Hi Everyone,
Heard some complaints it was quiet on the list, so I thought I'd share this. It's been sitting around for months now, but I finally managed to get it finished. (BTW--PLEASE read the warning!)
Hope you enjoy, and may you all have a wonderful holiday season.
Peace,
Joelle

Title: Musings of a Lone Gunman
Author: J.D. Rush
Archive: The Basement; others upon request
Rating: Oh, let's say R for bad words and m/m sexual situations. (nothing excessively graphic.)
Summary: Frohike has some issues with Jimmy Bond
Pairing: F/B (It's me--of COURSE it's Frohike!
Spoilers: Bond, Jimmy Bond; Eine Kleine Frohike; Like Water for Octane; Three Men and a Smoking Diaper; Madam I'm Adam; Planet of the Frohikes; Maximum Byers; and Tango de los Pistoleros
Disclaimer: LGM characters belong to C.C., FOX, and 1013. So do the snippets of dialog. Just borrowing the guys for a little while.
Author's Note: Since the writers of the LGM never made it clear if Jimmy was living at HQ until the last episode, Cap't. Toby, I went with what worked for the story.
WARNING: Before I hear from any irate Jimmy fans, let me say that yes, I know I was exceeding harsh on him in this story. Remember, it's told through Frohike's eyes, and this is what he sees. I think I stayed pretty consistent with canon in regards to Frohike's feelings for Jimmy. Please remember that Mr. Frohike's views are not necessarily those of the author.
Thanks: A big huge cyber-smooch goes out to my beta, Kylara. I drove the poor girl crazy with this one. Great to have you back, kiddo!
Feedback: yes, please! yanksfan462@aol.com

---

Musings of a Lone Gunman
By: J.D. Rush

"Hey, jealous lover,
You're acting so strange,
Hey, jealous lover,
What is makin' you change?" 1

We had had the discussion before. MANY times before. And each time, it ended up the same way, with Byers winning. This time seemed to be no different. It didn't matter that the guy couldn't file or even do something as simple as cleaning a keyboard without turning it into a major project--it looked like he was here to stay, against my better judgment.

Byers was looking at me with those puppy dog eyes, the ones that make me cave every time, presenting the final phase of his argument, "He's so happy to be here. If we let him go, it'll crush him."

"Crush who?" Jimmy asked, with his impeccable timing. "Who's gonna get crushed?"

John looked uncomfortable for a moment, then addressed the young man who had just entered the room. "Jimmy, um, we've been talking, and, uh, we're not sure this is the right place for you." My ears instantly perked up--was John finally coming to his senses? Maybe Langly and I were gonna win this argument after all.

"What, are you kidding? Working with guys like you--it's a dream," the other man enthused.

"Jimmy. . ." Byers tried to cut him off, but the big guy was definitely on a roll.

And speaking of rolling, that's exactly what my eyes were doing, as Jimmy went off on 'making a difference' and 'men of intergrity'. . .even going so far as to call us 'heroes'. Oh, man, I didn't think I had boots high enough to wade through all his bull.

"I am so proud to be a part of this team," he said, as he started to wind down. "Just talking about it--look at that. Goosebumps."

With that simple sentence, we were enemies. He had drawn the line in the sand, and I wasn't gonna stand for it. I watched John as he gazed upon the meathead's meaty forearm, and felt my blood pressure shoot right through the roof. How DARE that dipshit make a play for my lover?! Damn, if I didn't know that he could beat me to a pulp without breaking a sweat, I'd take Jimmy Bond down in a heartbeat.

Instead I charged forward, and threatened, "You are SO fired!" all the anger and resentment at his continued existence dripping from my words.

And what does the lunkhead say? He thinks I'm joking, even when I offer to get him his money back. Like I had any way of doing that, but hell, I'd rob liquor stores if I had to. ANYTHING to get this cretin outta headquarters. The moron actually compared himself to Old Yeller. Langly made some offhand comment about them shooting Old Yeller at the end of the movie; I jokingly thanked him for the suggestion.

Then again, maybe it wasn't a joke.

How did this happen? How did this walking, barely coherent jock-strap end up with us? John. Of course. John let him in, and now he WON'T GO AWAY! I knew the guy was trouble from the first moment I met him--blind football team, indeed! It was nice not to have to worry about the money for a change, but I much rather preferred being broke than having that hairless ape hanging around headquarters. And he's so dense he just doesn't get the hint that he's not wanted here. How can you win against stupidity like that?

I was just about to bodily eject him from the warehouse when a distinguished foreign gentleman showed up, wanting us to find some old Nazi hag. And guess who they wanted to go undercover? Great. I can't get mistaken for Brad Pitt, but I'm a dead ringer for Nazi offspring.

Yeah. Isn't that always the way?

We should have just shown his elegant German ass the door, but we needed a good story, and the prospect of some reward money didn't suck either, so, reluctantly, we agreed to do it.

I didn't want to go on the assignment. Not in the least. Oh, I made a big fuss about being afraid of the Poisoner of Alsace, but that wasn't the problem at all. I just didn't like the idea of not being around to keep my eye on that home wrecker Jimmy Bond. The last thing I wanted to do was leave him alone for even a second with John.

Okay, I'll admit, I got a kick out of the spark in John's eyes once the 'Frohike-into-card-carrying-member-of-the-Aryan-nation conversion' was complete--hell, the way he looked at me all dressed up like that I was tempted to keep the blond wig and blue contacts even once the job was done. But then I quickly remembered it was all just make-up and if he wanted a blond-haired, blue-eyed hunk warming his sheets, Jimmy more than fit the bill. Let's just say I went to that old broad's house kicking and screaming.

The one thing that kept me from going insane was the fact that Byers was out in the van with Langly, and Jimmy had been left back at the warehouse. (Although that elation would probably be short lived once we got back--we'd be lucky if the building was still standing with him in charge.) It was rough going, and there were a couple of close calls, but we triumphed in the end. I was just glad to be able to get back home, and back to a normal life with John.

But that was not to be.

I watched as day by day, John spent more and more time with the dolt, trying to teach Jimmy the ways of the publishing world and giving him little jobs to do. Jimmy followed him around like a duckling following its mother. It was just downright nauseating. And if that wasn't bad enough--John moved out of my room. I mean, he had always kept his own room, a place for his clothes and personal belongings, but at night, he stayed with me, sharing my full-sized bed. With Jimmy around at all hours of the day, John stopped his nocturnal visits.

Jesus Christ, I hated that fucking little twerp!

My opinion of him didn't go up much with our next story. Okay, maybe John was right and we wouldn't have even known about the water-powered car unless the nimrod hadn't been giggling over Stan Mizer's name, but still. . .

What a disaster. First I almost get myself and John arrested by breaking into Shelly's home (sorry, but how was *I* to know that mailman was. . .a mailman?) then Jimmy Bonehead actually rolls our van into a canal trying to change a tire. Brains and brawn--mutually exclusive. The nuclear missile silo, the port-a-johns, being held at gunpoint by some psychotic car manufacturer--all bad enough. But then to be SAVED by the nitwit was just an indignation I really didn't need. Finally being able to drive that water-powered car made up for some of it, but I couldn't help longing for the old days, when it had been just the THREE Musketeers.

Our next story was one that Byers uncovered. He always did excel at those government conspiracies. When he saw the article about the death of a young intern, Barbara Bonabo, and whom she worked for, the wheels started turning and the next thing we knew, we were neck deep in some serious political intrigue.

While I found the story compelling, I was less than happy with how we went about getting it. Our first big mistake was actually trusting the shithead to be our lookout at the rally. We would have been better off with a trained chimp. Thanks to his asinine bumbling, Langly and I ended up getting arrested and had to spend a night in the slammer. I didn't mind being in jail so much--nothing I hadn't lived through before--but we were stuck there all night long, leaving John at Jimmy's mercy. Thoughts of the two of them alone almost shot my blood pressure into the stratosphere.

At least I was able to get rid of SOME of my frustration the next morning by kicking the knucklehead in the shin. (Hey, he had it coming, okay?)

I figured jail would be the worse of it, but we were just getting started. Once we found the clue on our windshield about the young lady's prescription medication ("What would a dead woman need with a prescription?" the braintrust had asked), we split up into teams to uncover as much information as possible. And, unfortunately, I ended up with Langly.

God, when I think of everything I went through--the embarrassing visit to the doctor's office, finding that baby and learning how to take care of it, being dragged to those male breast-feeding classes by Yves--no one better tell me I don't go out of my way for a story, let me tell you! I guess it was good I was kept so busy, because at least I wasn't able to brood over how much time John was spending with Jimmy.

Things were starting to get serious. It had been weeks since John and I had, well . . . been intimate. Even the little kisses and hugs I had been able to sneak when the dumbass wasn't around had trickled down to maybe one or two a day, if I was lucky, and even then John seemed distracted and nervous, as if afraid of Jimmy spying us.

I wanted to talk to my lover, I really did, but that's never been my strong point. I'm a man of actions, not words. Still, I could see our relationship deteriorating and knew I had to try to find a way to stop it. Too bad the only thing I could think to fix everything was to cram Jimmy into a box and mail him to Timbuktu.

And after his next stunt, I almost did it, too.

Adam Burgess. I'll never forget the name--and not just because the psycho thought I was some midget-wrestling star. Jesus, what a fruitcake! Probably should come as no surprise that he and Jimmy got along great. Yeah, the space-shot was manning the phones the day Adam's call came in, and he managed to convince John that Burgess had a great story to tell.

He was SO proud of himself, going around boasting that it was HIS story--man, and I thought LANGLY could be annoying! His ardor was dimmed a bit when we figured out Adam wasn't abducted by aliens after all, but he was still so gung-ho it was positively sickening. And John just kept on encouraging him, insisting we go to Adam's house to see if we could solve his little mystery.

It should probably come to no one's surprise our road trip landed us in the pokey--yet again. There are lifers out there that have spent less time behind bars than I have. And you learn some things after your third, or tenth, visit to the hoosegow. What I learned was--do NOT sleep on the same bunk with Jimmy Bond.

When I woke up, I was momentarily disoriented, and thought that I was back at home, wrapped in John's arms once more. I was just about to snuggle against his nice broad chest when I cracked my eye open and saw him across the room, sitting on a cot with Langly. Since Adam was standing near the bars of our cell, that left just one person holding me in such an intimate embrace--VERY intimate, if my throbbing nipples were any indication.

I jumped out of that bed so fast you'd think someone had dropped a live badger in my pants. (More like a tankard of ice-cold water, actually.) I whirled on the clueless wonder, not sure if I was more upset with him or myself, and snarled, "I told you to sleep facing the wall!" Like it would have made any difference. I mean, I should've been sharing a cot with JOHN, not Jimmy. Then again, I suppose I should just be happy that when Byers had made up the sleeping arrangements he had requested Langly as his bunkmate. At least Jimmy didn't have any access to him, either.

Be thankful for small miracles, they say.

It took us a little while but with Yves' help (oh, man, like I ever thought I'd be saying THOSE words!) we finally pieced together what was going on with Adam's--or should I say Charlie Muckle's--life. Imagine letting some Dr. Frankenstein experiment on you and hotwire your brain just to avoid jail time. What a sick society this is. Still, the guy seemed happy with his choice and went off to be reunited with his virtual wife and virtual life.

But was that good enough for that wing-nut, Jimmy? No. Of course not. He wanted a 'happy ending' and that meant somehow getting Adam/Charlie/ Asshole back with his ex-wife. How does this bozo manage to talk us INTO these things? I mean, okay, so it finally worked out in the end--again--and Charlie and Sadie reunited, but sheesh! Who made us Cupid's cleanup crew, huh?

+++++++++++++++++++

After that, you could only think things would get better, right? Well, you'd be wrong. About a week after the Muckle story hit the front page of The Lone Gunmen, Langly and I received an email, complete with sound file. We were convinced it was Yves, sending us on another one of her wild goose chases that usually resulted in us barely getting out of it alive while she increased her bank account. We decided to track down the lovely Ms. Harlow and find out just what she wanted us for THIS time.

Ooops.

Okay, so we were wrong. Shoot us. Ahhh--disregard that last comment.

Anyway, to make a long story short, the message had actually come from this poor bastard being held against his will at something called the Boulle Behavioral Laboratory. The name of the institute intrigued Yves, and that's when we should have known we were in trouble. But instead, the five of us (yes, she insisted on accompanying us) all piled into the van, and headed off for Massachusetts.

Bad idea. "Peanuts" turned out to be a chimpanzee, and good ol' Jimmy managed to get himself captured trying to free the little guy. We had no choice but to leave Jimbo behind to save our own asses. That really pissed me off--I mean, it's a matter of principal. You just don't leave a partner behind, even if it IS Jimmy Bond. Peanuts had managed to sneak into the van during all the confusion, and while I thought that was more than a fair trade for the little dickweed, I knew John wouldn't be happy until we managed to get Jimmy sprung.

Animal assassins. Man, I thought I had seen and heard it all, but I've got to give our government credit--that was a new one on me. 'Course, we never DID prove that's what they were doing at Boulle Labs. All we had was the word of Peanuts--ahh, SIMON--and he turned out to be more treacherous than Krycek for cripes sake!

Still don't know how Jimmy figured out Peanuts', ahh, Simon's plan--guess it takes the mentality of a monkey to relate to one. Whatever. All I know is once more, things seemed to work themselves out and everyone lived happily ever after. Or at least the chimps did.

The same could not be said of Señor Frohike.

Things were spiraling out of control. By this point, Jimmy had moved in with us, and even the little hugs and kisses I was able to steal from Byers had stopped completely. It was practically killing me to see John all the time and not be able to hold him. I could feel him slipping away from me, and I had not idea how to stop it.

Maybe that's why I was sitting in the kitchen that one night--alone in the dark. Thinking. Drinking. Trying to make sense of it all.

"Who's there? Frohike? Is that you?"

Well, I WAS alone. I pretended not to hear him. Figured if I didn't acknowledge him, he'd go away and I could be alone once more.

"Fro?" <Dammit, Langly--just go away! I'm not in the mood tonight.>

"Mel?" <Ah, use of my first name, and I could hear the concern laced in his voice. That's nice. Hairboy cares.>

I blinked hard as he turned the on the overhead light. SHIT! Why the frick did he do that? Too damn bright. "Frohike, it's nearly 3:00 a.m."

<Was it really that late? Wow, time sure flew when you weren't havin' fun, huh?> "Then why aren't you in bed?" I inquired, sullenly.

"Well, I was until I heard all the commotion in here." He eyed the pitcher in my hand suspiciously. "What the hell is that?"

I took another drink from the half-empty container. "Mai Tai."

That got me an arched eyebrow that even Scully would have envied. "I thought you were a whiskey man. Since when do you drink fucking Mai Tai's? And at THIS time of the night?!?"

Sniffing indignantly, I told him, "If you must know, it's my drink of choice when I want to get exceptionally polluted." (Like right now, I didn't add.)

"Polluted," he repeated, incredulously. "You can get polluted on those sissy girlie drinks?"

"Well, you can when you make it like *I* do," I enlightened him. "A bottle of rum, a bottle of Amaretto, a can of frozen orange juice, and a tin of crushed pineapples. Two minutes in the blender, and voila. It's not very pretty, but it IS quite effective." I demonstrated this by taking a healthy swallow of the concoction.

Ringo stood there, hands on hips, mouth hanging open. Eventually his brain seemed to lurch into gear as he asked, exasperated, "What the hell set you off tonight?"

I just glared at him. "You have to ask?"

"Aw shit, what did I do THIS time?" he whined.

"Nah, it's not you, Langly," I assured him, then added, "for a change."

He slid into the seat across the table from me. "Ahh. . .I think I understand. This has something to do with the space cadet, doesn't it?" I didn't respond, so he just barreled onward, "Look, Frohike, I know Jimmy can be a handful. . ."

"You don't know the half of it," I groused. "At least he doesn't have designs on your lover."

"What?"

"I'm talking about Jimmy and John doing the wild thing."

"What the HELL are you talking about?" he demanded.

"Langly, come on. You'd have to be blind not to see it. He's been trying to get into John's pants since he arrived here."

"You've gone loco, Fro," he informed me, shaking his head in amusement.

"You're gonna tell me you haven't seen the way he's always hanging around Byers? Like John's the fucking Second Coming or something."

He shrugged his slim shoulders. "Yeah, because he admires him."

"Oh, and that includes showing off his bare arms? Begging John to look at his 'goosebumps'?" I mimicked.

"You really have gone off the deep end, Mel!" he declared. "That was MONTHS ago!"

"So I'm just imagining the coy looks that Byers is always shooting in his direction? The way that he's taken Jimmy under his wing? He's totally enchanted with that twit," I griped as I took another gulp from the pitcher.

"You're reading way too much into all this, dude. You need to chill."

"Are you gonna sit there and deny that Jimmy's not a stud?" I goaded.

"Oh, fuck, Frohike. . ." he groaned.

"Ringo. Answer me truthfully. If you were gay and had to chose between me and Jimmy...?" The look said it all. I just shook my head and turned away.

"C'mon, Mel. That's not fair. You know me--I'm shallow and superficial. And yes, Jimmy is a stud-muffin, all right? But I'm not Byers. Even if Jimmy IS hot for him, he wouldn't care. He loves you, big guy."

"I'm not so sure anymore," I muttered, sadly.

"Aw, Christ! I really hate it when you drink."

"Yeah, so does John, but what does it matter anymore?" I took another long swig, relishing the burn as it slid down my throat, and sighed heavily. "You know, I've been thinking. . ."

"Always a bad sign," he sniped.

Ignoring him, I continued, "Maybe. . . maybe I should just step out of the picture. You know, give them a chance to explore this."

"That's it. I'm cutting you off." Before I could protest, he reached over and grabbed the plastic container out of my less-than-nimble fingers, placing it on the floor near his seat. "What the hell gave you THAT idea?"

"I'm serious, Langly. If I keep acting like this, I'm just gonna drive John away. But I can't share him with Jimmy, either. The noble thing would be just to give John some space. What's that saying? If you love something, set it free?"

He just looked at me as if I had grown two heads--pretty much what I was seeing looking at him at that moment. Taking a moment to collect his thoughts, he started, "So let me get this straight--you're gonna break up with John over something that hasn't even happened yet, because your paranoid insecurities tell you it's just a matter of time? That's not noble, Mel. That's just stupid!"

"Look, even if it HASN'T happened yet, it's just a matter of time. It'd be better for everyone if I wasn't in the picture to fuck it up for them."

I've never seen a look on Ringo's face like the one that crossed it now. If I had to label it, I'd say it was pure disgust. "Jesus, Frohike, what is WRONG with you?" he snapped. "You'd just roll over and let Jimmy have his way? Don't you think John is worth fighting for?"

"Langly, that's not the point," I sighed, dejectedly.

"Then what exactly IS the point?" he insisted.

I steeled myself and said the one fear that had been on my mind all night long. "The point is--why bother fighting a battle I'm only going to lose?"

He just glowered at me. I can't remember the last time I saw Langly so mad. "Fuck, Melvin, you are really pathetic," he spit out. "I never thought I'd see the day when you would give up on something this important. That isn't the Frohike *I* know. The man I knew would have fought to the death for John Byers. Maybe Jimmy deserves him after all--YOU sure as shit don't." And with that, he stood up and stormed out of the kitchen.

"WAIT! Ringo! Please. . ." The desperation in my voice must have gotten to him, because I saw his head peek back into the room.

"What?" he sneered.

"Then tell me what I should do," I all but begged. "I don't want to lose John, I really don't, but I don't know what to do."

"Did you ever try talking to him?" he asked, sarcastically. "Tell him how you feel? Your thoughts, your fears?"

I shook my head angrily. "I can't, Langly."

He stepped back into the small kitchen. Placing a comforting hand on my shoulder, he said in a more sympathetic voice, "Look, I know it's hard for you to talk about your feelings, Mel--you old guys have a problem with those touchy-feely issues. But dammit, don't you think Byers has a right to know what you're condemning him for? He at least deserves a chance to defend himself."

My head felt so heavy--I was so tired. Folding my arms on the table, I dropped my head onto them and sobbed, "I don't know, Ringo. . ."

"Isn't John worth it, Frohike? Isn't he worth fighting for?" The strength and conviction in his voice was so unlike Langly--I wanted to raise my head but I couldn't. So heavy, so tired--so scared.

"Yes, but. . ."

"But nothing," he interrupted, that unfamiliar commanding tone back in his voice. "Now you listen to me, Melvin. Go to bed. Get some sleep. And in the morning, you're gonna talk to John. I know you guys can work all this out. I hate seeing my two best buds on the outs like this."

I used the rest of my energy to tilt my head up and look at my friend--he looked as sad and drawn out as I felt. It dawned on me then that he must've been watching John and I from a distance, knowing something was wrong, but not able to put his finger on it. And while he didn't agree with my reason for what the problem could be, he was obviously just as anxious for us to kiss and make up as I was. I gave him a grateful little smile and murmured, "Thanks, Ringo. I'll do that."

With that, I tried to stand up, only to discover that I couldn't find the floor. Langly gave a huge martyred sigh and, grabbing me around the waist, helped me off to bed.

He's a helluva pal.

+++++++++++++++++++++++

"Hey jealous lover,
How wrong can you be?
I'm yours ever faithful,
So be faithful to me." 1

But the morning brought a whole new set of problems: A loyal reader, Mrs. Pfeiffer, showed up on our doorstep, telling us tales of her son, Douglas. He was sitting on death row for murder, but she kept insisting he was innocent, and we were the only ones who could prove it and get him released. Before I knew what was happening, Jimmy had convinced Byers that they should break INTO the prison where the man was being held. The conversation I wanted to have with John would have to wait. But the fact that he so easily followed Jimmy into that hellhole told me everything I needed to know.

He trusted Jimmy more than he trusted either me or Langly, and that hurt. Really hurt.

God, what an assignment! Things were crazy and hectic, even more so than usual. We had no contact with Byers at all thanks to a brilliant idea of his that sent him to the infirmary, and we were stuck relaying information through the butthead. I was sick to death with worry about John and the utter helplessness of the situation just about drove me around the bend. Of all the stupid things we've done in the name of that newspaper, letting Byers walk into that prison was by far the dumbest. I would've done ANYTHING to get him out there and back, safe, with me.

Everything eventually came out okay. Well, not everything. Christ, you shoulda seen Byers when we got him out of there. He was an absolute mess: cuts, bruises, a sprained wrist. And the look in his eyes--that beautiful iridescent light was gone, and I feared that it might never return. I so wanted to take him into my arms and hug away the pain, but that was not the place, or the time. Besides, we still had to get the numbskull outta there, too.

And you wanna know the kicker? Turned out the guy we were lead to believe was innocent really WAS guilty. However, so was his crooked lawyer, Jeremy Wash. Our investigative work got that scum-bucket exactly what he deserved--a nice long stay in the gray-stripe country club. Plus, as a side benefit, our information was enough to overturn the conviction of another man who truly was innocent. All in all, not a bad day at the office.

But solving the case did nothing to solve my problems with John. If anything, that situation just deteriorated further.

The next few weeks just flew by in a blur, and I had no time to discuss with John all that Langly and I had talked about. Not that it would have mattered. Something had happened between John and Jimmy in that prison--anyone could see that. John became even more estranged from me; I barely saw him anymore except at meals, and when we were on deadline. And even then he barely spoke to me.

Instead, he spent all his free time with Jimmy. They were almost inseparable, and I even caught them hugging a couple of times. There would be days where they'd be sitting, quietly talking, but as soon as I entered the room, they'd stop, and almost look guilty.

I had lost my lover, and I never even had a chance to put up a fight.

Of course, when the big day came, we ended up going back to Texas for Pfeiffer's execution. . .John insisted on it. He and Jimmy stood by the gate, with all the other protesters, while Langly and I waited in the van. That was the way Byers wanted it. John claimed he and Jimmy felt 'closer' to this man--Langly and me were merely 'outsiders'.

We watched as the warden came out and announced Douglas Robert Pfeiffer was finally dead. And Ringo had to practically hold me back when his mother stepped forward and slapped John across the face. Ungrateful bitch! Like it was OUR fault her son was a fucking contract killer! I was just about to jump out to console Byers when Jimmy suddenly slung his arm around John's shoulders. Just being friendly, right? Except, oh God, the look on John's face. He looked up at Jimmy with a combination of affection and desolation, like that jerk was his salvation or something.

I felt the stab in my heart as I watched the two of them standing together in the pouring rain, as if they were the only people on earth. And I knew then that Jimmy had probably already slept with him--I didn't care WHAT Ringo said. I got an image of them in bed together, fucking, and I almost hurled. There was no going back now--it was truly over. And I was determined I wasn't gonna be the one to get dumped.

The ride to find a hotel was done in complete silence. Langly drove while I stared out the window, lost in my thoughts of what I was going to say to John when I broke it off. And then what? Would I be allowed to keep my job on the paper? Would I WANT to keep my job? How the hell could we ever work together again? Fuck, this just kept going from bad to worse.

And the worse was yet to come. When we finally found a place, we took a couple of rooms. Without even consulting us, John followed Jimmy into one room, while Langly and I were stuck with the other one. <Aww, man, could you have made it any more obvious, John?> Langly just kind of stayed out of my way, which was the wise thing to do. Maybe he sensed it was all coming to a head. Or maybe it was my slamming into the bathroom that prevented him from even thinking of interfering.

I stood looking at myself in the mirror, hating everything I saw. Tomorrow I'd get a hold of John, and end it. Quick. Then I'd leave and I wouldn't look back. I figured I wouldn't even bother unpacking and just sleep in my clothes. That way I could make a clean break in the morning and get as far away from the guys as possible.

I was just splashing some cold water in my face when there was a soft knock on the door. "Jesus, Langly. Give me a minute of privacy, huh?" I barked.

"Mel? Can I come in?" the soft voice at the door requested.

John. Well, I hadn't worked though the fine details of my speech, but if he wanted to get it over with tonight, so be it. "Yeah, it's open."

He entered, looking like hell. His hair was still wet and plastered to his head, his eyes red from crying. He was so disheveled and distressed, my heart cried out for him. But no. Had to steel myself against this. Against him. Had to be tough. But he just stood there, staring at me, his lower lip quivering as if he were about to start crying again, and I felt my resolve slowly start to leave me. "Where's Langly?" I finally got out.

"He's next door. We switched rooms. I. . .I don't care what Jimmy thinks. After what happened at the prison. . .I had to be with you tonight," he stammered.

"What do you mean, what Jimmy thinks?" I asked, confused.

His blood-shot blue eyes fixed on me as he replied, "About you and me. I don't care anymore if he finds out. I. . .I need you tonight, Mel." The tears that had been brimming in his eyes started to slide down his face.

That news hit me outta left field. "You mean. . .he doesn't know about us?"

A shake of his head, causing more tears to fall.

"But I thought you and he. . .?" I let the sentence die away.

"Me and he. . .what?" he questioned.

And that's when it all came to me. Langly was right after all. There was nothing going on between those two. John had simply distanced himself from me because he was afraid of what Jimmy would think if he knew we were lovers. He obviously feared that the young man would no longer admire us and would pull his backing for the paper. Byers had done it all for us, for our livelihood. He wasn't interested in Jimmy as anything more than a friend. He wasn't sleeping with Jimmy. And I had been acting like a world-class ass.

I spread my arms wide, and pulled my hurting lover tightly to me, trying to hug away all his pain. He clung to me, sobbing out his heart over a man he barely knew, an admitted killer he couldn't find a way to save. How did I ever think this angelic soul could lie to me, could be anything but the loyal, loving man I had pledged my life to so many years ago?

I kissed his hair, his cheek, begging for forgiveness for my foolish behavior, murmuring soft apologies he couldn't possibly understand. Holding him for dear life, I discovered he was shivering badly. Stupid me--he was still dressed in his soaking wet clothes. "C'mon guy, let's get you warmed up here," I told him as I helped him out of his waterlogged suit jacket. "A nice hot shower will do you wonders." When I reached up to undo his tie, however, he noticeably flinched, and a flicker of apprehension flashed in his eyes. He instantly ducked his head, as if ashamed of his actions, but he had nothing to feel ashamed about--not after what he went through in that hellhole. It was obvious that even though his ordeal was over weeks ago, it was going to take him more time to get his confidence back, and to feel at ease without having to be on guard 24/7.

Of course. The hugs. The quiet conversations. The insistence that Jimmy be with him tonight. It all made sense now. They had shared an experience neither Langly nor I were privy to, and could probably never comprehend. A bond was forged between them in those few short days. They needed the comfort and understanding of someone who had been there and had lived through it. No wonder they had turned to each other.

So, instead of undoing his tie, I reached up and tenderly cupped his face, forcing him to look at me. "I think you can handle this on your own, huh?" A little imperceptible nod and a tiny smile were my rewards for knowing just what he needed. There was still a lot of healing to be done, for both of us, so with a final chaste kiss I left him alone to attend his business.

BYERS:

At that moment I loved Frohike more than I thought possible. That he could read me so easily and know instinctively what I needed--Lord knows I wouldn't have been able to say it out loud. It was just too embarrassing. He didn't know everything that had happened to me in that prison; in fact, I hadn't talked to him about what I went through, but he understood enough to sense my unease and turmoil of stripping in front of him. The memories of those humiliating communal showers were still too fresh to deal with right now. If not for Jimmy. . .

I didn't want to think about it. His presence had protected and saved me (even if it did mean pretending to be his 'bitch'--where did he EVER come up with that?), and I thank God that he was there with me. I didn't even want to imagine what could have happened if he hadn't been there for me.

A shower. Right. That's what I needed. I was so cold and dirty. So dirty. I turned on the water and cranked it to HOT as I finished undressing, then stepped underneath the powerful showerhead, trying to get clean. Couldn't seem to do that these last few weeks. No matter the number of showers I took, or how hot I made them, or how long I stayed in them, I never felt clean anymore. Didn't know if I'd ever get clean again.

I lost track of how much time I spent in there, trying to get warm, trying to get clean--all I know is eventually the water turned cold and I had no choice but to get out. The first thing I saw was a set of dry clothes by the edge of the sink: a pair of sweatpants and an old They Might Be Giants concert T-shirt. I had to smile--good ol' Frohike. I had been so absorbed in my own musings I never even heard him enter the bathroom and place them there. (I only hoped Langly wouldn't get too upset that Mel had raided his knapsack. ..and the sudden image of Ringo trying to sleep in my conservative pajamas made me smile in spite of myself.)

++++++++++++++++++++++

When I stepped back into the main room, I discovered Frohike had also changed--could he even know what the sight of him in those simple white boxers and plain tank-top undershirt does to me? He was sitting on the edge of the bed, pretending to be engrossed in a sightseeing pamphlet that had probably been left here by the last lodgers. "You know, Mel--it helps if you hold it upright."

The fact that he instantly checked to see if he was indeed holding it upside down told me he was faking it. "Oh, ha-ha, John," he replied, snidely, even as a smile crossed his face. "You're looking better."

"Human, at least," I answered, though I wasn't even sure of that anymore.

He put down the pamphlet and gestured to me to join him on the bed. Heaving a deep sigh, I did as requested, but as I sat down, he pushed himself further onto the bed, until he was kneeling behind me. Next thing I knew, he had produced a towel and began drying my hair with such tenderness and love, I felt like I was floating.

We were quiet for a few moments, just a peaceful, comfortable silence as Mel tended to me. I felt calmer than I had in a long time--simply being with my lover once more lifted my spirits. The mood was finally broken when Frohike spoke, softly, "I know you feel like shit right now, John, but there was nothing more you could have done for him. And I know you feel like you let Mrs. Pfeiffer down. . ."

"I really don't want to talk about this, Mel," I told him, bluntly. All I wanted to do was forget.

"Tough," he replied, as he put down the towel and climbed off the bed. I watched as he dragged a chair over to the bed, facing me. "Now, you listen to me, John Byers. You got an innocent man off death row. You got him out of jail. And you got that guilty scumbag lawyer behind bars where he belonged. You did a good job, John."

"Then why do I feel so bad?" I lamented.

He ran a caressing hand down my left cheek, and smiled at me. "Because you have a good heart," he said, affectionately. "Because you want to save the world. That's what I love about you."

Trying to lighten the mood, I mumbled, good-naturedly, "Gee, and I thought it was because I'm a snappy dresser."

The smile got even bigger. "That too." His rough fingers combed through my beard, and I almost melted into the touch. It had been a long time since we shared something so simple yet so special. He continued to stroke the fine hairs as he told me, "You stood up for your principals. You put it all out on the line. You faced down your fears. I'm so proud of you, John, I could just burst."

I couldn't help it--his words brought tears to my eyes. Mistaking the tears for those of distress, he reached over and clasped his hands around my neck. Leaning forward until his nose pressed mine, he shushed, "It's gonna be okay, Johnny. Everything's gonna be fine. You'll see. . .things will get better."

"They already are," I assured him with a big smile.

"Shit, John," he blushed, and I had to laugh. Whoever would guess that Frohike could blush like a schoolgirl during mushy moments? I leaned forward and kissed him--deeply--and it felt so good, so right. I had missed this, missed him.

"Make love to me, Mel," I whispered. "I want to feel you in me--want to feel alive again."

"Oh, baby," he all but groaned. "Do you know how long it's been since I've heard you say those words?"

"I'm sorry, Mel. . ." I murmured, penitently.

He chuckled, regretfully, "Hey, you're not the only one who's sorry, babe. I don't have any stuff. Frankly, I thought. . .well. . .that this was the end. I certainly never imagined ever holding you like this again," he admitted.

I grabbed the straps of his 'wife-beater' t-shirt. "That's okay, Mel--we don't need it." And with that, I pulled him out of the chair and on top of me. Before he had a chance to comment, I quickly claimed his lips in a deep, life-reaffirming kiss. The smell of him, the taste of him--oh GOD, did he taste good!

He managed to pull away long enough to gasp out, "Hon, wait--no condoms, either."

Mulling over his words for a moment, I took a gamble and said, "Fro--we've been together over three years now. I think we're safe."

His hazel eyes grew wide behind his spectacles. "Are you sure?" he asked, shakily.

I didn't answer him; instead, I simply whispered, "I love you." And the kiss I received to that spoke all the words Frohike didn't.

This was a big step for us both, and it required a boatload of trust. We were literally putting our lives in each other's hands. I had no fear--I trusted Mel without question. But after everything I had put him through these past few months, it amazed me that he was equally fearless.

I reveled in the experience of kissing his wide mouth, those wonderfully full fleshy lips. So warm, so soft--so good. No one could kiss like Frohike, and I wondered again how I had lived these last few months without this, without him. Even the scratchiness of his beloved perpetually unshaven face--so familiar, so comforting. A part of my life that I had simply pushed aside because of my own misguided judgment.

Never again. I'd never take my lover for granted again.

Without warning, his magical lips were gone, only to be replaced by his index finger. He ran it along my lower lip, lightly, teasingly, trying to pry my lips apart. I got the hint and opened my mouth; the digit slid in and I laved it lovingly. A second finger was added and I ran my tongue up and down and between them, coating them both generously. I found myself shivering with anticipation, knowing where else those fingers would soon be, and I couldn't help but notice the way Mel's eyes glazed over during my oral demonstration.

I missed his fingers when they were removed from my mouth, that is, until I felt them nudging at a much more private spot. One finger was lightly caressing, rubbing, stroking--and then suddenly it slipped in. A groan rumbled in the back of my throat as it gently prodded me. Oh God, missed this. Wanted more--got more, as the second finger the first one. And then they were moving in tandem, moving in and out, working me, preparing me for even more to come.

I dared to look up--Fro was gazing down at me, with love and lust warring for dominance. I was so hard by that point I was in pain. The fingers disappeared and I cried out indignantly, only to have them return, wrapping around my straining cock. <Not yet, Frohike. Not now. Too close!>

There was a method to Mel's madness, however, as he took some of the liquid already leaking from me and coated himself with it. . .the final gesture of trust between us. We were one, now. Forever. I loved him so much. Wanted him so much.

"Are you sure about this, buddy?" he whispered again, hesitantly. "I don't want to hurt you, John."

His concern touched me, and I smiled. "You could never hurt me, Mel--unless you left me."

He returned my smile as he assured me, "Oh, babe--that'll never happen. Love you too much."

"Love you too, Mel." And then I found myself impaled on him, joined for eternity. The pain was exquisite and then. . .and then. . .oh, the pleasure was even more so.

"You doing okay there, hon?" I gave a soft, contented sigh that got Mel laughing. "I'll take that as a yes."

"Yes, oh God, yes," I panted. "So good. It's been so long. . ."

"So worth the wait," he readily agreed.

He moved slowly, claiming me, possessing me, letting me know I belonged to him and no one else. I felt his lips at my throat and knew he was marking his territory; the resulting hickey would be on view for everyone to see. There would be no way to hide this from Jimmy--and I didn't care anymore. I wanted the whole world to know that I was in love with Melvin Frohike.

So I tilted my head to make his job easier.

The tempo was quickly established, as if we'd never been apart--a pistoning of hips and slapping of flesh-on-flesh as old as time itself. More than merely physical it was also mental and spiritual as well, a true sharing of minds, bodies, and souls. Frohike's always been a caring, considerate lover, but that night he showed me a side of himself I didn't know existed. Never much of a talker, for once I couldn't shut him up--he kept whispering words of devotion and sweet endearments as he made exquisite love to me. I felt him down to my marrow as he did all he could to soothe me, heal me, and restore my damaged sense of self. We were joined as never before, spun into one being, bound and fused together forever.

There was no way it could last, of course. It had been such a long time and the thrill of being in my lover's arms once again was more than I could bear; I could tell by Mel's increasingly frantic thrusting that he felt the same way. We both sped forward, climbing higher, reaching for the stars. Then suddenly they burst into a million shards of color in front of my eyes, and I cried out to Frohike, wanting him to share this moment with me.

It took awhile to come back to reality again. Somewhere along the line we had managed to switch positions--Frohike now lay on his back and I was in his arms, my head pillowed on his soft, furry chest. I let out a deep, heartfelt purr, "Fro. . . that was so. . .so. . ."

"Great," he finished for me, breathlessly.

"Uh-uh. . .much better than great," I countered, enjoying the rumble of his laughter. "I could certainly get used to that."

"So could I, love."

"God, Mel--I've been such an idiot," I sighed, wearily.

"How so?"

"For shutting you out these past few weeks. For ignoring you the weeks before that. For putting the fate of the newspaper ahead of you, ahead of us. For just generally being an asshole."

"Then why did you do it?" he asked curiously, traces of disappointment still in his voice. "Why did you keep pushing me away and turning to Jimmy?"

+++++++++++++++++++

Why HAD I pushed away my best friend and lover? There was really only one answer. "I suppose I was just afraid that if I came to you when I felt alone or needed someone to talk to, that I wouldn't be able to stop at just a hug or a kiss anymore," I confessed. "It was getting harder for me to just accept those little tokens. I wanted you so badly, Mel, but I thought if we slipped up--I was afraid that if Jimmy saw us. . ."

"He'd stop funding the paper," he finished for me. At my startled look, he smirked, "I, um, I thought that's what it might have been."

"Believe me, Mel, I was acting with only the best intentions, but I was wrong not to tell you why I was behaving like such a. . ."

He interrupted me, "Shhhh, John. . .don't beat yerself up. I have to take some of the blame. . .MOST of the blame, actually. I should have talked to you. I jumped to some really screwy conclusions." He chuckled, humorlessly, "I mean, really--just the IDEA of you and Jimmy. . ."

"Me and Jimmy, what?"

"You know. . . "He gestured with his hand between us.

I squeaked, "ME? And JIMMY? Frohike! Is that what you meant earlier?" He nodded, sheepishly. "Whatever made you think that?"

"Well, you said it yourself," he retorted. "You were spending all your time with him, you had moved out of my bedroom--hell, you two were practically glued at the hip. What did you EXPECT me to think?"

I couldn't help but laugh. "I can't believe you were jealous of Jimmy, Mel. Jesus, he's just a kid! A nice kid to be sure, but--what could I ever see in him, even if he was interested in me?"

"Well, he's taller than me, for a start," he noted. "Better looking than me. Younger than me. More buff than me. When can I stop?"

"You missed one."

"Which is. . .?" he queried.

"He's more charming than you," I informed him, straight faced.

"Great, thanks. Forgot that," he moped, miserably.

If he only knew how cute he was when he acted crabby like that. Trying to lift his foul mood, I gave him a little kiss on the nose and said, "Well, guess than just means I'm a horrible judge of character, because I'd still take you any day."

There was that blush again. I was getting good at causing that. "Aww, Johnny. . . you sweet-talker you," he laughed, hugging me closer. "And you know what?"

I accepted the quick kiss he gave me. "What?"

"If Jimmy does quit when he finds out about us, then we'll just scrape by the way we used to. We made it all those years without his money--we can do it again."

"I hope we don't have to, though," I said, sadly.

He responded with something between a grunt and a snicker. "The runt really means a lot to you, huh?"

"Jimmy's a good kid, Mel--he just needs some guidance and experience, that's all," I admonished him. "You should give the guy a chance."

Fro didn't answer me right away, and I thought I had pressed my luck, but he finally gave a world-weary sigh and said, "Well, I can't promise anything, but I'll TRY not to be so hard on him anymore. Okay?"

I smiled at his obvious effort--that must have KILLED him to say. "That's all I can ask for. Thanks, Mel."

My lips were graced with a swift kiss. "Anything for you, lover," he pledged.

How did I get so lucky?

By this point, his fingers had found their way into my hair, and were gently brushing though the still damp strands. It was so simple an act, but it made me feel at ease for the first time in a long while. I felt myself growing drowsy, but I still had one last thing on my mind. "Mel. . .?"

"Hmmmm?" he droned, his voice as sleepy as mine.

"Promise me we'll never let this happen to us again."

The fingers stopped momentarily, then started up again. "Never," he stated, resolutely. "You're mine, John Byers, and don't you ever forget it!"

"I won't." I was just snuggling against him when a wicked thought crossed my mind. Before I had a chance to talk myself out of it, I commenced nuzzling his neck, then nibbling. . .then sucking. Frohike had started drifting off to sleep when my actions woke him up.

"Um, John, what are you doing?" he asked, hesitantly.

"Nuthin'," came my muffled reply. It's hard to talk with your lips clamped to your lover's neck.

"Doesn't feel like nuthin'," he groaned happily, his arms tightening around me.

With a final loud *smack*, I pulled away from him to admire my handiwork. There, slap dab in the middle of the side of his throat, was a kick-ass 'love bite'--it would be visible for days to come. "And now everyone will know you're mine, too," I mumbled, tenderly kissing the little spot before drifting off to sleep in my lover's arms.

A FEW ADVENTURES LATER...

"I am just as steady as that clock on the shelf, Maybe you're accusing me of what you're doing yourself..."1

FROHIKE:

"So, Fro. . .?"

"So. . .what?"

"Where did you meet her?"

"Meet who?"

"Mykita Moldinado."

I stopped undressing and gawked at my lover; his back was to me as he went about his nightly grooming routine. Yeah, he had moved back into my bedroom, much to my delight. And since we had no plans of hiding our relationship any longer, we had sat down with Jimmy as soon as we returned from Texas, and hashed everything out.

You know what? That Jimmy Bond is an okay guy after all. He was totally cool about us being lovers--no homophobic jock bullshit or nothing. Perhaps I had been too hard on the kid after all.

Of course, he still couldn't file for shit.

"God, John. . .that was years ago. I can't remember," I answered, vaguely.

"Oh. So, you two weren't close then?" he asked nonchalantly, as he trimmed the one or two unruly hairs in his immaculate beard.

I folded my pants over a hanger and hung it in the closet. Damn, it was good to be home. "Well, yeah, she was my dance partner. We were quite close for a while. Until I screwed it up, that is."

"How?" he inquired, curiously.

No way I was getting into that. "I lied to her. . .and when she found out the truth, well. . ."

"Which was?" he persisted, obviously not about to settle for the edited version.

"Why are you so interested in Mykita?" I shot back, hoping to throw him off the scent.

He shrugged, trying to appear indifferent. It wasn't working. "Just curious, that's all. I never knew you could dance, El Lobo."

I removed my shirt, decided there was no way I'd get another wearing out it, and threw it onto the dirty clothes pile. Only bad part of coming home after a road trip. . .too much damn laundry. "I told you--that was YEARS ago. El Lobo has left the building."

"SHE didn't seem to think so."

Boots off, and now the socks joined the growing pile. "John, what ARE you babbling about?"

He was done clipping, and had moved onto brushing his hair into place. Why someone would go through so much sprucing up just to go to bed, I'll never know. (But I'll admit, I LOVED the results.) "Well, she still seems to fancy you, that's all," he replied, petulantly.

I was just climbing into bed as he said that, and I almost fell on my ass. "My God, John. . .you're jealous of her!"

"No, I'm not," he sniffed.

"Yes, you are," I declared, smugly.

He angrily pulled the brush through his hair as he announced, primly, "I'd like to drop this, please."

I could barely contain the laughter that was threatening to erupt. "Hey, you're the one who brought it up in the first place, babe."

"And I'm the one ending it," he huffed.

This time the mirth could not be controlled. "Come to bed, Johnny," I chuckled.

He put down his brush and pouted, "No. Not until you apologize for kissing her."

"Jesus, sulking doesn't become you, Byers. And for your information SHE kissed ME, remember? Now get that cute ass of yours in this bed!" I commanded.

The tone of my voice must've done the trick. He shot me a little grin, one that twinkled in those beautiful eyes of his. Taking a moment to turn off the overhead light, he climbed into bed, but immediately turned his back on me. Okay, so he was still in a pissy mood. No problem--I scooted over to where he lay, threw my arm around his waist, and spooned myself against him. I felt him struggle a bit, but he soon relaxed, and indeed, melted into my embrace. But just as I thought the discussion was over, he quietly asked, "So. . .?"

"So. . .what?"

"What did you lie to her about?"

I knew there was no point in ignoring him--he'd make sure I got no sleep until I answered his question. Heaving a deep sigh, I confessed, "She thought I was straight. . .had no idea I swung both ways. Then she walked in on me one day when I was in bed with our dance coach, Raul." I cringed at the memory. "Let's just say it got ugly real fast."

"Oh GOD! I can believe it did," he exclaimed.

I reflected on the dance competition a couple of nights ago. The kiss had been nice, but for her to call me 'mi amigo'--well, that really hit me in the gutbucket. It was good to know that old saying is true: time really does heal all wounds.

"I didn't mean to hurt her," I explained. "She really was a great girl. I should have been honest with her, but I never expected her to fall in love with me. And to be honest, I'm surprised she forgave me. Guess the torch was never extinguished, huh?"

"Well, once you've had a little taste of Frohike, right?" he chuckled.

"And you should know," I said, as I kissed the back of his neck. I planted a few more tiny kisses before I confided, "She liked you, you know."

"Really?"

I kissed down his throat until I hit the crook of his neck. "Uh-huh. . .said I got myself a good catch," I murmured against the tasty skin.

"I could say the same," he all but purred.

"Awww, you mush king," I joked, holding him close to me as I continued to suck on his throat.

"Frohike?"

"Mmm-hmm?" I was far too content nibbling to truly answer him.

"Do you think. . .that is. . .could you ever teach ME to dance like that?"

"Not a chance," I told him confidently.

"Why not?" he asked, sounding hurt.

"I've seen you dance, John, and there's no gentle way to say this, but you're the whitest white boy who ever lived. I've seen members of the Republican party with more rhythm than you."

"I'll remember that the next time you're 'in the mood'," he grumbled. "You never complained about my 'rhythm' before."

"Are you pouting again, Johnny?"

"No," he answered, sulkily.

"You know, you're so cute when you pout." And I began to playfully tickle him.

"Stop it," he said, trying hard not to giggle.

"Make me," I challenged him.

With that, he flipped me over onto my back, and I found myself staring up into those beautiful blue eyes, now filled with mischief and danger. "I'll make you, all right."

And he did make me. . .all night long.

"Hey jealous lover,
I'm telling you true,
You needn't be jealous,
Cause there's no one but you.

Hey now, there ain't no one but you,
Jealous lover, for me." 1

1) "Hey, Jealous Lover" by Cahn, Walker, and Thomey. (This version appears on the 'Sinatra 57--In Concert' CD. (c.1999 Artianis Entertainment Group)

Archived: December 29, 2001

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