Broken Glass
Chapter 40 - Sweet Revenge

A slice of sunlight streamed into the room through the gap between the shade and the window frame. It danced over the soft, chocolate carpet, and gleamed brightly against a silver belt buckle on the floor. The buckle's reflected light hastened Kelly Brackett's return to the waking world. It was a welcome return - he had no memory of his dream, but the tension in his shoulders and the wrinkle in his forehead told him all he needed to know: it hadn't been a pleasant one.

He turned toward the other body in the bed, and couldn't help the giddy little lopsided smile that stretched across his face. Hank lay curled on his side, one arm bent awkwardly under his head, the other flopped behind him like a tossed rag doll. Kel swallowed a laugh, and rolled out of bed.

"Rrrr grrrn," came a scratchy, sleep rusted protest. Kel laughed out loud at that, and looked back to see Hank in the exact same position, with the exception of one half-open eye. Hank stirred a little, smacked his lips, and yawned. "Y'keep tryna 'scape," he growled.

Kel flopped back in the bed and smiled broadly. "No, no, I'm not leaving yet. I promise. Unless you're on shift, in which case I need to get out of your hair."

"Mrrrrmmph," was the unintelligible reply. A long, skinny arm came flopping heavily over Kel's middle, and he yelped as he was yanked into the warm crook of Hank's bent body. "Trdrrrs."

"I have no idea what you're saying, but I really gotta take a leak," Kel said with a laugh.

"Urrrrrrrh!" But the arm slid away, and Kel was allowed to slip out of bed to visit the bathroom.

When he got there, he was surprised by the face that greeted him in the mirror. Instead of seeing a pale, angry ghost, an old friend smirked back at him. The friend was thinner, and had new lines etched around the mouth and eyes, but it was a face Kel had always rather liked. Loved, even. He tried on a smile, and felt his heart swell at the genuine happiness in those dark blue eyes. He turned away from the mirror to take care of business, and returned to the bedroom with the same grin plastered to his face.

Hank was still flopped bonelessly in the bed, but he was staring at him with wide open eyes. "My God. You have the most beautiful smile I've ever seen."

Kel couldn't help but recoil from the comment, though his grin stretched even wider. "Laying it on a little thick, there, Captain."

"Am I embarrassing you?"

"A little." Kel perched at the edge of the bed, and arranged the duvet to cover his nakedness.

Hank watched him fluff the covers into position in his lap. As soon as Kel's hands settled into stillness, Hank yanked the covers away and pulled Kel down, cackling manically. "Too bad!" He peppered Kel's face with kisses. "You're just gonna have to live with the embarrassment, because I have to live with the amazement."

"What amazement?" Kel squirmed and tried to hide his face, but he tangled his legs with Hank's, and pressed close.

Hank purred appreciatively, and the silly, playful kissing turned sensuous and serious. He buried his face in Kel's neck and sucked, until he was rewarded with a whine of pleasure. "The amazement of your beauty," Hank whispered.

"I'm amazingly beautiful, huh?"

Hank looked at him seriously. "I am not about to try to convince you of the obvious. If you have a hard time believing in your reflection, well, you're a doctor. I'm sure you know some people to talk to about that."

Kel rolled his eyes. "Or I can just continue to think you're an incorrigible flirt."

"If that makes you feel better, sure! You tell yourself whatever you gotta hear to get through the compliments, okay?"

"Sure, okay."

"Okay, Foxy." Kel felt his face blaze hot, and Hank chuckled darkly before kissing a trail down his body. Hank was a slow, determined and attentive lover, and it wasn't long until Kel was growling and kicking and trying to flip them over to get on top. He'd succeeded in asserting his dominance with little difficulty the evening before, and Hank had pulled Kel atop himself when they'd agreed not to leave in the early darkness of pre-dawn. But now Hank was fighting back, holding Kel down, cooing and shushing. Kel began to push harder, but to no avail. He began to panic, and tried to pull himself out from under Hank's roving mouth, twisting to reach for the floor.

Hank sat up instantly. "Hey, hey, hey," he said, hands up in surrender. "Take it easy, I'll stop, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

Kel curled up on the edge of the bed, and eyed Hank warily. "Don't hold me down," he said.

"Okay. I'm sorry." Hank lowered his hands to his lap, but he kept his distance. "Do you want to come back?"

Did he? He ought to get going anyway - he still needed to get his car, and he needed to deal with Stanford, and anyway it was time to be serious and get back to reality. Plus he was sure that Hank needed to get his own head straight, especially after derailing his night so spectacularly. "I should probably go."

Hank sighed. "Oh. Okay." He scrubbed at his face with both hands. "Will you come by tonight? Or maybe tomorrow?"

"Sure," Kel said dubiously. "I can do that."

Hank nodded slowly. He picked at some pilling in the duvet's cover. "If I ask you to stay a little longer, would you?"

Kel didn't have to think twice. He scrambled across the bed to wrap himself around Hank, and they sank down together, side by side in the bed.

When they finally came up for air, Kel was feeling a little more realistic about his situation. The tiny little box of a bedroom was getting claustrophobic, and he was starting to suffocate in Hank's warm, loving, understanding embrace. But it wasn't anything that Hank was doing. It was Kel.

No, it was Stanford. It was Stanford's sweet, soft words, designed to twist anything and everything to suit his needs. Kel couldn't stand to say no, couldn't stand the sad look in Stan's eyes when he had to disappoint him. And now he couldn't stand it in Hank - good, solid, amiable Hank, who had no idea what the fuck was going on half the time.

Kel had himself a little dilemma. He couldn't stand to be alone - holy shit, had he ever screwed that one up - but he couldn't stand being with someone for fear that he was going to lose himself in their wants. He needed to figure out how to hang on to a companion - a good solid companion - who wouldn't balk at giving Kel his space. But he also had to figure out how to get his space.

He had a space. That house in Hollywood, the place he and Stan had bought and built together, bought with the money they'd made as they advanced in their careers, built with the carefully demoralizing strategy that kept Kelly from being truly comfortable anywhere without Stan and his fickle affections. It was a space that belonged to Kel on paper only, and even then, only halfway. It was as much Stanford's as it was his own.

He had another space. The office at Rampart General, an office that belonged to the County of Los Angeles. It was a place to work, to sort out the difficulties of juggling life saving medical practice and bureaucratic administration. It wasn't a place to claim as a personal space, even if it could belong to a particular man, rather than a title. It wouldn't do.

He had yet another space. The apartment in Long Beach. The place he'd committed to when he thought he and Stan were recommitting to each other. The place he'd allowed Stan to take over almost immediately. But Stan had no right to do so. He had no right.

"Everything okay?" Hank's worried voice filtered through Kel's twists of logic, and all comparisons to Stanford vanished.

"You're a sweet man," Kel said.

Hank's brow furrowed. "But?"

Kel shook his head. "That's it."

Hank wrinkled his nose. "I'm a lousy lover, aren't I?"

Kel burst out laughing - he couldn't help it. "And you want to tell me I can't take a compliment!"

"Well it's just that I've never seen anybody look so angry to receive a blowjob before, that's all."

Kel began to play with Hank's soft, thick hair. "Actually, I was thinking about evicting a squatter."

"Huh?"

"I want that jerk out of my apartment. I'm not really sure how to do it. I've kinda tied myself to him in some pretty stupid ways."

"Oh." Hank looked thoughtful for a moment. "So, wait, you were thinking about your cheating boyfriend after sex with me?"

Kel rolled his eyes. "Yes, I was comparing the two of you."

"Oh. How'd I do?"

"I'm still here, aren't I?"

Hank looked thoughtful, and then broke out into a wide grin.

Breakfast was at a strange purple, pink and teal colored diner not too far from where Kel had left his car. The characters in the restaurant were at least as interesting as the color scheme, but the food was incredible and cheap - a good thing, because Hank wolfed down a second full breakfast plate after seeing the dish arrive at another table. Kel felt a little green after watching him bulldoze what amounted to his sixth egg and fifth slice of toast. He ignored the feeling as best he could, and listened to Hank tell stories about his previous firestations and how they compared to his experience so far at 51s (an experience that Kel thought he could simply summarize as being 'not even close').

They parted ways quietly, without touching. Not even a handshake. It wasn't that they couldn't be openly affectionate - in that part of Long Beach, the local residents had grown accustomed to such displays between men. And it wasn't that they were unused to public displays of affection - Kel was a doctor, it was in his nature to touch people, to specifically show care for them with a touch. And he'd certainly seen that Hank was comfortable with an arm around the shoulder, a pat on the back, a nudge of the elbow. But Stan had never been one to put his hands on Kelly when they were in public, not unless they were in a venue where people were being openly sexual for whatever reason - then all bets were off. But to meet for breakfast in a regular old restaurant, in front of folks who were probably neighbors with the Carpenters or some shit? Stan would stand a good two feet away from Kel, and never come near him. Kel learned to keep his distance, and hadn't even realized that he'd been publicly touch starved for years. He didn't realize it until he walked the two blocks to his car, and wished he'd at least hugged Hank goodbye. He worried he'd left Hank feeling off kilter and insecure. He'd have to call him later, after he figured out what exactly he was going to do about Stanford.

He drove home slowly, but even crawling along at half the speed limit (to the frustration of all the drivers stuck behind him), he was pulling into his garage inside of ten minutes. His hands slipped on the final turn of the wheel as sweat collected on his palms. As much as he'd enjoyed flitting away his morning with a man who asked him what he wanted from time to time, Kel wished desperately that he'd kept his head and faced the music head on last night. Logically, Stan had no right to give him a hard time - he'd been up to no good himself last night, and it wasn't the first time. But Kel had no proof, he had nothing he could point to that would say 'you have no right to give me a hard time for this.' So he sat in the car and wrestled with rising panic.

Eventually, the need to shower and nap before work forced him out of the car and into the elevator. He tried to come up with all the possible scenarios an angry Stanford might put him through, looking for answers that would give him strength for the confrontation that was to come. He stepped out into the vestibule and fumbled with his keys. He half expected the loud jingling to herald his arrival, and to bring Stan's wrath down on him before getting the door open.

He finally got the door open, and entered the apartment hesitantly, half expecting to be side tackled as soon as he cleared the doors. He held his breath, straining to hear something to indicate the direction of the first attack. But when nothing happened after several seconds, and all he could hear was the pounding static of his rising blood pressure, he began to wonder if Stan was even in the apartment. "Hello?" No one answered.

Kel sucked in a sharp breath as relief poured through him. He rushed through the unit, searching for signs of occupation, and found none. All traces of olives and wine from the previous night were gone, the patio furniture was back in its usual configuration, the ashes from the fireplace were swept and disposed of, and everything seemed to be in proper order. He could almost believe that the previous night had been a mistake or a stress induced nightmare.

He trailed along to his pillow fort, his tiny hideaway, intending to settle in and calm his frayed nerves. But he pulled up short as he entered the narrow hall - feathers lined the floor, covered by a few ripped pillow cases. The table and lamp were overturned, and the couch had been shoved to one side, so that the doorway was jammed with the furniture. The little slimline phone lay in the middle of it all, smashed to bits. Red plastic bits still stuck to the stucco where it'd met with its demise.

Kel turned slowly, and walked carefully back to the living room, where that big, ugly, blue velvet couch took up most of the room. Son of a fucking bitchfaced bastard. He saw the fireplace matches, and for one wicked moment, he thought of lighting one up and touching it to the velvet monstrosity. But that would send the whole building up in flames, and put him in jail, and that bastard would go on being his lying, smarmy, twofaced self. A knife, though... he could chop the thing up into bits and pieces. No laws against that.

He went to the kitchen, passing one eyesore after another on the way, to search for a knife big enough and sharp enough to do some real damage. He found a bread knife - long, heavy, and serrated with big pin prick teeth. It was like a small, skinny, knife-handled saw. The thing wouldn't be able to make a clean cut, but that might be better anyway. He could get the godawful couch really shredded, do some real damage. And then he could set it on fire, safely, in the confines of the fireplace. He'd make a project out of it. Maybe burn the delivery ticket along with it - the sheaf of receipts lay together in a not quite stack in a corner of the kitchen counter, where they'd shoved them away for the housewarming party. Kel grabbed the stack on his way out the door, and flipped through them, looking for the one he wanted.

Two words jumped out at him on every sheet: Return Policy. At first he ignored the thick, block printing and focused finding the right paper. But then more choice words filtered into his rage fueled haze, and slowly, he began to read. He was entitled to a full refund, minus a restocking fee, if he didn't want the received goods for any reason. Just call the store, and select a pick up date. Or, if he was able to get the items to the store himself, he could do so, and he wouldn't even be charged for the restock.

He set the knife aside, and looked at the huge, ugly thing taking up his living room. He went over and gave it an experimental shove: it moved easily. It would be a bitch to get into the elevator, but he knew the thing disassembled somehow. He could take it apart just enough to get it into a truck, and get it the hell out of his apartment. But why stop there? He could dump the stupid formica table. The bright orange coffee table. The red and purple accent rugs. Those paintings. He could get the whole perfect slate back. And then he wouldn't need a hidey hole in a back closet in a far corner of his apartment. He could have the whole goddamned apartment back.

He'd found the truck rental place in the yellow pages. They supposedly had trucks of every shape and size imaginable available for rent, but they'd neglected to mention on the phone that one needed a special license to drive most of them. Still, there were quite a few trucks that a regular driver could choose from, and at first, Kel chose the smallest available. When he went to sign the rental sheets and receive the terms for gas and insurance, though, he hesitated. He didn't want to be going back and forth to the store all day, and he didn't want to do a halfway job, and he still had to go to work in the evening. The clerk sensed his hesitation, and told him that though the rental company couldn't be liable, that there was a sort of unspoken agreement that the unsavory cluster of characters standing to one side of the parking lot entrance were dayworkers hoping to help with a move. She encouraged him to find out if they'd meet his needs before signing the papers, "just in case you realize you need more equipment."

Kel had already dismissed the men before pulling in, and he hadn't changed his mind in the slightest. It wasn't that he was afraid they'd rip him off or any such silliness. He just didn't want to risk accidental damage to the furniture that he hadn't done himself. But her words sparked a little inspiration. He'd noticed a payphone just outside the office, and wondered if it might not be prudent to ask for a little help of his own. He excused himself, and went to the phone.

Hank answered on the second ring. "Hello?"

"Hey. It's me," Kel said, feeling a little awkward.

"Hey, you. Miss me already?"

"A little,"he said with a chuckle. The awkwardness eased a little, only to come rushing back as he made his request. "Actually, I was wondering, how busy are you this afternoon?" He checked his own watch, and tried not to fret.

"Not too much. But I thought you had to work later?"

"I do. But I need a favor. I... You said you used to drive the fire engine. Does that mean you have a B-class driver's license?"

"Yes... But why?"

Kel explained what he'd found when he'd gotten home. He tried to explain the significance of the pillows, of the tiny little room, but he was getting too choked up to even think about it, much less put his feeling into words.

But then Hank needed no deep explanation. "Believe me, I have a first hand understanding of wanting to be your first choice for shelter, but he wants to be your only shelter, and that just isn't fair. And no man should tear down someone else's safe place behind his own insecurity."

Kel trembled faintly with the effort to keep hold of the last shreds of his dignity. "Will you come? For the truck?"

"Sure. Hang on let me grab a pen for the address."

In the end, Hank wound up signing the paperwork, and Kel paid for the truck rental with cash. At first Kel had stopped at the first truck outside his license range, a large box truck, but Hank took one look and asked the young woman helping them to give them the biggest thing he could drive. They went to a cluster of small, unattached semi cabs, parked near a handful of trailers of varying shapes and sizes. Hank climbed into the first cab they came to, lightly inspected the interior, and deemed it satisfactory. "What all are we taking, Doc?"

"Everything."

"Everything?"

Kel scowled. "You need a hearing exam?

"Everything," Hank repeated, and hopped out of the cab. "Show me the big trailers," he said to the clerk.

Contracts were signed, cash changed hands, and Hank trotted easily back to the now fully hitched rig. Kel followed, a little more apprehensively. "Are you sure you can handle this thing?"

Hank smiled. "I wouldn't have picked it if I couldn't. You drive on ahead of me, and I'll follow you in this. I'll move my car out of the lot, and just drive home from here when I return the truck."

Kel still wasn't certain, but there wasn't anything he could do about it - if Hank had overestimated his ability to handle the truck, well, Hank was the one who'd signed the paperwork, so Hank was the one who'd be held responsible. Kel forced himself to get in his car and drive home.

He made it home several minutes before Hank arrived in the big lumbering truck, and spent most of those minutes looking at the clock, and trying to figure out how to dismantle as many things as he could so they could pass everything through the front lobby. Hank was smart enough to bypass the front lobby by simply blocking the back alley with the rig, and together they began carting out the ugly technicolor-bombed pieces through the underground garage. Kel kept one eye on the clock, and the other on the door. "Don't worry," Hank said at one point. "We'll make it to the store and back before you gotta go to work."

By the time the two of them got all the furniture loaded in the truck, he had an hour to get to work - and they hadn't even locked up the apartment, much less driven across town to return Stanford's trendy trash. He fretted about the timetable on their way upstairs for a final check for stray knick knacks. "Maybe I should get a storage space instead? No, we don't even have time for that. It's going to take too long to deal with this. We don't have time to put anything back, either. This was a bad idea."

"Nothing wrong with the idea, Foxy. You're just panicking. And, I guess, if you really want to drag this out, I can see about renting a storage unit for a night, but I can't really afford that on my own, so you'd still have to come along to pay. And I'd need more cash to keep the truck overnight, plus a place to park-"

"Forget it! It wasn't supposed to be as complicated as it is - I don't want to complicate things further by making you hold onto the truck if you don't have to."

"Whatever you want."

Kel stared at Hank and didn't move when the elevator doors opened. "You say that with such sincerity. I almost feel like you mean that beyond the furniture."

"I do."

Kel looked at his feet, overwhelmed. Hank's mannerisims were so different from Stan's, but sometimes he said the same things, in the same sorts of situations that Stan would say those things, and it was hard to tell if Hank was on the level, or if Kel was just falling for more bullshit. "I don't know what to say," he said quietly.

"Say anything you like. Or nothing at all." Hank touched Kel's cheek lightly, but didn't force Kelly to look at him. "If you need a friend, I'm your friend. If you need more, I'd be happy to be more. Honored."

Kel backed out of the elevator without looking at Hank. "I need to finish this," he said.

"You got it." They each made a separate, final sweep of the place, and between them managed to come up with a lampshade, a very bright pillowcase, and a vase that was supposed to evoke Roman-Greco art with its questionable depiction of frolicking youths. "I think we're good, Kelly." Hank chuckled softly. "I'd pay real money to see his face when he sees you've pretty much erased him from your place."

Kel smiled tightly. "It might be worth whatever fallout I'll have to deal with when it happens."

"Hey, maybe when I drop off the truck I should wait here? Make sure everything's okay?"

Kel shook his head and headed for the elevator. "You've done more than enough. You should get some rest before your shift starts."

"So should you."

"Probably. I'd still need to wait for a sub, though." He sagged against the elevator's wall, as he was hit with the realization that he had an entire workday ahead of him. "This really wasn't a good idea."

"It's almost over now." They went quiet until the elevator arrived. Hank went in first, but Kel felt like pulling himself away from the wall was like trying to the color off a carrot. Hank held the doors open while Kel swallowed a groan and dragged himself inside. "You gonna be able to drive yourself to work?"

"What choice do I have? I still have to be there long enough for a substitute to show up - you know how it is."

"I understand you've gotta clock in, but if you're too tired to drive, that does no one any good, now does it?"

Kel grimaced. He had an idea of where the conversation was going, and he wasn't entirely sure he liked it. "If you have a suggestion, I'm all ears."

"Let's ride together to the store, and then I drop you at Rampart."

Kel sighed. It was just as he'd expected. "I can take care of myself."

"Kelly, you can barely walk. You're worried about me getting rest before my shift starts, but I have a whole night to sleep before I need to worry about that. You're dead on your feet as it is, and you've shown me a stubborn streak a mile wide, so I already know you aren't going to try to find a replacement now. You won't be happy until you poke yourself with one of your torture devices." Hank was laughing while he spoke, but the smile didn't reach his eyes.

"You sound like Dixie."

"Well, that doesn't sound unreasonable to me. She cares about you, does't she?"

"She thinks she's my keeper, and I've had more than enough of that to last a lifetime."

Hank sighed and went quiet for a little bit. "I never had a lot of people I felt close to," he said. "Sometimes, I didn't find out I had friends until it was time for me to pack up and go, you know? It's happened to me just now, in fact. Last station crew? I thought I was a laughing stock. And maybe I was, but they came to help me pack my apartment up, and sent me off to greener pastures with well wishes. And while it was nice to find out that maybe those guys were my friends after all, I couldn't - can't - help but wish that I knew that they were my friends when I actually had them. I don't know if that's what it's like for Dixie, but that's the only reason I keep kind of hanging around you. It's because I want to make sure I do my part to let you to know that I'm glad you let me in your life. I'm not trying to be your keeper. I just want to help. But I don't want to wear out my welcome, so I won't offer to drive you around anymore. The last I'll say about it is that offer stands for as long as you need it. That's why I'm here now."

Kel sighed again, but this time out of shame. "I'm not trying to be difficult."

"I know you aren't, Foxy." Hank leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Kel's temple. "You're going through something difficult, and most of us have never had to deal with anything like it, so when we try to help, we get it wrong."

Kel gave him a watery smile. "I still feel like a jerk for complaining after asking you to help me dismantle an entire house."

Hank shrugged. "Don't worry about that. I've got an ulterior motive to help."

Kel's eyebrows went up. "Oh?"

Hank nodded. "Of course. Any chance to be alone with you, I'm gonna take." He smiled lasciviously. "Why do you think I'm offering you a ride?"

Kel snorted and shook his head. "You're terrible."

"I'm honest!"

Kel looked at Hank's amused face, and was struck by the truth of his words. "You are, aren't you?"

Hank sobered. "I try to be. Nobody is perfect, but I like to believe that most folks are decent, and that's what I try to be."

Kel pushed heavily away from the elevator's handlebar, to droop bodily against Hank, and was pleased when one of Hank's arms came around him to hold him up. "You're definitely decent."

"Thanks."

"No, thank you. And thank you for being gracious when I'm not."

"You're not ungracious. You're tired. Folks are cranky when they're tired."

It was Kel's turn to shrug. "Maybe I should be thanking Dix for her grace, then. I'm sure she thinks I've been impossible," he said, unsuccessfully trying to swallow a yawn.

"You need a nap. You're gonna stab yourself with one of your instruments."

"I do," Kel laughed. "Damn."

"I know I said I wasn't gonna offer again, and I'm not, but I've heard sleeping in truck cabs in motion is pretty fantastic when a body is worn out."

"Where the heck did you hear that?"

"Just now, when I said it." Hank laughed and squeezed Kel tight. "Sorry, can't help it," he said with just a little too much glee.

But instead of feeling pressured or cornered, the idea was suddenly and joyfully appealing. There was no patronizing coddling, no unnecessary hand-wringing, no lecturing. And hadn't he promised to give Hank at least as much of a chance as he'd given the miserable creep responsible for all of this mess? "You know what? You win."

"Win? Win what?"

"You're taking me to the store, and then you're taking me to the hospital."

"Oh. Good!" The elevator settled in the basement and the doors slid open, punctuating Hank's exclamation. They began to leave the elevator as a unit, still wrapped in each other's arms, but Hank paused. "Hey, I was serious about coming back to watch for Stanford."

Kel shook his head firmly. "If I nap in the truck, you sleep in your own bed tonight."

"Okay, but after what he did to your little room... don't you think he'd be the type to punch holes in the drywall? Or bust the windows? And that's an old building, with a lot of nice, original bits to it. You'd be on the hook for some hefty damages if he came through and started wrecking the joint."

"He could still do that, and get into a fight with you, which means you'd be missing work while still on probation. No."

"Okay, well, would you at least consider letting me come back with a new deadbolt?"

"Listen, Henry, this is a very fancy and secured building, with lots of amenities. I'm sure they have a locksmith on hand."

"Even better! Come on, let's go talk-"

"No, no." Kel checked his watch, as if that would somehow keep him from running late, as if he wasn't adding more and more tasks to this never-ending bad idea. "Go get the truck out of the alley. It won't take me long in the lobby. I'll meet you at the corner." He gave Hank a parting squeeze, and took the elevator back up to the lobby.

The young man who watched the lobby during the daylight seemed unusually happy to see him. "Hello!" he called from across the room. "Your roommate told me he was having trouble locating you! Did you meet up with him yet?"

Kel scowled deeply, disturbed that Stan was apparently involving the building staff in his lies. "Do you have a locksmith on hand?"

The young man's smile faltered. "We have a maintenance man in the building, yes. Did you lock yourself out? I can-"

"Listen to me," Kel said, pulling out his key ring. He popped the key to his unit off his chain and passed it to the lobby clerk. "I need my locks changed right now. I need your maintenance man to drop everything to get up there and take care of it right away. I don't want the tall silver haired man in my apartment anymore. Don't let him on the elevator if you can help it," he said.

The clerk's eyebrows had climbed steadily while Kel made his request, so now all that peeked out from under his bangs were the four little points from his arched brows. "Yes sir, I'll call him right away. Should I call the police if your room- uh, if your, um, friend appears?"

Kel shook his head. "I'm sure he'll get the message if his key doesn't work. But please, please, make sure your colleagues get these instructions. I don't want them letting him in after the lock is changed. He's... dangerous." Kel hesitated over the lie he was going to tell, but he needed to make the clerk understand. "It's why I didn't come home last night."

The clerk's eyebrows came down in a vee. "I'm making a note right now. They won't let him bother you. Are you sure you don't want us to call the police?"

Kel shook his head. "Not unless you need them to help you get rid of him." He waited long enough to hear the clerk call for the handyman, and then went out to the truck where Hank waited.

Kel was dead on his feet when he got in the cab home. He'd fallen asleep at his desk two hours before his shift end, and an alarmed Dix had taken pity and begged Joe to come in early. Kel slept fitfully on the short ride home, and was just as groggy when he stepped out of the car. He collected his new key and yesterday's mail from the graveyard shift lobby clerk, and stumbled into the elevator. God, he was tired. He wanted a hot bath, but he was half afraid of falling asleep in the tub and drowning. He yawned expansively as the elevator chimed its arrival, and shuffled out, new keys in hand.

The moment Kel cleared the elevator doors, something blurry moved in the corner of his eye, and he turned just in time to see what looked (and felt) like a white ape slam him bodily to the floor. He hit his head against his front door, and terror siezed him as he was dragged away from the door to lay in the middle of the floor. He tried to cover his ringing head with his arms, but big, strong hands grabbed at his wrists and wrested them to his sides.

He could see his attacker clearly now, and struggled harder to get away, but to no avail. A great weight settled on his stomach, and Kel struggled to take a fresh breath as Stanford straddled his prone body. "Stop struggling, Kelly," Stan hissed. "Stop!"

"How-" Kel wriggled about, trying to get room for his diaphragm to move so he could get one decent breath in. "How," he tried again, "did you get up here?"

"Where the fuck have you been, Kelly? Stop fighting! Stop!"

"Can't breathe. Get off," Kel said weakly.

Stan stared at him for a moment, before pinning one of Kel's arms under his knee, and using his newly freed hand to grab Kel's neck. The shift in weight meant Kel's lungs could expand, but the hand on his neck was putting too much pressure on his windpipe, and cutting off blood flow as well. Between that, the slam to his head, and just general exhaustion from being up almost 24 hours straight, Kel was struggling to hold onto conciousness - a dangerous situation even without the enraged 'lover' spitting venom into his face. He swallowed desperately, hoping the movement would make Stan loosen his grip, even if only a little. To his surprise, the crushing pressure against his esophagus eased ever so slightly. "Now answer me. Where. Have. You. Been?"

"Work," Kelly said hoarsely. "How did you get up here?"

"I live here, remember? I have garage access like everybody else in this building. And there was nothing wrong with that damn lock when I left. So why doesn't my key work?" Stan blinked and looked at the wrist he was still gripping with his other hand. "Do your keys work?"

Kel looked around, wishing there was one more unit on the floor with his, that there would be a reason for another soul to be up here to discover him in his latest... mess. "I don't know."

"You don't know. Are those new keys in your hand? They aren't on your key ring."

Stan sighed. "Well, do they unlock the door or not?"

"I don't know," Kel said again, though he was sure they unlocked the door just fine.

Stan screwed up his face in frustration. "Let me rephrase the question: did you ask one of those idiots in the lobby to change the locks to my home, Sweet Baby?"

Kel grit his teeth. "Don't call me that."

"Answer me!"

Kel gulped hard, working to bring moisture back to his dry mouth. "No, I didn't. I asked one of the employees who are all of at least average intellect to change the locks to my home. You don't have a home anymore. Not after what you pulled."

The grip on his neck tightened impossibly, squeezing so hard Kelly thought face might pop open like an overblown balloon. "You were out all damn night, and day, and night, like a wayward whore! And you have the absolute audacity to accuse me of anything?"

"I saw you," Kel gasped. "I saw you on the balcony."

Stan went still for a moment. "You didn't see a goddamned thing, Kelly."

"I did. I saw you on the patio table. Just like I saw you in our bed on our anniversary."

Stan narrowed his eyes at Kel. "Open the fucking door."

"Sure thing, Stan. Just as soon as you let me go."

Stan shifted his hand from Kel's neck to grab a handful of shirt, and in one smooth movement, got to his feet and hauled Kel up with him. "Not on your life, Kelly." Kel found himself spun dizzly towards the front door, before being unceremoniously slammed against it. "Now open the door!"

Kel struggled to get the key in the lock, but the moment he did, Stan shoved his hand out of the way to unlock the door himself. He shoved Kel hard against the opening door, pushing him to his hands and knees just inside the apartment with a growl. Kel scrambled to one side, fearful of another attack. But when another blow didn't land, he turned to look up at Stan.

Stan wasn't looking at him anymore. He was staring all around at the newly emptied apartment. "Wh-what?"

Kel knew he would never have a better chance. He scrambled on all fours behind the still stunned Stanford, into the outer hall. He scrambled, gasping, to the heavy door marked 'Emergency Exit', and slammed throught it with all his might. He half fell, half ran down the heavy steel stairs, trying to make it down to the lobby level before the angry steamroller of a man could catch him. He couldn't tell if anyone was behind him or not with all the echoing of his own feet in the concrete and metal space, but he wasn't taking any chances. He ran as fast as he could, half blind with concussion and oxygen deprivation, and fairly exploded through the door marked 'Lobby - GROUND LEVEL'.

Stanford was already standing in the middle of the lobby, breathing heavy, like a bull ready to charge. The lobby clerk was shouting something unintelligible as Stan bellowed at Kelly's appearance. Kel tried backing into the emergency stairwell again, but the door had shut behind him. It was locked - no entry to the stairwell was allowed from the lobby.

Stan rushed him, eyes wild, teeth bared.

Kel crouched at the last minute, and reveled in the satisfying crunch of bone against hardwood and plaster. But he didn't take the time to gloat - he reached up with a suckerpunch of his own, right in the nutsack. Stan howled and went down like a felled tree. Kel scrambled to his feet, and looked around the room in a panic. The clerk shook his head quickly, and gestured at his chair. "Come on, I've called the cops."

Kel started to head for the chair, but a whimper at his feet made him stop to look at Stan. The great, big, indomitable Stanford had been reduced to a sniveling mess - he'd reduced Stan to a sniveling mess. Stan was curled in on himself, nursing his injured manhood and the hand he’d slammed into solid wall. His breath was labored, his face was streched in a tight grimace, and a sheen of sweat covered his face.

Whatever danger Kel believed Stan posed was gone, and would be for several minutes at least. Kel staggered back to the elevator with all the dignity he could muster, and pressed the up button. He shook off the uninjured hand that tried to latch onto his ankle, and kicked lightly at the head that turned towards him. He entered the elevator slowly, and turned around to take one final look at the pitiful excuse of a bully on the floor, before looking up at the clerk. "Would you send one of the officers up when they come to collect him? I'd stay here to give a statement, but I've been at work all night, and he's taken the last bit of energy I have left. I'm going to bed, before I pass out." He didn't wait for the clerk to acknowledge him before pressing the 'close' button on the elevator. Whatever came next, Kelly Brackett was fucking done.

Fin