Jonathan,' she thought of
her husband.  'Owen has overcome your hatred and has taken the first steps
toward becoming his own man!'

	"Well . . ." Bea paused, trying not to laugh at her son's antics.
"I think bikini briefs sound lovely."

	"Lovely?" Owen crowed.  "Leopard?  Lovely!"

	"I'm definitely going to make you suffer, young man.  Your next
physical is going to be absolute hell for you," Daniel grumbled.

	Bea continued, her smile broadening, as she looked from one man to
the other.  "I've always loved cats," Bea went on, ignoring Owen's sputter,
"especially the big ones, like the leopard."

	"What?" Owen almost shouted, ignoring the hint of a smile on the
doctor's face, and the answering one on his mother's.  Neither his mother
or the doctor seemed to be paying any attention to him, and his scandalized
reaction to his mother's description of loving *large* cats.

	"Now, Owen," she said, turning to him, her voice firm as she made a
shooing motion.  "Leave, so Daniel can enjoy his breakfast in peace."

	"Send Sam tomorrow morning.  Anyone but you, smart ass!" the doctor
shouted to Owen's back and upraised wave of goodbye.

	When the door closed, Daniel turned to Bea.  "Actually, I hope
*he's* the person who comes back.  It's so good to hear him laugh for a
change."


----------


	"Over here, Owen!" Lucas shouted from inside Art's shop, as he saw
Owen step out of the doctor's apartment.  Lucas wondered if Art had caught
the sudden smile Owen had shown at hearing his voice.  'There is so much
going on, here,' Lucas thought, watching Owen bound across the street,
without so much as glancing to see if someone might be approaching.

	"You should have looked to see if there was any traffic before
running out into the street!" Lucas couldn't help saying, reminding himself
of his mother, as Owen stepped into Art's embrace, pounding him on the back
and holding him tightly, before retreating to the barber's chair, where he
immediately began to rotate to and fro.

	"Yes, Mama," Owen grinned, winking at Art.  "In the future, I
promise to look both directions before crossing the street.  I won't run
with scissors, or put strange things in my mouth."  He paused, and grinned.
"Well . . ." he drew out the word, clearing his throat and flicking an
amused glance in Art's direction, acknowledging Lucas' snort of surprised
amusement, before returning to his list of promises.  "I also promise that
I'll brush my teeth and wash behind my ears, oh . . . and wear clean
underwear."  He playfully nudged Lucas with the toe of his tennis shoe and
raised his eyebrows, wearing an ingenuous expression.  "Have I covered all
the bases?"  He raised a finger, as if having a last moment's thought.
"Oh, and, thanks for lookin' out for me."

	Lucas welcomed the casual familiarity of Owen resting a foot on his
lap.  'This is the man who was afraid of other people knowing he's gay?'
Lucas wondered.  'He might as well be advertising the fact to everyone!'
He seemed to be ignoring Art's silent, though slightly stunned reaction.

	"Well, Owen," Art said, after clearing his throat and breaking into
the silence.  "Lucas here, was askin' about those old buildings across the
street."  He nodded toward the three brown stone structures.  "I was
tellin' him that I've been lookin' to rent 'em out, since about the dawn of
time."  He shrugged.  "But, no one wants 'em."  Art studied Lucas
appraisingly, as both Owen and Lucas looked toward the buildings through
the shop's door.  "I'd even be willing to sell . . . to the right buyer, of
course," he added, almost as an afterthought.

	"Lucas likes buildings, Art," Owen said, in the background.  "He
gives 'em names, and personalities n'stuff," Owen continued, in an aside,
as Lucas studied the three sisters, standing proud in the sun.

	'Would you ladies like to dance?' Lucas silently asked.


----------


	"Owen introduced me to his friend, Lucas," Daniel said, while
sipping his coffee and munching on a piece of toast.  "He seems like a fine
young man."

	Bea grinned.  "I'll say.  He's a charmer.  In fact, both Abigail
and Opie are half-in-love after only one day."  Bea's smile turned
melancholy, her voice fading.  "They've never had a chance to meet many
nice men."  A moment later, she shook her head and gave Daniel a crooked
smile, which would have been becoming if she had not had two black eyes.

	"We're a sight, aren't we?" he asked, nodding his thanks as Bea
refilled his coffee cup.  "We look as if we've been through one hell of a
battle."

	"We have," she commented, as she bustled around his kitchen.
"And," she added, turning to him and speaking with conviction, her hands on
her hips.  "We were the victors!"  She gestured to her eyes and his arm.
"These wounds are superficial.  Given enough time, they'll heal."  She sank
to a chair, opposite his, and took his hand, a familiarity, which surprised
him.  "They'll heal.

	"Meanwhile, I decided to come over here, both to thank you, as I've
already said, but also to begin climbing out of the hole I dug for myself
over the past years.  I don't intend to look back any more than absolutely
necessary.  Instead, I intend to be happy."  She gave him a crooked smile.
"I must tell you, Daniel.  I think of you as my savior.  Not only for
. . . the other evening . . . but for . . . everything . . . you've done
for me, and the boys."

	Another blush.  "You are the man who has always made me realize
that not all men are monsters."  She leaned across the table and kissed his
cheek.  "I could love you for that alone."  She gave him a tender smile,
then returned to the stove and the simmering bacon.


~ to be continued ~


	Thank you for taking the time to read my work.  I *always* welcome
your email and enjoy hearing your thoughts.  If you would like me to send
you a pic of the character(s), please ask.

Roy Reinikainen
roynm@mac.com