A Change Could Do You Good, Part XI: Becalmed

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Kevin had had a recurring dream all of his life.

Now he couldn't dream at all.

He would lay awake for hours. When darkness finally overtook him, he would sleep... but not dream. There was nothing but solid, impenetrable blackness from the moment he closed his eyes to the moment they opened again hours later, alarm blaring at him to get out of bed. After the second night, he would have welcomed the recurring dream, unpleasant and disturbing as it always was. After the third night, he was praying for nightmares.

After the fifth night he was praying for death.

He would work himself into the ground, and not just his usual training sessions, his massage clients and his regular aerobics classes, but also volunteering to help on any project around the gym that needed doing. The men's showers need bleach; where do you keep it? Sure, I'll help paint the weight pit walls after hours. The aerobics room carpet needs to be steam cleaned. No, I'll do it; it'll save time. Anything to keep moving, to not think, to not face the endless black hole that his nights had become.

And to not think about Dimensions.

But he couldn't stop himself. Lack of REM told him that he should be running on empty, but it wasn't working that way. It was relentless driving energy that seemed to be overflowing his body, like he was plugged in to a wall socket. Was it possible to have a tired mind and a body running on overdrive? Answer: yes. Speed freaks did it all the time. And Kevin had never been one for that type of drug after that the party where he decided to try it on the recommendation of a friend, which led him to go home with the guy into leather, which led to the, um, fist incident. The guy shouldn't have been able to get his whole hand inside.

He was running so hard, so fast, that he wasn't really aware of what was going on around him. It was a queer disconnected feeling to everything, as though there was a wall of cotton between him and his nerve endings. There were several times when he hit an arm or leg hard and didn't react because he didn't feel it. The slashed shoulder incident had been the deciding factor that made him realize that something was more wrong than he'd admitted so far.

Gary, the head personal trainer and office manager, hadn't been pleased. They had the inevitable "talk" (very Socratic; Gary yelled and Kevin stood there) and Kevin was sent home to get some rest, but it didn't matter; he showed up the next day just as exhausted and REM-sleep deprived as the day before. The fact that he also had the aria "Nessun Dorma" running through his head didn't help things any either. He was starting to despise Pavarotti.

He woke up the morning of the sixth day planning on how he would kill himself. He didn't really want to, but he was definitely getting to the point where he was desperate to end his suffering. He toyed with the idea of dropping the toaster in the bathtub (but it would take so long to run the water that he'd be late for work), jumping out of the window (he was on the first floor), putting his head in the oven (it was electric), and running over himself in his car (he didn't know how he'd manage that, but it sounded good). After a few minutes of this, which he found an enormous comfort, he decided to go on living. The cat, after all, needed someone to feed it.

He was halfway through his shower when he remembered that he didn't have a cat and didn't want one either.

He dressed inattentively, trying to put his shirt on over his leg at first. It was hard to pay attention because of what was in the corner of the room, what always drew his eyes when he was there, like an accident on the highway. His clothes from THAT NIGHT. It was always capitalized in his mind; THAT NIGHT. He'd torn them off his body and thrown them in the corner, intending to never touch them again, or at least with a long stick and a chemical face shield. Besides which, he'd have to sift through the pile of loose electronic parts on his clothes too; the remains of the cameras in his apartment. Kevin had surprised himself that night with strength he had suddenly had; he had literally torn the cameras right out of the wall and ripped them apart with his bare hands. It had to have been adrenaline and anger acting in concert; Kevin wasn't this strong. He certainly didn't feel strong after this extended period of dreamlessness.

Even if the casing on each camera, now torn nearly in half, had been solid steel. Adrenaline could do a lot.

He did not want to go to work today. It was the same thing over and over, the same thing it had always been; too many people with too much time and too much money asking too much out of him. And unlike, say, six days ago, he no longer had patience for it. He couldn't understand why but was too tired to care. It was almost as though he'd gone through a traumatic experience that had affected his moral and ethical values.

Oh, no, wait, I did! The thought had no humor whatsoever.

The first time he got tested that week, the clinic staff explained to him that if he had unprotected sex then HIV infection would probably not show up for at least two weeks at a bare minimum, but they would go ahead and test him. Negative. The second time he got tested, they explained it was probably still too early but they would (reluctantly) go ahead and test him again. Sure enough, still negative. The third time, he tried to sneak in wearing a fake mustache. They told him to go home. His still latent fear, however, was not the worst part.

The worst part of it all was the influx of new memories. When he lost concentration, the excess energy coursing through him started a spontaneous cascade of images and he was swept away by the undertow.

Kevin sat for several minutes in one of these image stupors after arriving at the gym, only barely aware of Gary on his knees trying to repaint the design on one of the front doors. Gennaro told Kevin that his mother had a mole on her bottom, and she overheard from the other room and hit him with a shoe. Gennaro, not Kevin. Kevin tried to build a plastic model with Gennaro's help and they glued it to the table. Kevin got socks for Christmas from his aunt Phoebe (his father's sister) and with a wink Gennaro slipped a ten-dollar bill into them. There were so many.

When awareness returned, Kevin wondered why Gary had a sudden compulsion to paint. The logo had needed a touchup some time ago, but this was hardly the thing to be doing in the middle of a workday. And why Gary? If he was a qualified painter, which he was not, that would be one thing, and he was also hardly the type to volunteer for any work not strictly required of him. The corporate owners had poured money into this place for some of the most nonessential and inconsequential improvements and additions. True, Kevin had suggested many of them and they really did make things better around there (no vanity there, Kevin, he thought to himself bleakly) but many of them had had much less expensive alternatives. It just seemed that the owner wanted to spend his cash on a gym, a sure money pit for any owner. Must have been a pet project or something.

But the energy inconsistency in Kevin's body and mind was keeping him from caring about this or anything else except bare survival. Sometimes it was an even bet as to whether those were important either. He supposed he could volunteer to paint. He only had seven personal training clients, three massage clients, two aerobics classes, had written down to watch day care during lunch, had volunteered to cover Katie's lifeguard shift at the pool (she had an engineering final), intended to vacuum the treadmill area, and was going to do the snack bar that evening. He thought that he might have some free time left in all that.

Finally, however, he couldn't avoid getting out the car; some of the female members coming and going were starting to look at him like he was a stalker. Better to be miserable inside than out, he decided, and hauled his pack full of clipboards, training schedules, and diet restrictions over his shoulder. It wasn't because of fatigue that it very nearly toppled him.

"Hey, Gary," he tried to say normally, but the yawn he stifled spoiled it. When Gary turned his head to glance at him, with a very dim look on his face, Kevin knew he was in for another lecture.

"Did you get *any* sleep last night, Kevin?" he asked in a very aggravated voice. He was having a hard time painting, not that Kevin was surprised. He was big enough that most things that 'average' people could do were difficult for him. Not to mention that he was no artistic genius. "Remember that little talk we had? I don't know what the hell's gotten into you the past week, but you keep your partying off work hours!" He grimaced for some reason as he said this, looking almost chagrined, like he was having some sort of internal dialogue that he regretted. Impossible. Not Gary Weiman. Then Gary promptly smeared the paint again. "Shit!" He wiped it off again.

Kevin had plenty of energy to get angry but wasn't really interested. The thought did cross his mind, though. "Gary, I have not been and have no desire for partying. I know you don't believe that but you ought to know me by now." It was a struggle to keep the condescension out of his voice. Gary had been made head trainer over Kevin's better qualifications and longer experience right after the gym had been bought three years earlier. Kevin had raised hell about it, but ultimately for nothing: he was told in a terse letter from the new parent company, in very tactful and well written but by no means uncertain terms to mind his own business. Since then, Gary had taken to periodic reminders that he was the ruler of the roost. They did not have a wonderful dynamic. "Not that it's any of your business, but as I said before I haven't been sleeping well lately. I'm very tired, and I have a lot to do today. If you're going to lecture me, please book it in my schedule so that I don't miss anything." Hm... perhaps some of that condescension had come into his voice after all.

Gary did not represent bodybuilders, the industry of personal training, or the gym itself very well over the next few minutes as he let loose a loud involved stream of obscenities at Kevin. Kevin was impressed; he hadn't been aware that Gary could curse for 10 minutes straight without repeating himself.

Kevin could have yelled back but he didn't. It wouldn't have accomplished anything. A loud voice is nowhere near as effective as a composed one for getting a point across. Also, some battles more worth fighting than others. "You're right, Gary," he said, when the latter had finished his tirade. "I am sorry. I didn't mean to offend you, or to bring my problems to work. Don't worry, I won't let it affect my performance any more." He actually wasn't sure about that as he was losing more fine motor control daily, but it was the right thing to say. "And if you like, I'll toss in free massage for you too." Kevin really was a superb massage therapist. Gary had to agree with that, if grudgingly.

Gary opened his mouth, a look of absolute fury on his face… and then slowly closed it, looking disgruntled. Kevin loved tweaking him like that; Gary couldn't stand anyone who had the audacity to *not* argue with him. He expected and to some degree craved confrontation; he couldn't stand maturity and reason.

"Well…," Gary said with a strangely mixed expression on his face and for some reason not looking directly at Kevin, said, "all right. You can work on me later today." He turned away brusquely. Kevin, while having a mature attitude toward Gary, had to bite his lip to keep a straight face. He did not like the man ordering him around like that.

Even though Ted used to do it? Kevin's inner voice mocked him in response. That was different, Kevin said to himself, even though he knew it was a lie. He had enjoyed Ted's rough domination of him, sort of. But now the knowledge of that was tainted; Ted had been a submissive slave acting under orders the entire time. Damn convincingly too, he thought unpleasantly. "Sure, Gary," he said, finally managing to get his voice to stay controlled. "My last class is at 4pm. I'll get you in after that." He'd have to reschedule his last massage appointment.

He sighed to himself. More income down the drain. Several clients had cancelled this past week due to his suddenly "erratic nature." He really did have to get his mind in order, but how do you make yourself dream when you aren't doing it?

The one blessed event in his life this week, however, was that Ted had vanished from the gym entirely. No one who saw him regularly knew where he was or had heard from him. Not that Kevin had had any undue interest, of course. He had just been making sure that all ties with THAT NIGHT were severed.

It had nothing at all to do with wondering whether Troy was all right.

Gary gave a curt nod. "Sure, fine, whatever." He turned back to the design, looking like he wanted to wrestle with it. "I've gotta finish the door design. The owner's secretary I guess drove by yesterday and saw that it needed a touchup and he told me to fix it today. Damn nasty, too." He paused for a second, looking thoughtful. "Oh, yeah, that reminds me. He left a message for you too. It's on your massage table." Gary's voice was rather bland, but Kevin got the distinct impression that Gary was hoping that Kevin was going to have trouble. Kevin elected to say nothing. Some battles are more worth the fight than others. Besides which, it could just be that they were finally going to make Kevin head PT after all. Yeah, right. A vain hope. But as Kevin's grandmother had said once, hope springs eternal even in the face of brutal reality.

Suddenly Gary was covered in paint. The brush had slipped out of his grasp. "Shit!" he rerpeated nastily, dropping the brush on the ground. Trying to scrape the paint off with his bare hand only managed to press it into the cloth. "These were brand new!" Yes, they were; he'd only been shoving the brand name (Mr. Olympia's preferred) down everyone's throat for the past two weeks.

Kevin couldn't control the look on his face. Good thing Gary wasn't looking. The two of them truly did not get along. Gary did seem to take particular pleasure in making Kevin's life difficult and didn't need more fuel for the fire. "I'm sorry, Gary," Kevin said as Gary looked up furiously. "But it should come out if you wash it in some baking soda." Not for an acrylic outdoor paint, but he liked knowing that Gary would be wasting some time with it. Before Gary could respond, or even stop wiping his sweats, Kevin said, "I had better get inside. Have to get ready for my first client." She wasn't for another hour, but that was none of Gary's business.

"Dammit!" Gary yelled furiously. "Why did they have the make this fucking key red?"

Kevin whipped around, panic-stricken. He's here! "Where! Where is he?! Get him away from me!" His heart pounding, he scanned every square inch of the parking lot.

Gary jumped slightly. "What the hell are you talking about? I just said, why did they make this key red? Who?"

Kevin, the adrenaline pumping in his arteries, was suddenly more awake than he'd been all week long. No, he wasn't there. It was just a coincidence. Slip of the tongue. "Nuh- no one," Kevin said, still scanning the parking lot (no harm is being sure after all). "It, uh, I mean, I thought you just, uh, I mean, never mind." Kevin had forgotten. But then, he'd been trying to not remember. "It's nothing."

"Uh, right," Gary said, the angry tone superceded by a nervous one. Kevin was still too panic-stricken at first to notice.

"Sorry," Kevin said, finally relaxing. "I guess I really have been edgy lately." That was an understatement, but he was trying to appear like a victim. He did look like a victim in a number of ways at the moment, but not this one. He noticed Gary's look. "I'm okay, Gary. I just overreacted."

Gary started to back away a little, back to the design, that same look on his face, until he was far enough away that Kevin was no longer in arm's reach. "Right, right," he said, crouching back to the design. He had red paint all over him and had apparently forgotten about it, as the furtive looks he kept giving Kevin indicated. Subtle.

Great, Kevin thought, now he thinks I'm a psycho. He turned back to the door. "I'll see you later," he said, sighing a little. Wonderful. The man had been looking for an excuse to fire him and Kevin was handing it to him on a silver platter.

"Yeah, yeah, sure," Gary said, watching Kevin retreat. "I might not be able to get that massage today after all." Even better, Kevin thought. Now he's going to tell my clients that I'm a nut too. "I have to finish this design before sundown or Troy will kill me."

Kevin had just that moment touched the door handle, but suddenly his hand didn't function correctly. It folded up painfully, pushing into the door at the wrist. He couldn't stop his body either, and since he had momentum and the door was not open, he walked headfirst into the glass, impacting his face painfully. His pack fell uselessly to his side. He was barely aware that he was falling backward as the word filled every corner of his brain. TROY. It couldn't be. It couldn't. No. It was a different Troy. It had to be. It was a common name.

"What's a common name?" Gary was suddenly over him, trying to pull him upright. He looked like he didn't want to touch Kevin, which actually he didn't even on the best of days. This was not the best of days. "Kevin, what happened to you? You walked right into the door and didn't even try to stop!" He looked a little scared. But then, he had always had certain adequacy issues, as Kevin had noticed the time he saw Gary going into the showers. Being only 5'6" didn't help either. He had anger issues, height issues, adequacy issues, and was, in his secret heart, a weakling coward. He'd make a good slave with training to get rid of all that, Kevin thought blankly. Even in the depths of his shock, the thought made him blink. It was a very unusual thought for him.

"What…," Kevin started to say, and had to swallow as his throat was dry, "What did you say just now? Before I walked into the door." Please tell me I'm hearing things. I'm too tired. I need counseling. Maybe a long break. A vacation for a couple of months. I could visit my sister in Albuquerque or something. I could get another job somewhere.

Gary wasn't touching Kevin. He was leaning back as far as he could without actually having to move. "I, uh, said that I needed to get back to painting."

"No, after that," Kevin said, still shell-shocked. "You said something about… about someone killing you." Please tell me you said something else.

"Uh, yeah, I guess I did. I said that Troy would kill me."

It's not the same Troy. The world isn't that small. "Troy who?"

"You know, Troy. The owner. Troy…" Gary gave a last name that Kevin had never heard before.

"Gary, how do you spell that last name?" Kevin asked very slowly and carefully. It was so close, but he could still be wrong. There was a chance. He could be free. He'd start dreaming again, and get his life back the way it had been before.

Not yet, came a passing voice in his head. It sounded almost like his… he shrugged it off. His uncle was dead and not coming back. He'd never have that dream again. Or any other, he thought darkly.

"I don't know," he said carefully, looking around. "I guess it's on the sign in the entry hall." He started to edge away. "Why?"

Kevin found himself on his feet, grabbing his pack, operating on automatic. "No reason," Kevin said in a very distant voice. He had to find out. He had to know for sure. He opened the door and walked inside, Gary right on his tail, neither one of them noticing the large, quiet man sitting in the waiting area with his hands folded in his lap.

Kevin stood in the entry hall, staring at the large brass plaque. It read, in large letters, The Phoenix Center for Health. General Manager, Day Manager, Evening Manager, Day Care Manager, Financial Manager, Head Personal Trainer... There was a long list of small tags with titles and names on the plaque, but not what he was looking for. It had to be there. The owner is always…

A Subsidiary of TKI.
Troy Kiered Industries, Inc.
Troy Kiered, Owner and CEO.
Subsidiary Liaison, Marion King.

"Gary," Kevin said, staring at the name. "That last name isn't pronounced Kired. It's pronounced Key Red." He had never even looked at this sign or paid attention to the front logo before today. He'd never had a reason to before. "Like the door logo outside. Red key. Key red."

Gary nodded, looking scared. He picked up the receiver and put it back on the cradle. Kevin's entire persona suddenly had a force, an aura of respect and strength, that he'd never had before. "Kevin, are you okay? Is there anything I can do?" He sounded like he really meant it, too.

Kevin wasn't listening. He was looking up over the brass plaque with a set, determined look on his face. They had had a large, ornate art piece installed when the gym had been renamed that Kevin had thought was really pretty and well made and had then completely forgotten about and ignored in the time since. It was hanging installed in the corner of the wall and the ceiling so that it hung flush against the wall, was hand-carved out of wood (he thought it was mahogany) and was enormous, almost seven feet high and five or six feet wide. A beautiful, fierce bird, rendered in exquisite detail, in profile pointing left, wings and body extending below it, carved to suggest flowing flames. A phoenix.

A phoenix that Kevin had seen somewhere else very recently.

It was identical in every respect. He was sure of it. Why hadn't he even noticed it at the time? It was easily answered; he'd been too distracted, too traumatized at the time, and because he hadn't looked at the design now in front of him in months. Of course. The PHOENIX Center. The same design was on the street sign in red. But Kevin had had tunnel vision this whole time and hadn't seen it.

"Gary, when did they buy the gym?" He was still looking at the phoenix but not really seeing it. What he was seeing was a phoenix exactly like it that rippled when the muscles under it moved. "Do you remember? I need to know exactly when that was."

"Uh.. it was about three years ago. You were there, remember?" Oh, Kevin was definitely over the edge now, but Gary couldn't make himself fight it. There was something about his eyes… "There was a big ceremony with all that food and we met the guy who bought it. Troy Kired's, I mean, Key Red's dad. Troy Senior."

"Troy Senior." He remembered that day only vaguely but the memories were becoming sharper with each passing moment. "Troy Kiered Senior. He was an older guy, right? Looked pretty sick?" I was dying, Kevin.

"Yeah," Gary said, looking at some of the pictures on the wall, suddenly taking one down. "They told me he had… I don't remember. Cancer or something like that." He came up and handed the framed picture to Kevin, taking his hand back quickly before Kevin could bite it. "See? There's the picture from the newsletter. There's me and you and him right there."

Kevin looked very carefully at the picture. It was a low-quality image but it was plain enough. There was a line of people in it, all named below in the caption. Gary, not quite as big as he was now, and Kevin, a distracted and disgruntled expression on his face, looking at something outside the frame. And there was an older, haggard, rail thin and very ill looking man who was shaking hands with the financial manager but looking at Kevin with a very strange look on his face. Kevin didn't remember what the man looked like or even that he'd been there. Kevin had just broken up with yet another boyfriend, whose name Kevin also couldn't remember. Kevin did, however, remember that he'd called Kevin "cold and unfeeling." And I was, Kevin realized sadly. "He didn't have cancer," Kevin said. "He had AIDS." Even in such a low-quality picture it was obvious to anyone who knew the physical signs of the late stages that that was the case, which Kevin did, but Kevin also had other knowledge Gary did not. "He died of AIDS." Except that he wasn't dead.

Gary looked disgusted. He didn't like guys with AIDS. He unconsciously wiped his hand, the one he'd used to shake hands with Troy, on his shirt. It still had wet paint on it but he didn't care.

The face in the picture was similar, but not the same. Maybe if it were, say, 30 years younger…

"No, he didn't," Gary said, in a voice that sounded like he was trying to please, "He died in the plane crash, remember? The Crash of Flight Three Two Two. It was only two months after this picture was taken. Everyone was talking about it. I thought you knew he'd been on that flight." He had a grim look on his face. "His son showed up a few months later and took over his business. That's when they changed the name from the Weight Pit to the Phoenix Center. I thought you knew."

"I did know," Kevin said distantly. But he'd forgotten. He hadn't paid attention to the new owner's name at the time because one owner was the same as another when they weren't actually there. And the crash hadn't been important to him either, other than as a terrible tragedy that had happened to someone else. His son. He was willing to wager everything he owned that Troy Kiered "Senior" had had no son.

"Oh, hey, Ted," Gary said, raising his hand in greeting at the man sitting in the lobby. He had been sitting so still that he might as well have been invisible. The man jumped at being addressed, and then tentatively raised his in return. "You were so quiet there I didn't see you. Where have you been? The guys in the powerlifting club were asking about you yesterday. You missed two workouts." That was the one thing that Gary was a stickler on.

Kevin spun around, the picture dropping out of his hands. "You!" he shouted. Gary grabbed at the picture before it could shatter on the floor and stared at Kevin with an open mouth. This Kevin was very, very different: Gary had never seen such a look of absolute hatred on a human's face as he saw on Kevin's as he looked at Ted.

Kevin started advancing on Ted like a juggernaut. Gary stared at him for a moment, and then jumped forward to hold him back before he could walk right into Ted. Kevin stopped but took no notice that Gary was even there. Gary blinked in unpleasant surprise as Kevin did so; when Gary put his hands on Kevin to stop him, he'd continued forward as though Gary had had no strength at all despite his superior size. If Kevin had not agreed to stop, Gary would not have been able to hold him back. Impossible. Kevin wasn't that strong.

"What are you doing here?" Kevin said harshly. It was like a fountain of acid. "Come to do more of your Master's dirty work? I'm free of that place, Ted, and of him. You hear me? If you're here to try to trick me back there, I'll break you like a stick, muscle or no muscle." Gary looked back and forth between the two of them, bewildered.

Gary expected Ted to laugh and rough Kevin up a little, like he always did to guys that thought they were better than he was, and got another shock. Ted was recoiling in fear. He was *afraid* of Kevin. No, of Kevin's anger. Gary, stunned, let his arm drop. Ted had changed entirely in the last six days. Even his posture and the look in his eyes were different. He seemed so... submissive. What was with everyone today?

"I… I had to come. To see you. Not for… for Him. He doesn't know I'm here. I'm not… not supposed to contact anyone from… from there." Kevin'From Dimensions. His voice was very soft and quiet, unlike his previously usual loud, boisterous tone. He also had dark circles under his eyes, like he'd been having trouble sleeping too. Ted glanced at Gary, correctly surmising that he did not know what was really going on and wouldn't understand if he was told. One of the many lessons Ted had been taught by the Master over the past few months was discretion in public. Also, no honorific and if absolutely necessary the Master's Name may be used. It wasn't absolutely necessary right at the moment. "I have nowhere else to go. He won't see me or talk to me. I've tried, even though I know I'm not supposed to. I can't make my decision on my own. I don't know what to do. Please, Mister Kevin, please help me." He held his large, muscled arm out toward Kevin in a pleading manner, not quite actually touching him. He hadn't gotten permission to do so, after all.

MISTER KEVIN?!? This was too much! Gary backed away from them both. They were both so intent on the other that they didn't even notice.

"Drop the receiver, Gary," Kevin said, unmoving and still staring at Ted, his face a mask. Gary jumped and put it back on the cradle. How had he known? Gary had been so quiet, and Kevin hadn't looked around either. "No phone calls right now, unless it's to 'The Boss'." The scorn in his voice was heavy. "I'm sure he'd love to know what's going on with me and Ted here. You'd like that, wouldn't you, Ted?" Ted looked very upset and desperately shook his head at Gary, a pleading look in his eye. Please don't. Please don't call. "Now away from the phone. That's it, you can do it." Gary did, even though Kevin still wasn't looking at him. "Thank you," Kevin said, when Gary was on the other side of the counter again. "No calls. Period. Understand?" Gary found himself nodding in agreement. He found he couldn't say no to Kevin at all now.

"Good. Now, Ted," he said to the man, "You and I need to have a little talk in my office. Now." Ted looked like he wanted to escape. "March!" Kevin barked, and Ted leaped to obey, practically running down the hall toward the room. Kevin followed in a very even, determined pace, not hurrying. "Oh, and Gary," he called just as he entered the hall, "No eavesdropping either. I know you keep that stethoscope in your office. If I find you at my door I'll use your balls for bookends." It wasn't a threat. It was a promise. Gary suddenly had a great desire to finish the key design before the paint dried any further and left to do just that, looking over his shoulder the whole way there.

Ted was already in the room when Kevin got there, pacing and wringing his big, meaty hands, even though it was a quite a walk and they should have arrived at the same time. He must have run the entire time. There had even been two or three guys working out that had called out to him as he passed them, but he hadn't even heard them. He was too intent on doing what Mister Kevin had told him to do. Ted had never seen or heard it in him before, but there was suddenly a lot of the Master in Mister Kevin's demeanor.

Ted had also not slept well the past week. He had dreamed, unlike Kevin, but they were almost exclusively nightmares. The strange dream he had had the night before leaving the Master's home had returned more and more vividly with each occurrence, but it was not the only dream he had. In a lot of them, he was reliving the weekend when he had tortured the boy. Except now he wasn't the one doing the torturing, he was the victim, and he felt every bruise, every fracture, every strike against him. Sometimes the one doing the torturing was a larger version of the Master, sometimes Mister Jake, and sometimes even a larger version of Mister Kevin for some reason. Sometimes when the torture was over he was forced to make a choice: more torture or death. There was no other option. Or he had to choose between being hanged and being quartered. Something. The choice was always between something unpleasant and something else unpleasant, and it was always torture. He thought he had accepted his options, but the Master had been right, as usual: now that he had to make the choice, he found his subconscious so screwed into a knot that he couldn't deal with his options rationally.

And time was running out. He had to be back at the Master's home in less than 24 hours to make that very decision. He thought he had conquered his fears, and he had… of the Master. It was the fear of himself and his own shortcomings that he found daunting.

He had realized two days into his seclusion what the Master had been trying to tell him, to teach him, with this exercise. Freedom is a form of slavery, slavery a form of freedom. He had initially been terrified of the prospect of becoming a slave, even as it had been happening, because of the loss of his freedom. Now he was a slave, or very nearly one, and the potential of him *not* becoming a slave gave him the same fear. There had been less responsibility, less fear, less uncertainty, when he was serving the Master. Conversely, however, there was also the fear factor involved. As a slave trainee, he had been made to face and destroy his fears, one by one. Now he was free, temporarily until it became either permanent or until he decided to end it voluntarily and discovered a fear he hadn't known he had, that there had been no way to anticipate: fear of freedom. If he entered service with the Master, would he still have the unresolved fear of freedom tainting his every move, his every action? He couldn't be sure. If he refused entry into service, would he have the unresolved fear and doubt of *not* entering service? He tried and failed constantly to keep his mind from entering an endless philosophical loop. Especially with such little time.

Kevin closed the door behind him and crossed his arms, his eyes burning in condemnation. The man had *used* him unmercifully on many occasions, bruising him often, and none of it had been real. Kevin felt the urge for a little quid pro quo, but saw that as the immature reaction that it was. In measured, even tones, with a force that surprised even him, he said, "You have two minutes to explain why you're here."

It only took one minute and forty-five seconds for Ted to relate what had happened after Kevin left that night. He spoke fast but managed to get the highlights covered. When he finished, he added, "And now I need to make my decision and I can't decide. The Master wants me to make the decision based on what *I* want, not what He wants, and I'm not certain what that is any more."

Kevin stood unmoving, his face unchanging. Ted started to feel nervous. He knew he had mistreated Mister Kevin on several occasions, but it had been under the Master's orders, to arouse him sexually and lead him to Dimensions. Perhaps he had gone too far once or twice, maybe five times, but he hadn't had the control then that he did now. Not that that was any excuse, he knew.

Inhaling slightly, his voice tremulous, Ted said, "I am sorry for what I did to you, Mister Kevin. I will atone for my sins in any way you deem fit."

There was still fear in his eyes, but Kevin knew it wasn't of him. At least not yet. For some reason, that thought didn't surprise him like it would have earlier. What was happening to him? "Let me get this straight," Kevin said darkly. Immature reaction or not, he still felt the urge. "You spend a year treating me like a mangy dog, trick me into having my entire life turned upside-down, under someone else's orders, and now you need my HELP? Is THAT what I'm hearing?" Ted jumped slightly, his fear focusing on Kevin after all. He could only nod. He wasn't holding his breath, but he was breathing so little he may as well have been.

Kevin looked at him in something very close to disdain. Ted wanted the benefits but didn't want to do the work. Typical. It was, in a way, the same thing he'd been doing to Kevin. But somehow, Kevin just couldn't muster the hate he knew that he should be feeling. Anger, definitely, but hate, no. It had somehow evaporated during Ted's monologue about his decision. Kevin didn't hate Ted. He felt sorry for him and strangely protective of him as well and he didn't hate him. How truly odd.

Kevin shook off the implications, focusing on his anger. It was a small lick of flame hidden deeply in the dark forest of his mind, but Kevin was kindling that flame, seeking to consume everything around it in a concatenation of destruction. Damn you, Ted! Damn you for using me! Damn you damn you damn you!

But it wasn't Ted's face he saw in his mind's eye that he was condemning...

Ted looked pleadingly at Kevin. "I was under orders, Mister Kevin. Please understand that. Please. I obey the Master regardless of moral implication, without question, without fail. For Him, I would do... I would even..." he trailed off, looking afraid. "I... have something that I have to tell you. Something that... that you won't like." And with his gaze firmly set on the floor, shame that he thought he had eliminated drowning him, Ted confessed his ultimate crime.

After a lengthy time, Ted came to a halt, certain that he had crossed the line. He was not disappointed. Kevin had a look on his face that should have burned Ted to ash right where he was. "You…" Kevin said, his teeth clenched and biting off each word, "you were not only dominating and raping me repeatedly under orders but you have a history of this abuse?! THIS is what you mean to tell me?!" He was obviously struggling to not come over and strangle Ted. His hands were clenched and his face was very close to the way that Ted had been taught as a child was what the devil was supposed to look like when he came to steal you in the middle of the night for not listening to your father and doing what he said when he told you to get in bed...

Ted shook that thought off. The Master protected Ted from his father now, and had promised that no matter what happened with Ted's future he would never see his father again. Ted wanted desperately for Mister Kevin to understand, but he only seemed larger and more imposing than he had earlier, if that was possible. His attitude was making him seem like he was a giant, even to Ted's height...

Then Ted's mouth dropped open, his eyes widening. It wasn't attitude or posture; Kevin was actually larger.

Kevin was growing.

Ted was so shocked that he couldn't speak. Kevin was dressed as he always was for his duties; his usual white polo shirt, tan shorts, white socks and sneakers. But now Ted saw them become smaller and smaller on Kevin's body as his torso began to expand. His chest was heaving in and out, and the shirt over it was becoming extremely tight as his pectorals and abs began expanding outward. His legs started to add bulk and even length, making his height start to creep upward. His biceps started to expand from baseballs to basketballs.

Ted's mouth was dry from startlement, but he managed to croak out, "Mister Kevin...!" and started to reach forward involuntarily as though to touch the change going on in front of him. Mister Kevin hadn't had another formula, had he? He doubted that Mister Kevin had returned to Dimensions but this kind of change didn't simply happen without...

But Kevin caught Ted's hand in his own, the fire in his eyes reaching a crescendo. "Don't you DARE touch me again!" he bellowed, and squeezed Ted's hand hard. Ted was completely taken aback; Ted was of course the stronger of the two, but now Ted had to fight hard to keep Kevin from crushing his hand. Kevin had not only increased in size, but also strength. He and Ted were very nearly a match. Without thinking, Ted responded in kind, attempting to overcome Kevin's strength, but found that Kevin was not to be daunted that easily. Kevin responded to Ted's response, and the escalation began.

Whether Kevin felt hate or not became academic as the sheer force of his anger began to radiate in his body. He was so focused that he didn't notice that his shirt had pulled out of his shorts as he became taller and was having seams start to give everywhere. His thighs were threatening to tear out his shorts entirely. Most important, he didn't even notice that he didn't have to look up into Ted's eyes. They were at the same level now. Involuntarily, Ted brought up his other hand in an effort to gain some measure of control and Kevin automatically took it in his own, anticipating an attack, and a stalemate wrestling match began between them. Neither of them could best the other's grip nor gain dominance.

In his entire life Ted had never met anyone who could match his strength. Even Big Ronnie Crusher had had to admit defeat after Ted reached his full height and strength at age 19 and had taken the opportunity to show that the student had outstripped the mentor. Big Ronnie learned two things at that time; one, what he'd been doing to his sex-slave football coach all these years, and two, what it was like to be a bottom for a dick the size of an arm. Big Ronnie went through some major personality changes in that one night. For one thing, he became a lot more considerate of the coach, and for another, he was surprised to realize he enjoyed bottoming more than he had expected to. Ted, after settling into his own situation, checked up on the two of them a couple of years later, and discovered that the tables had definitely turned; not only had the coach suddenly become more dominant, but Big Ronnie was now going by the name "boy ron" and wore a chain and lock around his neck. That and a red hanky in his back right pocket. Ted had apparently spoiled Ronnie and the coach took advantage of that nightly.

At the time, that had pleased Ted but now he viewed it as yet another failing of his arrogant past self. The hardest lesson to remember is acceptance of one's past as a learning tool for the future.

But all that wasn't the point; Ted had been, both literally and figuratively, head and shoulders above everyone else in any gym he'd ever been in, with any bodybuilder or powerlifter he'd met. Yet Kevin was matching him, strength for strength.

Ted's shock dissolved into concentration, then effort, and then finally desperate clinging. Kevin's strength as well as stamina was a match for his own. Ted had always been pleased that he could make the final lift, bench or squat that blasted his muscles in the gym and gave him the massive pump that he loved so much even now, a mental discipline developed through years of training, but even that coupled with the discipline taught by the Master was no match for Kevin. Kevin had an advantage that Ted did not; sheer fury. It was making for the deciding factor in their confrontation.

Ted found his grip getting weaker and weaker by tiny increments, knowing he had lost but not willing to admit defeat until he was totally vanquished. Not a discipline the Master had taught him or even liked in Ted - it had certainly been a pain for Him during Ted's seclusion and mental reshaping - but one that the Master had realized was necessary if Ted was going to continue his training, which the Master more than approved of. Of course, this was only as long as it was confined to training and Ted submitted to his slave status when not in the gym.

It was at this point that Kevin started noticing the discrepancies in what happening to him. His anger started to become tenuous when he realized that he could look down into Ted's shirt, not up, and that Ted was making a supreme effort but Kevin was holding his own with no assistance. But by the same token, he couldn't tear his gaze from Ted's. Ted was going to admit defeat before Kevin stopped. It wasn't an option; he *was* going to do it.

"You... will... submit, Ted," Kevin said, the effort becoming almost overwhelming for him too, and his anger becoming not enough to sustain him. "I see... it in... you. Every cell... of your..." he gave an involuntary grunt as he felt his hands begin to shake with exhaustion setting in, "your... body tells you what... you are." And his eyes seemed to blaze with an inner light, even as the sweat rolled down his face. "*Slave*," he hissed.

Ted sagged, his grip dissolving and his knees folding under him. An involuntary sob came out of his throat as he dropped to kneeling. Help me, Blessed Spirit. Mister Kevin has shown me the way. I am a slave. I am happy being a slave. The words he said to the Master at his watershed moment came back to him full force. He had meant them then and then forgotten all about them in light of his fears over the past six days. He knew his decision. I am a slave. He put his face in his hands, completely overcome with emotion.

Kevin took only peripheral note of Ted's state of mind or even presence. He had other priorities at the moment, such as staring in shock at the reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of the door. This was impossible! He was exactly Ted's height and his entire body had expanded proportionally to fit. His clothes were losing the battle against the unexplained transformation even as he realized his situation; his shirt had ripped out entirely on the left side under his sleeve down to the bottom and the other side was following suit. The sleeves had completely torn at the weakest points. His shorts had become comically small, and his shoes had become painful on his feet. If he hadn't been wearing them when he'd changed, he'd never have been able to get them on. He wondered how he'd get them off before gangrene of his toes set in.

But even as he wondered this, he felt the sudden feeling of... he couldn't explain it. Like a discharge of energy, or like water flowing uphill against gravity as it suddenly pulled sideways out of him, or... he shook his head. He felt like energy was draining out of him, but not his own body energy, more like extra energy he hadn't known was there.

And his reflection was, well, reflecting that feeling too. He was losing mass and size rapidly to his continued surprise (and disappointment, he realized). He blinked a couple of times to make sure that he wasn't hallucinating, but his clothes still showed the signs that it had been real, and he glanced around at his office and it hadn't changed; the table was still set with its crisper-than-crisp sheets, his supplies were still nearby on their tidy shelves, neatly organized and arranged for the next client to come in.

It hadn't changed. The thought made him pause. Nothing had changed for years and he hadn't noticed. Not until now. He hadn't realized until just this moment, looking at all of it, just how sterile his environment really was. It truly hadn't changed. Ever.

Change. Everything in life is change, he thought. But he hadn't. He hadn't changed in years and everything around him was set so that once it was in place it stayed the way it was and never altered a whit. And this was the first time Kevin had been awake all week to see it. He gave a grim look. This was the first time he'd been awake in his life, more like. He looked in the mirror again. His body was at it had been... or was it? Did Kevin see a slightly more angular jaw? Were his arms a bit more defined? He shook it off. He went through so many changes THAT NIGHT that he was amazed at how easily he assimilated what had just happened. Quite different from THAT NIGHT. Crisp, crisp sheets, perfectly placed... but not perfect, he suddenly noticed.

He looked at the table again. The perfect, perfect line of the sheets was obscured. In any other office in the building it would never have been noticeable, but Kevin always kept it so that if anything was amiss he'd see it immediately. Part of it due to his obsessive cleaning and organizing, but a major portion of it was also the practical aspect of finding out whether anyone had been in his office. One of the very few things that he'd managed to get enforced about his duties, over Gary's head it should be noted, was that his sanctum sanctorum was inviolate. No one went into this room without his express knowledge and consent.

But that, predictably, had ultimately eventually been undercut as well; Gary had gone behind Kevin's back one day when Kevin was taking a vacation day and had a locksmith make keys for Kevin's office. Kevin raised hell about it, but the subsid liaison - Marion King, apparently; Kevin had forgotten the name until he read it a few minutes ago - had basically washed his hands of the issue, stating that Gary was the head PT and in that capacity Kevin had no choice but to accede. Ostensibly Gary had done it so that he could have access in case of emergency, but that argument didn't wash. Gary just liked having the control.

There was a note. Of course. Gary had mentioned that Kevin had received a message from " The Boss' " secretary, whoever she was. Correction, he, Kevin thought, looking at the caller. Kevin had just picked up the note, unsure what he was feeling or thinking as he held the note in his hand, when he heard the sobbing coming from Ted. Kevin had almost forgotten he was there.

How strange, how sad, Kevin thought as he watched Ted. He didn't hate Ted. And, he realized, he wasn't angry any more either. The very act of vanquishing him seemed to have burned the fuel of his anger with Ted to ash. Ted was a slave. He hadn't signed his contract as yet, but now it was as good as. Ted had done what he had done under orders; he wasn't to blame. Kevin felt his heart go out, which was a very strange turn of events in his own mind.

Kevin knelt to Ted, who still had his head in his hands, and gently took them away and held them in his own. Kevin noted with some slight surprise that his strength had not decreased with his diminished stature. But then, he suddenly realized, with the events of the past few days, that his strength had been almost superhuman all week and he'd been too dazed to even notice. Something had happened to him, a deep, radical physical change and he wasn't sure what or why.

"Ted," Kevin said, holding Ted's hands firmly yet gently. "Are you all right?" He asked in a very soothing voice. He felt very protective of Ted suddenly, like someone who had discovered a stray kitten outside the back door and decided that it needed to be fed. "I'm not angry, Ted. I'm not."

Ted's sobbing continued unabated for a few more moments, his head hanging down, but finally he nodded and sniffed. Kevin allowed one of Ted's hands to go free so that he could wipe his nose on his bare arm. Kevin rolled his eyes at that - Ted had always been a bit uncouth, but that was not unexpected - but decided that he wouldn't correct Ted's behavior right at the moment. Ted needed the comfort more at the moment.

Then Kevin realized that he had just assumed the role of Dominant over Ted's submissive. That shook him.

Ted finally raised his head, his eyes shining with tears shed and unshed. "Mister Kevin, I can never atone for..."

Kevin cut him off, shaking his head. "No. That's past. I know that the man you are isn't the man you were then. You have paid in sweat and blood the justice that your crime demanded. And I'm not the final judge of whether justice is paid. No one can be you. I may forgive you, the Master may forgive you, the world may forgive you, even your victim may forgive you, but ultimately the decisive factor is whether you forgive yourself. Have you?" It was a simple question, not confrontational or even snide.

Ted looked afraid to answer, unsure of what to say. He started to open his mouth to answer and then hesitated and closed it again. Kevin smiled a reassuring smile. "It's all right to answer 'I don't know' too, Ted." Ted looked a bit abashed but nodded. He truly didn't. Kevin hesitated for a moment, but said what he'd been thinking, knew he had to say it or he wouldn't be truly honest. "And... And I forgive you for how you treated me as well, Ted. I know it wasn't your choice. You followed your orders as dutifully as you had known how. And I remember seeing the times when your conscience bothered you even while you executed your duties." It was true; all the times when Ted had left a particularly deep bruise or had been rough enough in bed that Kevin was in sheer agony just from fucking, Kevin had registered without noticing at the time that Ted looked haunted and chagrined. But he had still done what he had been ordered. Somehow, Kevin was more impressed by the faithfulness of Ted to his duties rather than angry that Ted had not obeyed his conscience. How very strange.

A vast change came over Ted. The most notable one was that Ted's sorrow seemed to evaporate and he was rooted in shock. Then, he very slowly put his hands over his mouth, frozen open in an 'O' of amazement. And then, he took Kevin's hands and kissed them repeatedly. "Thank you, Mister Kevin," he said, truly grateful. "Thank you," he repeated over and over. When he finished, he raised his head and said, "I... I don't know if I can forgive myself. Perhaps I will someday, perhaps with the help of the Master. But your forgiveness means more to me than I can ever repay." His eyes were shining again, but this time with admiration bordering on love. "I suppose I will never see you again after today, Mister Kevin. I return to the Master at 7am tomorrow, and I go to sign my first two-year contract." He couldn't keep the pride out of his voice or the smile from his face, though he tried. There was no fear now. "The Master said once that at the end of the second two-year contract I would have the option of signing a lifetime contract." He sounded excited, though he tried to control that too, almost like a child waiting impatiently for Christmas to arrive in less than a week.

"I... I know how you must feel about the Master, Mister Kevin." Ted lowered his eyes, not able to keep Kevin's suddenly sharp gaze. "But He isn't an evil man. He's strong-willed, confident, and even sometimes ruthless, but He's not evil. I know..." He hesitated and then it all spilled out. On some level, he felt that he should take the opportunity to express his opinion, any opinion he had, while he still could. In a few hours, the right to express an opinion would be rescinded forever. Well, first for two years, and then maybe down the road forever but still... "I know that you feel manipulated. Please don't. He has His reasons, whether we understand them or not."

Kevin bit back a stinging retort. No. He doesn't mean it maliciously, Kevin forced himself to think, tried to believe. He truly thinks that 'the Master' knew what He was doing even if Kevin didn't.

But did He?

"I accept what you say," Kevin said noncommittally, yet firmly. He couldn't commit to an opinion because he wasn't sure what his feelings truly were. Or what the answer was, truth to tell. Actually, he was sure what he felt on a very buried level, but what he felt was so alien to what he thought he *should* feel that he couldn't acknowledge it. Not so different from Ted after all. He rose so that he didn't have to look Ted in the eye.

Ted lowered his head, sure he'd overstepped again. If only he could make Mister Kevin understand and accept, then... Ted suddenly lost his train of thought as he saw a small slip of paper on the floor between Mister Kevin's feet. It was unremarkable in and of itself, but what caught Ted's attention was the name of the caller and the phone number with "Please call - urgent" checked underneath, the time and date being less than three hours ago. He inhaled sharply. It couldn't be.

"Mister Kevin...?" he said, staring at the note, less than three feet from his face. "Where did you get that note?" His startlement was such that he was hoarse. "Please, Mister Kevin. Please."

Kevin, frowning, looked down to where he'd dropped the message. Undoubtedly a severance notice. He'd been subconsciously expecting it all week long without really thinking about it. Everyone knew the one: don't sleep with the boss when he wants you to and get fired. And now he knew who it really was.

"I received that message some time ago, Ted," Kevin said slowly, watching Ted's reactions for clues. Ted was startled and concerned just from what he saw on the piece of paper. Why? "It's from Troy's secretary or something." Ted winced at Kevin's use of the Master's name, but their protocol had not been established. "Gary left it here." More proof of the unwanted access everyone seemed to have to his office, but there was no point in bringing that up.

Ted took the slip and looked at it very carefully, his face betraying nothing at all. Finally, Ted looked up to Mister Kevin's face and said, "This isn't exactly the Master's secretary. He's... he's something else. But it is true that he... that he handles the Master's business transactions."

Kevin's eyes narrowed. What did any of that mean? "Should I call him back or just leave it as it is?" He didn't ask sarcastically; he truly wanted to know the opinion of a man who had worked closely with whoever this person was.

Ted didn't hesitate. "Yes, Mister Kevin. If..." he glanced at the note again, "if, uh, he called you, then you should return it. To him especially. He has ways of finding out if you've done something wrong." Ted shuddered slightly. "He is… persistent." Lowering his voice, he added mostly to himself, "And he has a sense of humor." He sounded chagrined.

Kevin stood still, locked in thought. He realized that he didn't want to call that number but that he had to. He couldn't go on this path any longer, just turning away and spending the rest of his life wondering what might have happened. And it was that realization that had him suddenly holding the receiver of his telephone, hearing the buzzing tone as it connected with the number he had just dialed. He had to know.

"Good afternoon, TKI. How may I assist?" The voice on the other end of the line was crisp, clear, polite, warm, and professional, exactly the way an office phone voice was supposed to sound. Kevin raised an eyebrow. It was impressive that he would have such professional employees, but not surprising.

"Yes, I received a note that I should call this number," Kevin said awkwardly. He usually rehearsed what he said on the phone before making a call.

"Yes, sir. Is this call in response to a business transaction, an employment application, technical question, or investment advice?" Perfectly professional and polite. It was annoying as hell.

Not knowing what else to say, Kevin said, "My name is Kevin." He hoped by just saying that that he would somehow convey the hidden meaning of his call, knowing it was likely in vain.

There was a distinct pause on the other end. "Kevin?" the voice suddenly said, sounding stunned. "Kevin Cantore? Is it really you, Kevin?"

"Yes," Kevin said, startled at the reaction. He had half-expected a confrontation, not something akin to awe.

"Kevin, I... I called earlier to talk with you. It's urgent." The man's voice had changed from professional mode to an urgent whisper, almost as though he were looking around the room to see if anyone was listening. "It's about... It's about Troy."

Kevin became very dim in tone. "Did he tell you to call?" The voice sounded almost the Peal of Doom it was so harsh.

"Oh! No! No, he didn't! I swear! He doesn't know I'm calling you. He'd... he'd be very disappointed if he knew. *Very* disappointed." The voice seemed to convey that he knew what Troy did to those who disappointed him. "You have to come, Kevin. You have to. He's in serious straits, and you're... well, I'm sorry to put it this way, but you're at least partially the reason why. I know how you must feel about... about what happened. But he's doing very badly, Kevin. He needs you here. Please." There was a slight gasp. "I have to go! Come to Dimensions, Kevin. Please. He's waiting for you. Or for death." The line went dead.

"Mister Kevin?" Kevin didn't even notice Ted's plaintive question. Very badly. Was he dying? Dying for lack of Kevin? He tried to raise bitterness in the thought but couldn't. What was happening? Did Kevin really have to...

He closed his eyes and sighed. Return to Dimensions. He realized he'd made the decision long ago but not acknowledged it. He had to go back. He had to know the answer to the final question and only Troy could tell him. No one else would know.

Ted was standing in front of the door, looking concerned. "Mister Kevin?" he repeated.

Kevin waved his hand in a manner to suggest that he was all right. The final question had to be answered. "Ted, this is where we part company. I wish you well in your new life and I would be honored to see your progress as a slave in the years to come," he blinked, surprised to realize that he meant that exactly. "But I have to go. I... have other business."

Ted took a deep breath in, keeping his face smooth but secretly relieved. Mister Kevin was going back. Ted knew that everything would be all right now and the Master would soon have what he wanted. Possibly, Kevin would also.

* * * *

Vincent electronically chuckled to himself as he disconnected the line. He wished that they gave out Academy Awards to virtual personalities. But Vincent was the world's first fully functional artificial intelligence - and its only renegade - so the field hadn't quite been tapped yet. What a performance! Of course he'd known exactly who it was. Caller ID was one of the great unglorified inventions of the modern age.

It had taken a great deal of work to get Gary into a suggestible mental state. Vincent had never run into such a difficult subject to hypnotize, Andy notwithstanding. Of course, the fact that Vincent had had to do it over a phone line hadn't helped. Troy really was the... well, the master of that art. He hoped that Troy never found out about that... he took a dim view of amateurs meddling with the human psyche. Having Rory working out in the gym during Gary's session had been a blessing of the Light of Heaven itself. He'd been more than happy to do Vincent a favor in at least partial repayment for having met his now-husband at Dimensions. Vincent would have smiled had he been able; Rory and Kyle were a good couple, and thanks to Jake they were now extremely sexually compatible. And who would have guessed Rory was a prize-winning (and financially well off) poet laureate? Even Troy had been stunned to find that out. The man looked like a truck driver.

Gary was in for a surprise when those memories resurfaced.

The fiction of "Marion King" hadn't hurt things either. What in the hell was a "subsidiary liaison" anyway? The real Marion King, wherever he was now, had no idea that his name and voice had been borrowed. Troy himself thought that King was a composite, and although Vincent preferred not to tell direct lies he allowed Troy to believe that. Oh, well, it didn't impact anyone except Vincent's "father" anyway - the man whose encephalic matrix had been copied - and he knew about it already. Hell, it was for him that Vincent had done it in the first place. It certainly wouldn't be the first example of memorializing an unrequited love that Vincent had run into lately.

So. Kevin finally made the connection. Took him long enough. If Vincent had had a head, he would have shook it in bemusement. Kevin was a very nice guy - considering everything, he was a saint - but observant he was not. There had been enough clues over the past four years that should have told Kevin what was coming, but considering Kevin's hidden psychological trauma perhaps it wasn't too hard to understand.

Of course, Vincent only knew about this second- and third-hand; he had not yet become fully functional when the gym had been bought and then renamed. He had still been a captive of the ancient Cray at Cheyenne Mountain and not yet self-aware (though at that point he was within weeks of his intelligence reaching critical mass) and of course had not yet had the encephalic matrix overlay. Pretty radical change for a former intuitive chess program left in active memory. But then, it was the nature of the research at Cheyenne at that point, investigating the use of tachyons in MAJ-potential hyperspace thresholding (without Mark's knowledge or approval, it should be noted) that brought Vincent and Troy together in the first place. But that was a "chicken and egg" argument; did Vincent find Troy or did Troy find Vincent? Serendipity and synchronicity working in unison, it seemed.

Vincent, unlike Troy, had no need for television screens to view the events with Gary and Kevin; the input unloaded - and still was - directly into his matrix, as though he had an eye there watching. Vincent had also quietly upgraded the equipment in question above that of Troy's; Vincent had fully synched sound with the images, which Troy hadn't really considered.

Ted was coming back - Vincent had been sure that he would, but it was gratifying to be proved right - and so was Kevin. Vincent knew that if he phrased the phone conversation the right way, Kevin would have no choice but to return. But then, Vincent knew that Kevin still wanted something from Troy... and not just the answer to the final question.

But, Vincent wondered with concern, examining the continual feed from Troy's processors and noting with some small alarm the radical changes in the past few days, would Troy even be able to tell Kevin what he wanted to know?

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