Centaur of Balance (2 of 3)
By Byrne
Archived at Pastorale, Bellum Viri


Drew rolled over and squinted at the clock, red numbers glowing in the dark.  Two ten in the morning.  He reached for a pair of sweatpants as he sat up.

“You two done?” he asked.

Scott mumbled something from the foot of the bed where he was sprawled, exhausted.

“God, yes,” Eric groaned. “Done for a long long time, I think.”

“Yeah right,” Drew smirked, pulling on his pants as he stood.  “You say that now, but come daylight?  You’ll be ready for more.”

“Not from me,” Scott said, his voice hoarse.  “Holy fuck.  I think ‘m dead.”

Drew smacked a bare ass as he walked around the bed, not really caring who’s.  “You broke him, ‘ric.”

“Uhn.”

Drew shook his head as he walked down the hall. Two days of talking and fucking and he just hoped Eric had finally gotten the message.  Everything was going to be fine.

“Who wants water?” he called out.  There were matching replies from his men, but he’d be damned if he knew if they were yes or no.  He’d just grab a couple of bottles from the fridge and figure it out when he got back to the bedroom.

Drew glanced into the living room as he passed and did a quick double take.  Something wasn’t right, just off a bit to set off an inner warning.

He looked long and hard before he realized what he was seeing through the picture window, then he let his instincts take over.

“Eric!  Call 911, fire at James’s!”

Pausing only long enough to pull on his sneakers, he ran.  Out their front door, across the lawn, dew on the grass making him slip, then fast when he gripped on the pavement.  More moisture, making him skid on James’s lawn, and he could smell it.  Wood and vinyl, smoke and something foreign, something wrong, chemical and acrid.  He veered around the house to the side door, praying James hadn’t locked up.

It didn’t matter, the glass on the screen door was broken, the inner door wide open and he was in, heat and light everywhere.

The back of the house was in flames; the glow seeping to the front had caught his eye.  Smoke was getting thick and he moved, kept going deeper, heading for the bedrooms.

“James!”

He could hear the fire chasing him, feel the heat drying his skin, eating at him.  His lungs were forcing bad air out, bad air in, and he kept moving.

“James!”

He could hear the fire.  He could hear something else, not yelling, but not a scream, and he knew it was terror.

Past the smallest bedroom, James’s storage.  Past the linen closet, full of blankets and odds and ends.  Not to the back, his memory screamed at him.  Office.  Office was on fire, James wouldn’t be in the office.

“James!”

Terror answered and Drew stood in the doorway to the middle bedroom and saw something in the half light and smoke.

Something that was James, but not.

Terror in James’s eyes and terror in his voice, and then James was James and he was falling, falling into Drew’s arms, naked and boneless.

Drew picked him up and moved back, coughing now.  Hotter and hotter and fuck, it hurt, but James was with him and the sirens were louder than the fire and there was Scott on the lawn, a blanket waiting, and Eric running to them.

The four of them on the lawn as the trucks pulled up, men Drew knew, men he worked with, hauling hoses to stop the blaze.  Men Eric worked with pulling up as well and Drew found himself sitting in the back of the ambulance as someone he knew talked to him, asked him if he wanted oxygen.

He might have answered, might have said yes or no, but he couldn’t remember, and he didn’t bother trying to remember the name of the EMT.  He was watching James, wrapped now in the blanket, so still.

Eric was beside James, almost holding him in his arms, talking quietly.  James stared, eyes wide and empty, not seeing anything at all.

Drew had seen fire fear before, more times than he could count, but he’d never seen anything like this.  The only thing that came close was a fire during the livestock exhibition, the animals frozen and unresponsive.  His mind skittered away from the image of James-not-James in the house.  

“He’s scared,” Drew said. He didn’t know his voice had carried until Eric looked up at him.  “Turn him.  Don’t let him see the house.  Keep talking.”

Scott nodded and helped Eric move James, and now Eric was in fact holding him, talking softly.  An EMT was trying to take a closer look at James, but Eric simply commandeered the guy’s authority and kept talking.

James shuddered and Eric’s shoulders flexed as he held him closer.

Good.  Right.

Drew tried to stand up, to go to them, but the EMT checking him over was in control.

“Lemme go,” Drew said.

“Sit.  And then we’re going to check for burns, and for smoke.  You know the drill, Smyth.”

“Shit.”  He wanted to see James, wanted to look at him.  Make sure he was James.  What he’d seen wasn’t right, but also wasn’t just smoke.

James was shaking and Eric was letting them check him over, making sure not to let James see the fire.  Still holding him, still talking.  Drew watched as they made sure James wasn’t burnt, watched as they listened to him breathe, checked his lungs.  Eric’s voice was low, continuous, almost lulling even him.

Good.

Finally the sirens stopped, although the water still ran and the lights still flashed.  Drew was released and he moved to his men, to James, and looked.

Still James.  Eyes too wide, but the shaking had stopped, and Eric was still talking.  But he was still James, a naked man, save for the blanket wrapped around him.

“He okay?” Drew asked Scott.

“Little shocky, but he’s coming out of it,” Scott said.  “No burns; his throat is raw, but he’s breathing fine.  I said I’d watch him.”

Scott didn’t look at him and Drew could practically feel the surge of emotion around his lover.

“I’m okay,” he whispered.  “Love?”

Scott nodded sharply.  “I know,” he said, his voice catching.  What he didn’t say was ‘Never do that again’, although they both knew he wanted to.  They both also knew Drew would. He’d have to.

The ambulances were replaced by police cars and Eric led James across the street to their house, Drew and Scott following.  Scott went to get James some clothes from Drew’s drawers, and the four of them met again in the kitchen, at the back of the house.  They couldn’t see James’s house from there.

Once James was dressed and sitting at the table Eric relaxed a little, long enough to hold Drew and quiz him on his injuries, to kiss him thoroughly and reassure them both.

Drew kept looking at James who had yet to say a word.

“James?  You okay?” Drew finally asked.

James met his eyes and Drew saw something in them he’d never seen before, something he couldn’t define.  There was resignation and relief, fear and thanks.

“You saw?” James whispered.

Wordless, Drew nodded.

“Later.  We’ll talk…later,” James said softly.

Eric and Scott exchanged a look and both turned to Drew, questions in their faces.  

“Later,” Drew agreed.

Part Five

The police came and James sat at the kitchen table, Eric next to him, and listened to what he already knew.  Someone had tried to kill him, had splashed gasoline outside his house and lit it.  Had smashed his doors and tried to add more fuel, but had run before really getting the blaze going.

“Do you have any idea who would do this to you?” the police officer sitting across from him asked.

“Not really,” James replied.  He wasn’t sure why he didn’t just tell them about his crazed and homicidal brother—if they could manage to pick Pyke up he’d have a little time to plan.  Something inside him kept him quiet though, something that wanted to handle Pyke in his own way.  He didn’t examine his reasons too closely, fairly sure they weren’t very good.

The police officer seemed to have enough experience, or maybe just common sense, not to buy it.  “Sir, typically people don’t burn houses with people in them for no good reason.  Do you owe someone money, have business rivals?  Is there someone in your personal life who could have a strong grudge?”

James bit his lip and felt Eric shift in the chair next to him.  He’d told Eric about the kind of things he was writing, and Eric knew he was researching drugs and money, even if he didn’t know everything James was doing with the information.  It wouldn’t take much effort for him to make assumptions.  Nor would it take the police long, and once that was out the DEA would be involved.

“Shit,” he said succinctly.  “I gotta make a phone call.”

The policeman—Officer Teasdale, according to his name badge, raised an eyebrow.  “Mr. Mouzouris, we need to know what you do.”

“Yeah,” James sighed and pushed a hand through his hair.  “All right.  You’re not gonna like it.”  Focussing only on Teasdale James told the basics about the information he gathered on cross boarder medical treatment and drug acquisition.  He sketched in his contacts with people who crossed the boarder to purchase over the counter medication that had not yet been approved in Canada, and those who went for herbal pills sold as supplements.  Most would buy for their own use and go home, claiming them as vitamins or simply slipping them in their luggage and not mentioning them at all to the Customs agents.
 
Others would buy cases of the drugs and sell them on the black market, and those were the people making money.  The ones making really big money never left Canada at all, or lived either in the U.S. or overseas.  There were organizations buying massive quantities of unapproved drugs, smuggling them into Canada and then selling them, or shipping them back out again to other countries.

As James talked, Teasdale took notes, but the longer James went on the slower his pen moved until it stopped all together.  “So, you’re gathering information from drug smugglers?”

“Yeah.”  James could feel Eric’s eyes on him, concern and worry making the big man tense.  “And when I get something really big, something other than the day trippers, I call it in to a guy with the DEA.”

“Goddamn,” Teasdale said mildly.  “This is nasty stuff.”

James nodded.  “I gotta call in.  And I have to get to my safe, it’s got all the paperwork in it.  No one can have that information.”

Teasdale shook his head.  “Forget about that for now.  Your house is a crime scene, no one’s getting in there for a while, not even the DEA or the FBI, or anyone else who wants to see that information.  And irregardless of that, this is an arson case at the moment.  My arson case.  There’s someone running around out there who tried to kill you, and I need names.”

James swore again, knowing the man was right.  The best case scenario would be the DEA taking the files without anyone else getting a look—at least that way there was a slight chance he could retain his cover.  At the same time he knew he had to give the man across from him something, and every name he gave was someone he’d never get information from again.

He looked at Eric, meeting worried blue eyes, and sighed.  Who was he kidding?  His cover was gone, his job done.  And with his house in ruin there wasn’t anything to keep him in Ottawa much longer.  He offered Eric a small smile, more attempt than success, and started reciting names for Teasdale.

It was half an hour before he was allowed to make some calls.  He called Gordon first, and set in motion only the gods knew what machinery and inter-government and law agency fights for the documentation in his safe.  Teasdale finally left and Drew got a pot of coffee going while James dialled again, this time calling Wyoming.

Eric had gone to the living room with Drew, leaving James alone in the kitchen.  He listened to the phone ringing at home, knowing that in the middle of the night only his father would answer, even if several others woke up.

“Harper,” came the expected voice, calm and clear, wide awake and ready for anything.

“It’s James.” His own voice sounded exhausted and hoarse.

“What happened?” Harper asked, concerned and serious.

“A fire.  Someone tried to burn my house down.”  James glanced in the general direction of his house, even though he couldn’t see it from where he was. “Actually, they did burn my house down.  Just didn’t get me.”

He heard Harper inhale sharply, momentarily losing his calm.  James wasn’t surprised, the very thought of being trapped in the fire made his own blood run cold, and he could feel the panic start to creep into him again.  He forced the thought away quickly.

“You’re all right?” Harper asked.

“I’m…better.  It was awful,” he admitted.  “Drew—the neighbour from across the street? He saw the fire and went in for me.  Saved my life.”

“I’ll think of some way to say thank you to him,” Harper said.  James knew he was sincere and that any reward Harper came up with would be perfect.  “Do you know if it was Pyke?”  Harper asked.

“Not for sure, no.  There’s something else, though.”  James shot a look toward the living room, hating that he couldn’t speak freely.  “Drew saw me.  I have to tell him and the others.”

There was a long pause.  “How many?  Just the three you’ve talked about?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You trust them.”  It wasn’t a question.

“Yes, sir.  I do.”

“Fine then, James.  Let me know how it goes, if you need anything.  And stay in touch—I assume your phone number will no longer work?”

“No, I don’t think so.  I’ll let you know where I’ll be staying until the house is repaired or torn down—I really don’t know what kind of damage I’m looking at here.”

After a few more moments of reassurance James said goodnight to Harper and hung up the phone, sitting at the table as his three hosts returned to the kitchen.

Eric immediately came and sat next to him, making sure he was all right and that he’d gotten through to his family.  James didn’t understand exactly why Eric was being so warm to him, but he wasn’t about to complain.  It had been Eric’s voice which had brought him back from panic, from the place where his mind went when he couldn’t cope.  If Eric wanted to stay close that was fine with James.

Drew started pouring coffee, his movements restless and jerky.  Every time James met his eyes he saw the same bewildered confusion, tempered by something kind, and marred with something akin to fear.  James told himself that it wasn’t fear of him, just of the unknown, but it still hurt.

Scott took a cup of coffee and sat at the table, choosing the chair recently vacated by the policeman.  “You holding up okay?” Scott asked.

James nodded and accepted his own mug from Drew.

There was a brief silence, the four of them looking at each other, taking stock in what was now the light of early dawn.  Eric was quiet, sitting still.  Drew shifted in his chair and looked about to say something, but didn’t.  James just waited.

“We should sleep,” Scott finally said.  “There’s gonna be people around in a few hours—a team on the house, the police will be back…” he trailed off and shook his head.  “Fuck.  What a mess.”

James nodded.  Sleep was a good idea, but he doubted he’d get any.  He had too much on his mind, and the images of the fire were just lurking, waiting to come back.  And Drew kept looking at him.

“Me and James have to talk first,” Drew said, his voice soft.

“No,” James corrected him.  “We all do.”

Drew merely nodded and James felt some tension ease away, tension he hadn’t even been really aware of.  He was going to tell them.  He’d known it, but starting the process was important.

As he relaxed a little, the decision made, Eric and Scott reacted with confused and worried looks.  Eric didn’t really pull away from him, didn’t even move, but there was a distance where there hadn’t been one moments before.

“What’s going on?” Scott asked, his eyes on Drew.  “You look…well, freaked.  What were you two talking about earlier, about you seeing?”

Drew pushed a hand through his hair and stood up. “I don’t know what the fuck I saw.  That’s just it.  James—“

This had gone far enough.  The three of them were getting agitated, the room growing smaller as they worried over something they couldn’t understand.  James stood up as Drew turned to face him.

“What did I see?” Drew asked.

“I’ll tell you.  Show you.”  James looked around the kitchen and rubbed his arms with his hands, holding himself.  “Just not right here.  I don’t want anyone wandering up to the door.  Can we go to the garage?  Or the basement?  Need open room.”

Eric and Scott were looking more bewildered than ever, glancing from him to Drew and back.  At least they weren’t demanding verbal explanations—this really was something easier to show than explain, and harder to deny when made tangible.

“Basement,” Drew said, reaching a hand out to Scott.

Scott took Drew’s hand in his own and asked again what was going on, his voice low.  James wondered why they were all so close to whispering, then realized that perhaps secrets and whispers always went together.

Drew tugged Scott to the basement door and said, “I’m not sure, exactly.  But James isn’t what he seems and now we’re all going to find out.”

Eric stood up slowly, not saying anything, just looking at James with serious eyes.

“I’m going to explain, Eric,” James said.  “I promise.  But it’ll be easier if I just show you first.”  James gestured toward the basement door and with a final questioning look Eric started down the stairs.

Drew had turned on the lights as he went, past the furnace room and the small gyprocked room with the camping equipment, into a large room which was empty except for a few boxes against one wall.

“Gonna put a pool table down here sometime,” Drew said absently as he pulled the curtains on the tiny window closed.  “Right now it’s just where Scott’s books come to die.”

James looked around and nodded.  Lots of space, not much chance of people peeking, and the sub floor was covered in plywood.  Not that he really cared if it was concrete or not, but he had a feeling he would be standing for a while and wood was just easier.

Or he could be leaving almost immediately, although he doubted it.  He trusted them.

They were lined up against the wall looking at him, Eric in the middle.  He was holding hands with Drew, who was watching James intently.

“Um, you might want to sit,” James said, toeing off his borrowed shoes.

As a unit the three of them slid down the wall to sit on the floor, staring.  He felt his cheeks heat as he pulled off the t-shirt he’d been wearing.  It fit, so he assumed it was Drew’s.

“Drew’s right,” James said, not sure if he was just stalling or if he needed to say it out loud.  “I’m not what I seem. But I want you to know that I trust you with this, and I would’ve liked to have told you anyway.  Not just ‘cause Drew saw me.”  He fingered the waistband of the sweatpants.  Also Drew’s, had to be.

Drew was still staring, not blinking at all, like he was afraid he’d miss something.  Scott was staring as well, but more confused than anything else.  Eric…Eric had his head buried in Drew’s shoulder, and even from where he was James could see how pink Eric’s ears were.

“Eric?” James said softly.

“Why is he taking off his clothes?” Eric asked, his voice muffled.  

“Getting ready to change,” James said.  Eric didn’t reply, so James did the only thing he could.  He stripped off the sweatpants and stood there in their basement, naked.

“Eric, look at me,” James said.  Scott had his detached face on, the one Eric called his ‘doctor look’, and Drew still looked more curious than anything else.  Slowly Eric looked up, his face flushed.  With all three of them looking at him, James changed forms.

The ensuing silence, James decided in some remote part of his brain, could best be called ‘stunned’.  He waited for Drew to say something, anything, sure the fireman would be the first to find his voice.  He was wrong.

“The human body,” Scott said concisely, his voice clear, “does not do that.”

Drew snorted.  Eric squeaked.

“True,” James agreed.  “But I’m not human.  I’m-“

“A centaur,” Eric breathed.  “An honest to fuck centaur.”  Eric started to stand up, his eyes wide.  Amazed.

“I’m just glad he’s not a flashback,” Drew said.

“Don’t think you’ll get flashbacks, babe,” Eric said absently, walking toward James.

James stood still, waiting.  Lost in blue eyes that refused to look away.

“The human body—“ Scott insisted.

“Not—“ James started.

“A centaur,” Eric said with a wide grin.  “Cool!”

Part Six

Drew rested his head in Eric’s lap and tried not to fall asleep.  He was terribly comfortable there, lying on the basement floor with one arm looped around Eric’s leg and with Eric’s fingers absently tracing patterns on his arm.  They were watching James and Scott, had been for about ten minutes, just sitting in silence while Scott attempted to satisfy his scientific curiosity.

Eric had only managed a couple of steps towards James before Scott had launched himself into full doctor mode.  Three long strides and Scott was there, walking around James and studying his form, asking questions about his spine, his gut, his heart; predictably, Eric had immediately retreated, although he’d kept his eyes on James even as he walked backwards to the wall and slid down next to Drew.

Drew had watched as James switched back to his more familiar human form at Scott’s request, and then back into the horse shape that still made his mind hiccup.  James was undeniably stunning in his centaur form, although part of that may have been the simple fact that he even had a centaur form.

Drew figured part of his mind was on vacation all ready, or maybe it had slipped away with the last of the adrenaline surge.  He felt calm, and was a little unnerved by how he seemed to just be accepting this weirdness of James’, like it was a personality quirk.  He smiled a little to himself, watching James shift again, this time with Scott’s hand on the base of his human torso, then suddenly just above the naked human James’ butt.

Eric’s fingers tightened into a death grip that didn’t ease up until James was back, yet again, in centaur form.  

And so it went.  James and Scott talking about how it worked, what it felt like, how it happened.  Drew wasn’t paying any attention to the words at all, his mind sort of floating as he watched James and not-James.  He noticed that naked James was pretty damn appealing.  He also noticed that every time James wasn’t a centaur Eric’s grip grew painful.  

He turned his head and looked up at his lover, who had apparently stopped averting his eyes, but not stopped blushing.  He looked kind of dazed, but not unhappy about it.  The initial wonder in his face when James had changed the first time was still there, and although Eric was currently staring at naked human shaped James he was looking more thoughtful than anything else.

“What are you thinking about?” Drew asked softly.  He glanced back as Scott had James change again.  This was seven times, he thought, but this time Scott seemed more concerned about James’ legs than anything else.  All four of them.  Bemused, Drew realized he was actually not that curious about the shape itself, just what it meant.  

Eric shook his head and looked down at him, blue eyes bright and far too awake for being up so long.  “Just trying to remember everything I know about centaurs.”

Drew blinked, he knew he did.  “You actually know shit about centaurs?”  Why would anyone know anything about centaurs?

Eric raised an eyebrow at him and nodded.  “Yeah, of course.  Didn’t you study Greek mythology in school?  Like in the sixth grade, or something?”

“Well, yeah,” Drew admitted.  “But that was about a hundred years ago, ‘ric.  All I remember is Hercules and Pegasus, and something about the…the leader—Zeus?  He had a thing for pretty girls and lived on top of a mountain.”  

He could hear James trying not to laugh and Eric just rolled his eyes.   Scott said something to James about tendons, clearly not paying any attention to them.

“Okay,” Eric said with a grin.  “I remember a bit more than that.  Not much, true, but a little more.  I was horse crazy about the time we started studying the Greek myths, so I paid more attention.”

“Talk then,”  Drew said, settling his head into Eric’s lap again.  Comfortable, his man.  Had a nice lap.  

He felt Eric move a little, leaning back on the wall, then Eric’s fingers stroked his hair.  “Not much that I can tell you, really.  Centaurs belong to Zeus, he made them.  Upper body of a man, lower of a horse, they were his creatures.  There was one who was made to be immortal, though the rest weren’t.”

“Chiron,” James said.  

Eric nodded.  “He got hurt by Hercules and lived in pain.  Then he traded his life for Prometheus.”

Drew just shook his head.  “How the hell do you remember that?”

“Was pretty cool stuff.  Good stories, you know?  Plus, the centaurs were kinda neat anyway—much more interesting than the horses at the Pony Club.”

“Pony club?”  Drew couldn’t help smiling at that.  

“Yeah, well.  I was what?  Twelve?  Had to learn to ride somewhere.”

“You ride?”  Sometime he’d stop being surprised by his husbands.  But not today.

“Nah, not really.  Only had lessons for a couple of years.”  Eric moved again, his fingers almost pulling Drew’s hair.  

Drew looked over, unsurprised to see James all naked and attractively human shaped.  “Pretty,”  he murmured.

Eric flushed and tightened his grip on Drew’s hair a little.

“This change anything?” Drew whispered.

Eric’s grip relaxed.  “No.  Yes.  Yes, of course it does. Changes everything.”  Eric’s voice was low as well, Scott and James talking to each other, their attention well away from the two on the floor.  “He’s…he’s not human.  He’s something more, and something special.  Changes a lot of things.”

Drew tried to nod, but his head was resting on Eric’s thighs and that made nodding hard.  “I guess.  But how do you feel?”

“Don’t know.  Still care about him.  Want to know about this—what it was like growing up, how it feels to change forms, what it’s like to run with four legs.”  There was a long pause, then Eric whispered.  “Doesn’t change who he is.  He’s still James.”

And that was all Drew needed to know.

“I need my stethoscope,” Scott announced, turning around.  “Can’t figure out what happens when he—“

“No.”  Eric sounded determined.  “Scott.  Love, we’ve been up forever, James has had a hell of a time.  Keep the exam ‘till later.  Please?”

Scott blinked and Drew could almost see him snapping out of his research mindset.  He flushed and blinked then immediately apologized to James.  “God, I’m so sorry.  I didn’t even ask if it hurts to change, and—“

James, still in centaur form just laughed and shook his head.  “Doesn’t hurt.  Really, do you think I would have done it a dozen times if it hurt?”

Scott still looked apologetic as Drew got up and gave Eric a hand.  “Let’s just get some sleep,” Drew said.  “James can take the couch tonight and tomorrow sometime we’ll drag the frame from Eric’s old bed up to the spare room.  Get the rest of Scott’s books to the basement, set it up.”

He started up the stairs while James protested the trouble, letting Eric and Scott insist.  He was too tired to fight about it.  They had a lot to do in the next few days, and Drew liked to pick his battles.

Part Seven

The problem, James decided, was the smell.  Charred wood, wet plaster, the stink of whatever plastics had melted—the whole area was rank, and every individual scent was a reminder of the fire.  He tried to tell himself that since it was less than ten hours since he’d been pulled out of there it was only natural that he was still upset; the rationalisation did little to calm him, however.

He stood in the driveway and looked across the street at his house.  Drew had gone to work a few minutes before, looking bleary eyed and apologetic.  James wasn’t exactly sure what to say to him, but when the subject of his centaur nature failed to come up he relaxed a little and simply accepted the stack of borrowed clothes Drew passed to him.  No doubt there would be long and involved conversations later, but for the time being they both seemed willing to let more pressing matters like work and ruined houses take precedence.

There were a lot of people roaming around his yard.  A few fire investigators, a small team of firefighters checking for hot spots, police…and as he watched three more cars pulled up.  One was a non descript black sedan and he recognized the man from his insurance company—they didn’t waste time, apparently.  He’d only called them forty-five minutes ago.  

The others were two RCMP cruisers, and about six members were soon grouped together with one of the firemen, probably discussing the blaze.  He sighed and started walking towards them, intending to meet the assault of questions head on.  Better to go to them than be summoned.

One of the RCMP members looked up as he approached and nodded.  “You’re James Mouzouris?”

“Yes.”  He shook the offered hand and listened while all the necessary introductions were made.  The man who seemed to be in charge was a Staff Sergeant named Le Fleur, who lead him directly to a man named Brooks, who was the head of the arson team.

James spent the next hour walking with a group of four or five people, some coming and going as they talked.  They took a look at the back of the house, where the damage was the worst, Brooks pointing out the path of the flames and where the accelerant had been dumped.  

“So, the gas was spilled all along the back, starting at the kitchen, which probably saved your life—by the time he reached the wall of your room it wasn’t splashing so high.  Then he lit it at the far end and doubled back, going into the house to try and start it going in there, too.”  Brooks waved his hand to indicate the patterns and the path the intruder had taken.

At the back of the house made sense, there being less chance of the man being seen, and less chance that someone would notice the blaze.  Unless the intended victim lived across the street from a fireman who happened to be up at that hour.   

“Why start outside?” James asked.  As soon as the question was out he knew the answer.  Frustrated at showing his lack of sleep by asking something he now regarded as obvious, he held up a hand to forestall Brooks’s reply.  

“The noise, of course.  I woke up as soon as he broke in, and he couldn’t risk not having any fire at all.”

Brooks nodded and they continued walking around the property, the insurance adjuster taking photos right along with the arson team and the member assigned to the Major Crime Unit.  There were several conversations going on around him, but no one was actually speaking to James, or asking him questions yet.

“Mind if I look around a bit?” he asked.

Both Le Fleur and Brooks nodded and waved him off, saying only to stay out of the house itself until the Ident team was done and someone was available to escort him for his own safety.

He walked slowly along the backyard, looking at the ruin of his home.  From across the street the damage hadn’t looked too bad, the scorch marks mostly confined to the roof above the living room.  The back, however, was another story all together.

The back wall of the kitchen was gone, a gaping hole running from the far corner into the bedroom next to it.  Another hole took up part of where the bathroom had been, and the roof looked like it had been peeled back.  Jagged black beams and boards were everywhere, the cavern of his home looking like a cave.  The appliances he could see were blackened and scarred, the walls soaked until they were dripping with ash and soot.

It had been necessary for the firefighters to do a certain amount of damage in the course of their work, and James certainly didn’t begrudge them that.  He took in the shattered windows and the one hole in the roof that looked like it had been chopped and not burned, and filed the information in his head.  Those things hardly mattered, on the whole.

The house was not liveable, by any stretch of his imagination.  He glance around, hoping to see the man from the insurance company.  Finally James spotted him, deep in conversation with one of the policemen and one of the fire investigators.

Hoping to get a little more information, James walked towards them as casually as he could, still looking at the house.  

From this angle he could see the metal kettle on the stove, and he was struck by a sudden image of it steaming one day last January when he was making tea.  He froze momentarily, suddenly unable to escape the feeling of panic he’d been pushing away.  He looked at the house, saw it as a whole, and felt his control start to slip.

The smells bothered him.  The sight of it was manageable—there was, after all, no fire any longer.  But now he had a memory attached to this house, something small and trivial that had flown out of this mind and made him feel.  He could feel it again, the heat and the pressure.

He turned on his heel and walked away as quickly as he could, fighting hard with everything he had to keep himself from running.  He told himself there was no fire, that he was safe, that Drew had gotten him out and that Eric had talked to him—it was over.

It wasn’t until he stood in the front yard looking across the street that he was able to stop moving and concentrate on breathing.  Concentrate on not looking back at the house.  Long moments passed, people moving around him, behind him, doing their jobs.  When James finally noticed a sympathetic look from one of the firemen he was pleased on two counts; that his apparent loss of control was going to be taken in stride, as something normal and appropriate, and that he was actually able to notice something like that.  Control had returned.

James walked to his truck, reaching it before he realized he didn’t have his keys.  With one hand on the door handle he cursed, looking up to see if one of the policemen was around and able to give him a slim jim so he could pop the lock.  They were all busy, however, a crowd of them still talking to Brooks who was gesturing, and a few more taking down the police tape.  Looked like the Ident team had gathered whatever evidence they could and would be leaving soon.  

He sighed and leaned on the truck, not really needing to get into it, just wanting something to do.  He wasn’t used to inaction.  He watched the people for a bit nodding in acknowledgement when Le Fleur called out that they would need him shortly.  

He hoped they were going to let him know what they’d learned.  He knew they were going to ask him more questions about who had done this.

It was in no way possible that Pyke had set the fire.  No centaur could have done this, the terror of fire far too strong an instinct to fight.  That wasn’t to say that Pyke couldn’t be behind it; it would have been a simple matter to hire someone, to arrange it.  But there wasn’t any way Pyke had been there the night before.

As the last of the tape came down and the Ident team finished packing up, things started moving faster.  Several members of the RCMP left, as did most of the firefighters.  Another car arrived, however, the lone occupant going directly to Le Fleur and joining the scrum which included Brooks and the man from the insurance agency.

It was the scent that told him Eric was there.  He knew the man’s shampoo, his skin, his sweat.  And even freshly showered he could smell Scott, too.  Someone, at least, had had a good morning.  Eric came around the truck, leaning against it next to him.

He smiled to himself and said, “Morning, Eric.”

“Hey.  More like early afternoon, now.  How’re things going here?”

“Just getting to the good part.  Questions start soon.”  James glanced at Eric and glanced again.  Man looked well rested, which was good.  But he was shifting his weight, not able to stand still, and that wasn’t like Eric at all.  

James thought about it for a moment and decided some things were too important to put off.  “You got any questions of your own?” he asked in a low voice.

Eric looked started, but the smile that lit up his face was just as easy going as ever.  “Tons.  But not right now.  I figure we can grill you over supper and you can talk our ears off.”  

James smiled back at him, relieved that Eric was taking things so well.  Exceedingly well, actually.  They all were, and James couldn’t feel anything but pleased.  He’d known they would keep his secret and still believed that, but it was nice to know that they weren’t going to flip out at him.  It did seem very likely, however, that he was going to spend a good portion of the next few days in the basement with Scott.

That wasn’t an unpleasant thought, but the idea of shifting so many times in close quarters made him a little antsy.  “Hey,” he said suddenly.  “Do you know if you three have any time off together in the next could of days?”

Eric shrugged.  “I work tomorrow during the day, and Scott does too—we’re all messed up at the moment ‘cause we’re going away in a couple of weeks.  Been trading shifts like mad.  Why?”

“Need to run.  Hoped you could come with me.”

Eric’s eyes widened as the implication hit him.  “You mean—when you’re—wow.  Running.  How cool is that?  God, can you take a rider?  That would be so cool.”  The grin on his face made James decide he was taking at least Eric with him, and soon.

“Yeah.  When I’m like that.  And yeah, actually I can take a rider.”  He winked at Eric, who was looking hopeful and excited and like he was about to launch into either a million questions or beg him to go for a run right then.  Either of which would be fine with James.  “Interested?” he teased.

Eric nodded and opened his mouth to reply when suddenly things started happening.  A locksmith and another police cruiser arrived, the cluster of fire inspector, Staff Sergeant, insurance agent and stranger broke up and all turned to face him, and Le Fleur raised his hand.

“Mr. Mouzouris?  We’re ready to talk to you now.”

“Want me to leave?” Eric asked as they stood straighter, pushing away from the truck.

“Nah, don’t worry about it.  C’mon.”  James stared to walk into the yard, Eric beside him.

“How come they waited so long?” Eric asked curiously.

“No idea.  I figured I’d be answering questions as soon as I arrived, but they’ve been pretty much ignoring me.”

The conversation with the various officials was intensely one sided for the first few minutes.  James couldn’t give them any details about the fire itself, was in fact unable to remember most of it.  He only had impressions of heat and fear, no clear picture of where the fire was when he awoke or how long it had been before Drew had arrived.  When pressed on the point, Brooks asking him to try and picture the room and where the fire was, he found his control slipping again, his heart beginning to pound.

“He doesn’t know,” Eric said firmly, speaking for the first time.  “Maybe someone can talk to Drew?”

Both Brooks and Le Fleur nodded.  “We’ve already sent someone to talk to Mr. Smyth, and have his statement.” Brooks said.  

Apparently deciding that James was going to be next to useless as a witness, Brooks let Le Fleur take over, gesturing to the Staff Sergeant with one hand.  “Might as well fill him in, then.”

Le Fleur nodded.  “While the fire was being brought under control two plastic gas cans were found near the back of the yard.  We’ve canvassed the neighbours, and no one heard anything unusual—this isn’t a high traffic area, but a car arriving would most likely go unnoticed.  One speeding away, however, probably would be, even in the middle of the night.”

James nodded, thinking about the mostly older neighbours who tended to be up at odd hours.  Squealing tires would attract attention, but if the guy had a car, he probably wouldn’t park right in front of the house, anyway.  Chances are he’d park a few streets away and walk in, then just disappear through the yards.

“From the damage done to the house and the activity of the fire when the trucks arrived we doubt there was much time between when the individual broke in and Mr. Smyth’s arrival.  He didn’t see a vehicle leave, so we’re not ruling out the possibility of a vehicle being on hand, but we’re leaning to him being on foot.”

“So how do you find him?”

“We’re asking a lot of questions as all the local gas stations, trying to find out where he bought the gas, see if we can get a description.  Routine leg work.”

And that seemed to be all they had tell him at that point.  They left him and Eric for a few moment to consult with the someone about the structural safety, saying that they were going to retrieve the safe and then he would be allowed in to gather what he could before they resealed the house as a crime scene.  

The thought of going into the house, being surrounded by the smell and the evidence of the blaze was almost enough to unnerve him again.  He looked at Eric, who was watching him closely.

“You gonna be okay?” Eric asked quietly.  “I mean, I could go in and see if there’s any clothes or anything, take a look around the living room for personal stuff that might be okay.”

He smiled.  He had to, it was just so typical of Eric to offer.  “I’ll be okay,” he said, hoping it was true.  “Would you…I mean, if you don’t mind—“

Eric grinned at him and ducked his head in a surprising gesture that made him look like an overgrown twelve year old.  “Yeah, sure.  I’ll go in with you.”

“Thanks.”  He hoped his smile wasn’t as dopey as it felt.

The insurance agent had a quick word with James, which essentially amounted to the police not thinking there was any cause to believe James had burned the house for the insurance money, but there wouldn’t be any decisions made on the settlement until everything had been processed and the final loss totalled.  James hadn’t really expected much better.

They went in the front door and the smell of smoke grew stronger, even though the entire house had been soaked.  James looked down at the carpet just inside the door and saw black water welling up on either side of his shoes, oil and soot mixed into the damaged fibres.

“Yuck.”

“Yep,” Eric agreed.  

James glanced around the room, taking in the ruined electronics, the damaged books, the remnants of the small writing desk.  He told himself that he hadn’t much in the first place, that he’d made sure he never owned many things so he could go home whenever he was needed.

The loss still cut though.

Eric’s hand on the small of his back startled him and he looked up, realizing belatedly that it wasn’t the touch of comfort; Eric was simply moving to the other side of him so one of the police could get in the house.  But Eric didn’t rush to remove his hand, and James took what little he could from the contact.

The went down the hall and he could see the backyard when he glanced into the room that had been his.  “Not much chance anything in that room is okay?” he asked the crowd in general.  

“Sorry.”  Le Fleur really did look sympathetic.

“Guess I have to shop,” James said to Eric with as mild a tone as he could manage.  Except his wallet had been in that room and he now had no credit cards, no bank card, no personal identification.  He rolled his eyes as he realized he was going to spend the next few days on the phone.  At least he had some emergency money in the safe.

The bathroom was also a wreck, but it didn’t matter.  He figured he could get a toothbrush without much trouble.   The room on the other side of the hall, thankfully, was mostly all right.  Water had ruined books and what few posters he’d put on the wall, but what he really wanted was fine.

“Eric, could you take that chest out, please?” he asked, pointing to a metal footlocker.

Eric nodded and went into the room, lifting the box easily.  Everyone heard the slide of metal and the police suddenly looked more interested.

“Can you tell me what’s in that?” Le Fleur asked.  “You don’t have any weapons or firearms?”

“No, sir.  Just tack for a horse.”  It was, too, though he’d not used it in years.  They’d had horses at home, and Harper had given James the tack as a gift when he was eleven.  The brushes, though—they were his.

Eric took the box out and James made another mental note.  He really would have to make it plain that he wasn’t about to wear a saddle and leather had far better uses than as reins.

It turned out that getting the safe out of the master bedroom was more of a struggle than had been anticipated, the fire having damaged the flooring on one side, making it nearly impossible to shift the huge amount of weight without danger.  The locksmith was escorted in and found his presence more or less redundant; the safe was a tough old breed, and had survived just fine, the combination dial lock still in working order.

James had expected people to be there when he opened the safe for them, but he’d not really planned on the entourage he got.  Le Fleur, the man who’d arrived in the unmarked car and had still not been introduced, Eric, the locksmith, and two members of the RCMP all walked through the house with him.

The office wasn’t as bad as James had thought it would be, the placement of the safe being on the inside wall and the edge being closest to the damage.  The rest of the room, while charred and water logged, wasn’t utterly destroyed.  He looked at the computer and shook his head.

“It’s fried?”

Surprisingly, the answer came from the unnamed man in their group.  “Oh God, yeah. If the heat didn’t melt it’s guts the water did it.  We’ll take it in anyway, see if we can pull anything off.”

Le Fleur didn’t look happy.  “We have jurisdiction—“

“We have a joint case, and the DEA has more resources.”

James sighed.  So the turf war was on.  He was just as glad all he had to do was open the safe and hand out the documents.  Let them fight it out, his part was done.  Except for the endless questions and probable time spent in court testifying, if it got that far.

He waited for someone to tell him to open the safe, patiently looking around the room.  He’d not kept much in the office, reserving it for work, so there wasn’t much to lose here by way of personal possessions.  Eric came back and stood in the doorway, giving him a smile.  

When he was finally told to go ahead he knelt down and worked the combination, the dial only a little stiffer than normal.  He held out a hand to open the safe, two sets of hands appearing beside his, hanging onto the safe.  “Just in case the door sticks,” one of the police said.  “Don’t want anything to slip—rather not land in the basement.”

James nodded and tugged, unsurprised that the door was jammed.  He pulled harder.  The third time he managed it, the metal hinges screaming.  

He reached a hand into the safe, going first for the folder of his personal papers but was stopped by the same constable.  “Sir, I’ll have to do that,” he said in an apologetic tone.  He held up his hand, covered in latex gloves.  

Evidence.  Right.  

He stood and waited with Eric while each folder was taken out, identified and bagged.  When they got to the envelope with the cash he thought for a moment they weren’t going to let him keep it, but the eventually decided that if it was drug money there would be more than five hundred dollars, and he could sign a receipt for it.

The folder of his personal papers—passport, the birth certificate Harper had given him, the papers for the house and the truck—was handed over without protest.  

James reached for it, his heart almost stopping when the file slipped and two pieces of paper slid out.

Hands grabbed at them from all sides, everyone trying to keep the photos from hitting the messy floor.  Le Fleur got them both, and glanced at them as he handed them back to James.  Then he froze and looked again, his eyes wide.

James held his breath and tried not to look like anything unusual was happening.  Eric merely looked curious, although he did seem to move a little closer.

James held out his hand, like he fully expected the man to just hand the pictures to him, and was only mildly surprised when he did.  A lot relieved, but not completely stunned.  People often did what they perceived as the expected, assuming it to be correct.  Even police officers, faced with photos of centaurs.

“Amazing what computers can do, isn’t it?” Le Fleur said with a grin.  “Looks so real.”

James smiled back at him.  “Yeah, my sister has a weird sense of humour.  You should see the ones she did of our parents.  Put our father’s face on a cow.”

Le Fleur actually laughed.  “Bet he appreciated that.”

“He was real proud of her computer skills anyway.  For a few minutes.”  Relief was coursing through his body and he needed to be out of the room, out of the house.  He needed to run, but in a pinch he’d make do with just getting out.  “We’re done here?” he asked.

Le Fleur and the man from the DEA exchanged a look.  “Yeah, for now.  You’re staying with Mr. Smyth and his roommates?”

“For the time being, yes.  You can reach me there, although I’ll probably arrange for a cell phone in the next couple of days.”

Le Fleur nodded, already turning to the constable with the box of files.  “So long as we can find you.”

James nodded and left the house, Eric beside him.

Part Eight

Eric studied James’s face as they walked across the street.  He was a little pale, but seemed steady enough; Eric had been worried James was going to go blank again when that idiot fire inspector or whoever he was got pushy.  Jesus, didn’t the man know when to back off?

“You okay?” he asked, then winced.  He’d asked that already, and now he was being pushy.  Concerned, but definitely pushy.

“Fine, thanks.”  James smiled at him and added, “Thanks.  Really.   For going in with me, and for getting Brooks to drop it.”

“You looked sort of…well, not panicked, but not too happy.”  Eric could feel his cheeks pink and cursed at himself.  The man had just expressed gratitude, that was all.  God, ever since Eric had figured out what he was feeling he’d done nothing but blush like an idiot around James.  

Thankfully, James didn’t seem to notice, at least not this time.  “Was a little hard, but I’m okay.  It’s an instinct, you know?   Fire’s really bad, so my mind and body both wanted to shy away from the whole thing, even though I knew the fire was out.  Plus it smelled--”

“Really bad,” Eric finished.

They went in the front door of the house and walked through to the kitchen where Scott was cooking something involving a hell of a lot of tomato sauce.  As they came in, James tossed the file folder onto the kitchen table and swung himself into one of the chairs; Eric headed for the fridge for beer, stopping on the way to kiss Scott.

“Hey, how’d it go?” Scott asked, turning to lean on the counter and wiping his hands an a towel.  “What’s the damage?”

“Extensive,” James replied.  He accepted the bottle Eric handed to him and said, “Thanks, Eric.  You wouldn’t believe the amount of people that were all over the place, Scott.  I think it was the research more than the fire, you know?  Arson gets attention, but there just seemed to be too many cops, and the DEA guy was there, the insurance agent…”  He rubbed his eyes with one hand and Eric was suddenly struck by how tired he looked.

“You sleep much?” he asked.

James shrugged.  “Couple hours.  Same as Drew—he looked like hell this morning, but still went into work.”

Where he’d probably spent ages answering questions from both his crew and the police about the fire.  Eric shook his head, feeling guilty for getting to sleep in, laying next to Scott for a extra few hours.  Not to mention taking his time to get royally screwed by Scott before going over to James’s.  

“Drew called,” Scott put in.  “Said he’d be home early—he was too tired to be of much use, so he’s booking some hours.  I figured we could eat really early, and if anyone decides to fall asleep later at least we’re all fed.”

“Cool.  He’d really coming home early?”  Eric was surprised; usually Drew would work right through exhaustion, but it was possible that the revelations of the night before meant he really needed a break, needed to work things out in his head.  “You know what time?”

Scott glanced at the clock.  “About half an hour, I expect.”

James stood up put the empty beer bottle on the counter.  “I’ll go take a shower then, if that’s okay.”

Eric looked at his own bottle, still mostly full.  Looked like James needed a break, too.   “Of course it’s okay,” he said.  “Towels are in the linen closet, and use whatever shaving stuff you want—there’s extra blades in the cabinet.  Make yourself at home.”

James looked faintly startled, but he smiled and said thanks, then headed down the hall.

“How is he?” Scott asked when they heard the water running.

“Not bad.”  Eric got up and walked to Scott, taking a brief kiss.   “Was shaky about going in the house, had a tough time talking about the fire.  But the rest?  Just fine.  There was a thing with the Staff Sergeant—James had some pictured in the safe.”  He pointed to the folder on the table, then started helping Scott with supper as they talked.

“Pictures?  Of what?” Scott asked, his eyes concerned.

Eric shrugged and started slicing the mushrooms on the counter.  “Didn’t see, but judging from the reactions I assume they were of himself.  In his other form.”

“Jesus.”  Scott stirred the pot for a moment.  “That’s not good.  What happened?”

“Cop thought it was computer manipulated and James encouraged that.  But I swear he looked like he was gonna pass out.  Sorta figure it’s not something he wants people to know about, you know?”

Scott nodded, his eyes distant.  He stared into middle space for a long time, and Eric knew he was going over the previous evening, picturing James as a centaur and trying to figure out how he changed forms.  Eric smiled to himself; James was in for a bad time if he didn’t want to rather thoroughly examined.

They had supper almost ready when James came back, hair still damp, but looking more awake.  He was dressed in Drew’s clothes again, this time old faded jeans that Eric thought looked better on James, and an Ottawa FD sweatshirt.

“What can I do to help?”  James asked as Scott got the pasta ready to drain.

“Uh, set the table?”

Eric handed him the plates and reached for the folder on the table.  As he moved it to the counter, under the phone, he wondered if James would show them the photos if he asked, but decided that it wasn’t really the time.  Maybe later, when Drew was home and the four of them had talked more.

There was just so much Eric wanted to know.  He could only remember parts of the mythology, and very few details.  He wanted to know what it was like growing up so different, and what his parents thought, and if he was lonely.  He wanted to know when James found out he could change, and if it was something he had to learn.  

James and Scott were having a serious discussion about the proper amount of garlic to put in spaghetti versus lasagne and the questions Eric had about James were still going round and round in his head when Drew came in. He looked tired but not really as bad as Eric had expected.

Eric was closest to the door and therefore got the first kiss, Drew smiling as he said hello and stepped close.  Eric grinned back and leaned down, surprised when Drew turned what he’d expected to be a quick hello into something more.  Drew’s hand tangled in the hair at the back of his neck and his tongue teased at Eric’s lips until Eric let him in, kissing back with the appropriate amount of hunger.

Maybe not appropriate for the kitchen in front of company, but appropriate for Drew in need.

“What was that for?” he asked with a grin when Drew finally let him go.

“Just ‘cause.”  Then Drew winked at him and headed for Scott.

Eric looked at James, and immediately blushed.  He’d really have to work on that, he decided.  

James was looking at him with a faint smile, but his eyes were distant, thoughtful.  Eric cleared his throat and James blinked, then grinned as Drew pinned Scott to the fridge for a couple of moments.  

“Supper’s getting cold,” Eric announced when it looked like things were in danger of getting out of hand.  Or in hand.  Whatever it was, it wasn’t something they should be doing on an empty stomach.

The actual meal passed without incident, the four of them too tired and hungry to spend much time talking.  Drew finished first and got up to work his magic with the coffee maker, making sure that everyone wanted it strong.

“Need sleep,” James said.  “But I think we need to talk more.”

When the coffee was ready and poured Eric cleared the table, leaving the dishes to soak.  He glanced at James’s folder and brought it to the table, setting it down carefully so nothing would fall out this time.

“Quick thinking with the pictures,” he said casually.

James sighed and rubber his eyes.  “Christ.  Harper would have my balls if he knew I still had those,”  He didn’t open the file.

“Why?” Scott asked curiously.

“What pictures?” Drew asked at the same time.

James sat back in his chair.  “The centaur thing is a bit of a secret,” he said with a rueful grin.  “Not a good idea to have photos.”

“But why can’t you have pictures of yourself?”  Eric asked.  He figured James kept them in a safe; it wasn’t like he had them on display or anything.

“Not me,” James said, shaking his head.  “And even if they were, it’s a damn foolish thing to do.”

“Not you?”  Scott said faintly.  “There’s more?  More centaurs?”

James blinked.  “Well, yeah.  There’s maybe twenty herds or so in the states, three or four in Canada, probably more elsewhere.”

Eric stared.  Herds.  Lots of centaurs, all over.  He looked at Drew and met wide eyes, then he looked at Scott, who was equally as stunned.

“So, you’re not alone,” he said.  That was good.  But now he was confused.  “Why didn’t you stay—I mean, why leave your…herd and put yourself at risk of being discovered?  Why live in a city where you can’t change forms and run if you have a home with other centaurs?”

James smiled at him, but it didn’t reach his eyes.  “It’s complicated.  It would take a long time to explain it all.”

“We got time,” Scott said firmly.  

Eric almost jumped when there were suddenly two hands on his legs, both of his lovers touching him under the table.  He put his coffee mug on the table and leaned back, tangling his fingers with theirs.

James sighed and rested his arms on the table, turning the cup in front of him in circles.  “We’re herd creatures,” he said.

Eric waited for more, but apparently James was done.  “Uh huh,” he said carefully.

Drew’s fingers tightened around his.  “So herds have one leader.  One male,” Drew said.  “The other males are all driven away or killed.”

James shook his head.  “No.  Well, yes, but not exactly.  In the wild, with other herd animals that’s true.  But centaurs are a little more civilized than that for the most part.  When colts get to the age where instinct makes them begin to cause trouble—start fights with each other, acting up and challenge the Herd Stallion’s authority—they leave the herd.  We go to foster homes where humans who know what we are take care of us and get us ready to live in human society.”

“How old are you when that happens?” Scott asked, looking vaguely horrified.  

“About twelve—puberty, you know.”  James grinned suddenly.  “Teenagers are rebellious anyway, and with us it’s a lot worse.  So far as how we react to authority, anyway.   At that age we’re all about strength and dominance, picking fights with each other.”

“Instinct,” Scott said thoughtfully.  “Getting ready to try to take the herd.  Sort of like practice.”

“Exactly.  Herd Stallions prefer to keep their herds, and more importantly, keep them safe.  So the wild and rather obnoxious colts are sent off to finish growing up.  Keeps everyone happy, really.”

Eric thought about that for a moment.  “But you talk to him. Your father, I mean.  He’s your Herd Stallion?”

James nodded.  “Yeah.  And yeah, I talk to him.  Harper’s a good stallion, and he’s my father.  I’ll always be part of his herd, even if I don’t live there.  It’s not like we all hate each other or anything, it’s just that stallions tend to get pretty worked up in close quarters.  Like the same city.”

“None in Ottawa, then?” Drew asked with a smile.

“Nope.  Closest herd is just outside Montreal.”  And if the look on James’s face was any indication he really wasn’t up for a quick road trip.

Eric thought for a moment.  “So, there’s all these male centaurs out there?  You all just sort of…grow up, leave home and that’s it?  Start your lives and try to get by without family?”  

Scott’s fingers tightened around his and he squeezed back.  This wasn’t about his family, it was about James.

“More or less,” James said, not meeting his eye.

Eric knew there was something else there, something James wasn’t willing to get into, but he decided not to press it.   James looked tired and Eric had seen the stress he’d been in over at his house.  

There was something else he wanted to know, anyway.  “What are you going to do?  You can’t keep researching the drug stuff anymore and you say you can’t go home.”

James looked at the mug in front of him and gave it another spin before leaning back in his chair.  “Don’t know.  The house is a mess—I’ve got stories I can write, finish up the series with what I’ve got.  Have to get the repairs done on the house, start looking for work, I guess.”  He shifted in his seat, not looking at any of them again, and once more Eric knew there was something he wasn’t saying.

Eric wasn’t used to James keeping things from him, at least not when he knew it.  The centaur thing had been a shock, of course, but James had apparently had twenty years practice hiding that.  This half unspoken conversation was painful, though.  Different.  He got up and crossed to the coffee pot, Drew’s hand lingering in his as he rose.

“What about immigration?” Drew asked.  “There going to be trouble with your visa or anything?”

James shook his head.  “I’m contracted to the magazine, so as long as I’m writing for them everything is valid.  And Harper could arrange things, anyway.”

Eric saw Drew’s eyebrows go up at that, but no one said anything.  Eric looked at the fresh coffee in his mug, then sighed and dumped it in the sink.  “I have any more of that stuff I’m not going to sleep at all.”  A look at the big whiteboard confirmed what he already knew.  “And I gotta work at eight tomorrow morning.  James, what do you need right away?”

James looked at him, startled, then said, “Basic stuff, I guess.  Clothes, toiletries, things like that.”

Eric nodded and picked up his car keys.  “’Kay, let’s you and me hit the mall, and Drew and Scott can haul the bed up from the basement.  We’ll only be an hour or so, then we can get you set up.”

Scott and Drew were already getting up, crossing to put their mugs in the sink.

“I don’t want you guys to feel like you have to—“

“Shut up,” Drew said with a grin.  “Not like we don’t have space.  Where else are you going to go?”

James looked like he was going to fight it, but he just nodded.  “Thanks.  All of you.”

“Not a problem,” Scott insisted, opening the basement door.  “We’ll even give you the decent room.”

Eric grinned as his partners headed down the stairs.  He had no idea which was the decent room, and he doubted they did either.

Part Nine

It only took Scott and Drew a few minutes to get the frame and mattresses from Eric’s old bed up the stairs and ready to be set up.  Clearing out the larger of the two rooms, however, took almost half an hour.

“Thank fuck this stuff is already in boxes,” Scott said, feeling his back protest the weight of the last box of books.

“Would have been even easier if you’d just let us get rid of all this stuff.”  Drew didn’t look overly pleased as he shifted a box of what could only be called miscellaneous things.  

“Yeah, yeah.  I know.”  It was an old argument, although Scott seemed to be the only one tired of it.

Scott came back from depositing his box in the other room and found Drew opening the drawers of the dresser they kept in there.  

“We got space in our room for this stuff?” Drew asked, scooping out an armload of Eric’s t-shirts and his own winter sweaters.

“Should have.  Give ‘em to me.”  Scott had once been able to repack for all three of them diminishing their luggage by a suitcase and a carry on bag.  

He took the clothes into their room and started shoving things aside in the closet.  His jaw ached and it took him a moment to realize he had it clenched, teeth tight together.  He shook his head and rolled his shoulders, then made himself concentrate on finding space for the clothes.

He could hear Drew get the frame into the room, the metal clanking and banging.

“Watch the wall!” he called out, putting Drew’s sweaters on the shelf.  

“It’s fine.”  

Scott rolled his eyes.  Yeah, right.  

He came out of their room and got sheets from the linen closet.  “We have spare pillows?”

“Top shelf.”

He looked up and shook his head.  Any closer they would have kissed him.

He took the sheets and pillows into the bedroom and helped Drew with the mattresses, swearing when he saw the ding in the wall.

“Sorry,” Drew said contritely.

“It’s fine.  It’ll fix.”  Scott winced, knowing his voice was sharper than he’d intended.  “Sorry,” he added.

Drew gave him a speculative look.  “You okay?”

“Fine.”

Drew just looked at him.

Scott tossed the sheets on the bed and started putting the fitted sheet on at the foot of the bed.  Drew took the sheets off and set them on the dresser, then pulled the fitted sheet up, smoothing it out before sliding the pockets around the head of the mattress.

“You talk to ‘ric this morning?” Drew asked casually.

“Yep.  He’s fine.”  He was, Scott was sure of it.  They’d lain in bed and talked about James, about what James was, and how Eric felt about him.  Scott was still sure Eric loved James, and Eric knew it as well.  

And Scott was fine with that, he always had been.  Eric loving James hadn’t taken anything away from him or Drew, and he was sure that Eric wouldn’t let it.  He’d asked Eric what he was going to do, and Eric had shrugged, then rolled over, pulling Scott on top of him.

“Tell him, I guess,” Eric had said.  He hadn’t said when, though.

“Does it bother you that James is gonna stay here?” Drew asked, snapping Scott back to the present.

“No,” he answered immediately.  “If anything, it’ll make it easier for Eric, right?  I mean, with James here, there’s not much to stop him from telling James how he feels.  Pass the sheets.”

Drew tossed him the flat sheet.  “Yeah,” he agreed.  “But you know ‘ric.  It’s not like he’s just going to tell him.  He’s gotta work himself up to it.”

Scott nodded and frowned at the sheet in his hands.

“What’s wrong, doc?” Drew asked.  “You have a problem with what James is?”

Scott stared at the sheet, thinking about it.  “No,” he said finally.  “At least not the centaur part.  The physical part.  I’m…confused and curious as fuck, but I don’t have a problem with it.”

“So what’s wrong?”  Drew folded his arms across his chest and leaned on the wall.

Scott looked at the ceiling and started unfolding the sheet.  “I don’t know.  It’s like…two days ago James was a writer.  Now he’s a drug informant on a fancy scale and not human.  He’s got someone trying to kill him, and his house was burned down, and I can’t help but think…”  He stopped and looked at Drew, who looked back, eyes serious.

“Think what, Scott?”

Frustrated and unhappy with himself, Scott snapped the sheet, spreading it out over the bed.  He had the end fisted in his hands.  “He’s…fuck.  Someone’s trying to kill him,  Drew.  He lives a dangerous life, and from what he said tonight it’s always dangerous.  If it’s not drug smugglers it’s other centaurs, fighting and struggling for power and you know as well as I do that what he was talking about was fights that lead to death.  I mean, what happens if Eric tells him, and things are fine, but then some stallion shows up, huh?  And aside from that, James needs space.  He’s got to change forms, has to run.  He can’t stay in the city forever.”

Scott snapped the sheet again.  Drew stood up and stepped forward, about to argue with him, he knew.  But not this time; this time Scott was going to get it all out, and then Drew couldn’t tell him that he’d held back anything.

“What happens if Eric finally gets the balls to tell James he loves him and then James has to leave, or gets in a fight, or—“

Drew swore under his breath and turned away and Scott froze, suddenly hearing a noise at the doorway.  He turned around and looked at Eric, unable to say anything.  James was beside him, face blank.

“Thank you, Scott,” Eric said quietly.  Then he turned on his heel and walked down the hall.


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