It wasn't until a couple weeks later that they talked about it.

Duck had simply arrived in his truck, right when they released Dan from the hospital, and he'd taken Dan home, and they hadn't talked about it.

And it was awkward, that first night, when Duck led him to his bedroom and Dan froze, just froze, and Duck had had to be very patient with him, had just looked at him, hadn't tried to make a move, just waited, and Dan had managed, "I haven't. I've never." And he cursed his sore throat, that wouldn't let the words out, and he cursed himself, for not being able to say them anyway, and he closed his eyes against Duck's patient face, against the cheerful little bedroom and the soft-looking bed with its patchwork quilt. He'd never.

And Duck had known, just like he'd known everything, that first morning, out on the bridge. "You've never, what, done it on a bed, with a guy?" And he said it so easily, made it easy, somehow, for Dan to open his eyes again, to look at Duck, who was standing there smiling, looking relaxed, and not at all nervous to be alone with a man who had rope burns around his neck, and Dan just had to nod to make it real, and he did.

Duck reached out, again, and this time he ran his hand up and down Dan's arm, soothing and arousing at the same time, and Dan found it easier, this time, to keep his eyes open, to meet Duck's patient gaze, to shift a little closer. This time it was going to happen. Dan swallowed, heavily, and the pain from his neck jolted him a little, startled him a little, and he flinched.

But Duck had both hands on him now, and he was pushing, gently, and Dan was going back, back until he met the wall with a soft noise like a sigh, and it was comfortable against his back, solid. Sturdy. Like Duck.

"Maybe like this, then, yeah?" And Duck was still smiling at him, and Dan smiled back because Duck was right, again, and yeah, like this. And with the solid wall against his back, and Duck settling warm against his front, Dan didn't need to talk, he could just feel. And eventually they made it to the bed, and that was even better, so Dan didn't mind.

And Dan woke up the next morning, and again, still, the morning after that. There was always a moment of panic. He was alive? He was alive. He knew Duck noticed, but he didn't say anything. He was alive. And Dan would lay there a moment, and listen to Duck getting the coffee, and breathe. Alive.

Duck left at odd hours, when the telephone rang and sometimes when it didn't, and Dan didn't ask questions, but Duck would come back splattered with paint, or with mud, or with sawdust. And gradually Dan realized that this was it, that this was Wilby going on. So he drifted back to the video store, one morning when Duck had gone the other way in the truck, and though he was a little scared as he turned the corner, Dan found the store just as he'd left it, looking a little sad without the signs and posters he'd pulled down, one by one, that last day. He found the posters, and the boxes of videos, and although he wasn't sure yet, he thought maybe he'd put them back up. Going on.

And so that night, he told Duck about it, when Duck climbed into the bed beside him. He said, "It was an accident."

Duck just looked at him. Dan thought he might be holding his breath, so he smiled, just a little, and Duck relaxed. Dan liked that, so he reached out a hand, and touched Duck on the arm. Just the arm. He wasn't brave, like Duck, but he was learning, and he could reach out, sometimes, and just touch, the way Duck did, and although it didn't feel easy yet, he was getting there.

"I didn't mean to. Well, I did," and this was the part where it got kind of confused, but Dan pushed on. "I did. I stood on the chair, and I put the rope," and he had to stop and swallow, but Duck didn't say anything, just waited. "And then I thought about it," and here he moved his hand, brushed Duck's cheek, and he knew Duck remembered, because he smiled.

"And I stopped. And then the door opened, and someone came in, and the chair broke," and he met Duck's eyes, and there was a moment when the tragedy that had been, that might have been, was open between them, and just for a moment, Dan's heart was breaking, all over again, just like on that day. But then they were both laughing, and it may have been a bit hysterical, but there was no one there to hear, so that was all right.

And when Dan caught his breath, he pulled Duck's shoulder close, so he could rest his head there, and sighed. That was then.

And the rest came easier. "The first time you knew, on the bridge," and he felt Duck nod. "And there were more. I tried gas, at the house. But someone came in. And then I thought, maybe the shower rod, at the motel, but someone came in." And he couldn't help it, he lifted his head, and frowned right down at Duck.

"The problem with Wilby is no privacy," and Duck's eyes were a little red, but he laughed when Dan did, and then he pulled him down for a kiss, and whispered, "Trust Wilby for that."

THE END