??.??.97
----------------

A knock at the door caused Beej to look up from the skillet. "Could you get that, Neets? I've been expecting a couple of packages."

"Sur', Beej..." A faint rustling sound marking the young man's journey up off the couch to the front door. "'Ello?"

A faint rattling of the lock nearly covered by the scrape of spoon in pan... Perfect. Beej turns off both burners and spoons the browned ground round into the thick mix of rice and noodles, carrying the single pan to the rather cluttered kitchen table. The faint threads of conversation draw him to the living room.

"I don't think this'll fit through that space," the odd man is telling Neets. The green-haired man obligingly opens the door, looking over his shoulder at his lover, when it happens. A box falls to the rug with a faint crash, a flash of silver making an arc through the air...

"Wh't th'ell!?" The younger man jerks back, the knife catching air.

"What in The Gods' name are you _doing_?" Beej demands, starting forward.

The assailant growls and lunges again, blade parting cloth and flesh from shoulder to opposite hip, eliciting a scream from both men. The tall trader doesn't know how serious a wound it is, doesn't -care-, all he knows is that That Person Hurt Neets. Cold anger meets warm fear and builds into heated rage, a blue-white uncoiling of wrath.

"Answer me! What the hells do you think you're doing!?"

The man crouches over Neets, who is curled in on himself, looking up sharply. "Kill..."

"Shut the hell up!" Beej stretches a hand out, the rage seeming to curl and slide along his arm, congealing in his hand...

"No!" The knife raises again, the man's face set. "No..."

And then, Something Happens. The same blue-whiteness uncurls, striking the two on the floor. There's a moment of fear for Neets as this happens, but the light wraps around his lover in a caress before enshrouding the man.

A scream, short and to the point, from the man being pinned against the wall by the light. A gash opens across his body, mimicking the one that he made on Neetlemyre, Beej's sedition undiminished... The blue-whiteness wraps around his torso and his legs, then twists in opposite directions. Neither Blackwater or Neets sees the aftermath of the pale blue phenomena as one kneels near the almost-unconscious other.

"Neets? C'mon, baby, it'll be okay..." He gently uncurls his love, then peels his shirt back, wincing as the younger man moans. The cut appeared to be shallow enough that nothing vital had been hit, but deep enough, long enough, that he'd need stitches and maybe a transfusion.

"Beej..." The word is soft; bright saffron eyes growing dull and falling closed.

"I'm right here. C'mon, love, you gotta stay awake." He folds his lover's arms and slips his own below him, curling Neets protectively to his chest and rising.

"S'eepy..."

"I know, but you need to stay awake... Or at least _try_ to, 'kay? Just for a little bit..."

The trader was trying not to run, but the hallway seemed impossibly long, the 'fader at the end of it so very far away...

"Dizzy..." The word is almost inaudible and Blackwater does run, now, four bounding steps and he nearly breaks his elbow pressing the large red plate that takes them to the nearest MedTech station.

Andrew looks up from the chart before him as the emergency bell rings. "I got it..." Is called over his shoulder as he heads for the bank of faders on the far wall of the ER. "I shoulda brought a gurney! What happened?" The latter barked over a shoulder as he races back across the room for said gurney.

"Knife attack... It's shallow, but long, and he's lost quite a bit of blood. I think." His voice shakes a little, but the report is almost clinically detached.

"Here, set him down here... A knifing? You going to report it?"

Blackwater complies, worrying his lower lip as golden eyes flutter shut for good, the faint -Neets- in the back of his head growing quiet. "I don't know. I don't think so..."

Andrew hands a clipboard to Beej, wheeling Neets into an examining cubicle and pulling the curtain back. "How old is he, and how much does he weigh?"

"Seventeen, and about 110, 115... I'm not certain about that." A couple of nurses and a doctor trickle in, rubber gloves snapping on and sterile wrappings being torn.

"Seventeen? You authorized to authorize treatment?" Andrew blinks at the news, but he doesn't voice any assumptions he might have made.

Beej nods. "Yeah, after a fashion... Please..."

The other man nods, catching the concern in Beej's voice. "Okay, that's close enough, I think." Andrew joins the frenetic activities, leaving the very worried S'Harran standing near the door with his paperwork.

"Can I stay here?"

The doctor glances over, looks to the paler-than-ever figure on the bed, and nods. "Sure, I think you'll be out of the way at the foot, there."

Beej nods, drags an unoccupied stool over and plops down at the foot of the gurney. The clipboard is abandoned for a moment as he unties one of the raggedy combat boots and takes it off, the black sock following so that he might have skin-to-skin contact with the unconscious man. "Thank you..."

He's torn between watching Doctor Berenbaum close the wound with neat stitches and filling out the forms. Forms won out, the faint welling of blood being too frightening to contemplate just then.

"I need at least 150ccs of blood, here..." Dr. Berenbaum snaps this to a nurse over the bleeping of some monitor or other.

"All we've got is liters," Andrew tossed back, keeping his eye on the EEG and the IV line as the boy stirred. "Get me about half a gallon of trilidocaine!" He laughs, a short little sound of pure nerves as he fills a syringe. "Heads up, all, we're about to find out if he's allergic to good ol' Valium and Demerol..." The words seem to intensify the young man's fright and he tries to twist out of the restraining grips, even Beej's.

-It's okay|Love|calm- helps, a little, even though -Scared|Hurt(s)|Them!- swirls back. The needle finds a home in a vein and the -feel- in Beej's head quiets again, the boy going limp.

"Here's the blood..."

"Good. Get that started, please, I have thread to measure out." The controlled chaos that everyone exuded reassured Beej, as did the cessation of bloodflow, and the precise line of stitches that soon had most of the wound closed.

Some time later, with the papers complete and Neets in Recovery, Beej drifts between sleep and stuporously awake. Andrew taps hesitantly at the doorframe.

"Huh? Oh, hello...? I'm afraid I didn't catch your name..."

The man comes in, running a hand through frosted-blonde hair. "I'm Andrew... How is he?"

"Blackwater. He's the same... I think he might be more -asleep- than unconscious, though."

Andrew nods, lifting the sheet and looking at the length of sutures. "He wasn't in too bad a shape when he got here... Good thing you were around. He should come to some time in the next ten hours or so."

Beej nods, tightening his grip on his lover's hand. "I know... I shouldn't've asked him to answer the door." He looks up, a small, hopeful smile on his face. "Sometime soon? Oh, good..."

Andrew nods at this. "Yeah. He'll probably be happier to see you than me. I've got rounds to do, so I'll see you later..." And he toddles off.

Beej watches the slow drip of the IV, shivering quietly at the thought... Many thoughts, actually. The thought that someone wanted to kill -him- didn't bother him as much as the one that someone wanted to do in Neets, and he refused to contemplate life without the young man. He recalled the form his anger took, marveling at the fact that he hadn't hurt Neets in the process... And he wondered. Magic wasn't something he was inclined to believe in, though he had no other name for what had happened. Could... Would it happen again, and if it did, could it be turned into something more than benign...? Helpful, even?

*****************Several Hours Later...*********************

Beej had left to go home and get a change of clothes for both of them, only to be accosted in the hall by a policeman.

"'Scuse me, do you live here?"

The trader nods, gesturing to the open door bisected by tape the colour of his hat. "Yeah, that's my apartment you've got cordoned off... What's going on?" Grey eyes find the bloody patch on the carpet, the wall, the thin dribble where Neets' blood had run down his arm and off the point of his elbow.

"Neighbors reported a man screaming, or maybe a fight, out here. When we got here, we found a lot of blood, no bodies, and your door wide open. You know anything about this?"

Blackwater nods, waving at the door again. "Yeah... Can we go in? I need to get some clothes."

"Sure, as far as we can tell, nothing's missing or disturbed." They duck under the tape, Beej asking if he could get the clothes first. The detective denied it, saying that he needed a statement while events were still fresh on his mind... Beej, reluctantly plopping onto the couch, agrees.

"I was fixing dinner, and Neets, that is, Neetlemyre was in here, watching television. There was a knock on the door, which wasn't all that unexpected- after all, I'm a trader, and I was expecting a couple of deliveries. I asked Neets to answer the door, because I was in the critical last stages of fixing dinner, and I didn't want anything to burn."

"The guy tells Neets that the package won't fit through the part of the door that was open, so he, Neets, opened it all the way. I came around the corner about then, intending to sign for the box or whatever, and to say that I was done in the kitchen. I saw the guy drop the box and he had a knife- He tried to stab Neets. He got out of the way, but the guy jumped at him, and hit him, this time, from here to here." The detective nods as Beej draws his finger across his torso. "He's in the hospital, now... That's why I came home, to get a set of clothes for him. Anyhow, the guy with the knife is sitting on the floor, bending over Neets, who's curled up in a ball... I was so pissed I could hardly see straight..."

"Did you attack the man?"

"Yeah, but it's the strangest thing... I didn't touch him."

"What do you mean, you didn't touch him?"

"I was standing there, and it felt like all my anger got... concentrated. This sounds so crazy, but I swear it's true... I was holding my anger. Kind of a blue-ish white, I was holding it, and I threw it at the guy. It pinned him to the wall, cut him like he'd cut Neets..."

"It... You sure you weren't taking anything?"

Beej gives the detective a flat look. "The last time I took anything was about three weeks ago, and what I took was a fifty mil Theno for a headache. I know what I saw... You can ask Neets what happened, if you want."

"So what happened after it cut the guy?" Detective Falvain was curious, even if he didn't quite believe the trader's story.

"Well, it... Wrapped itself around him, keeping him against the wall. I don't know what happened after that, because I was checking to make sure Neets was all right."

Falvain nods, making a couple more notes. "All right. If you weren't taking anything, had you been drinking?"

This earns the man another look. "I was just fixing dinner. I hadn't, and haven't been drinking, lately. I've got more important things to do than waste my life with a bottle."

"Haven't? You have in the past?"

Blackwater nods, meeting the man's blue eyes steadily. "I have had incidents in the past where drunken oblivion seemed the best alternative to living. The most recent was approximately... a month ago. I am not violent when drunk, and there are people that will attest to this fact."

"I see." Another note or two, scribbled on a smartpad with a lead to his 'fader. Audio, visual and the detective's opinion, being funneled straight to precinct HQ, Beej knew. The S'Harran didn't worry, though, sticking to the facts.

"All right, so you weren't drunk, either. A couple of the neighbors said they thought it might be a domestic dispute. What sort of relationship do you and this... Neetlemyre have?" Falvain peers at Blackwater, who is blushing faintly and looking down.

After a moment, he brings his head up and resumes eye contact with the man. "Domestic dispute? Hardly. We're... It's hard to classify us, as we're a couple, but not planning on marrying, yet, but not dating, either... Live-in boyfriends? Anyhow, we're very happy with the way things are, or were." He pauses, noting the faint distaste on the detective's face and the brush of fingers and stylus over the smartpad. "Says here, in the hospital report, that 'Neets' is only seventeen. Do you know what the penalty for statutory rape is in this town?"

Blackwater's face drains of color, jaw setting and eyes narrowing. "Yes, he -is- only seventeen. He'll be -eighteen- in a month or so. If I knew where his parents could be found, I'd turn them over to you. They and a friend of theirs are far worse than myself sharing the sheets with Neets, trust me."

That surprised the detective, who frowned at Beej. "That may be, but if he, or his parents, press charges, you could be going to jail."

"Are you implying that I have coerced his attentions? That I force myself upon him? That I would give him a safe place to stay in exchange for sex?" The trader shakes his head. "You're rather mistaken, sir. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get some clothes and get back to Our Lady of Benevolent Contradictions, because I don't like leaving him alone for long periods of time."

"Why is that?" Falvain hadn't moved when Blackwater had risen from the couch and started down the hall.

"Why? Because people have tried to kill him and I don't want him to -die-, that's why. Besides, his parents aren't the world's nicest people, and they've made allusions to plans for his future, none of which include living, let alone 'happily ever after'."

The detective follows Beej, peering into the disordered state of the main bedroom... Socks strewn hither and yon, a pile of black clothes in one corner, several books between the phone and clock radio on one side of the bed and movies on the other, more on top of the T.V./VCR combo on the dresser.

Beej muttered to himself as he went through the clothing scattered on his lover's side of the bed, wondering what was clean and what wasn't. Pants, socks and shorts were easy enough, but none of Neets' shirts were loose enough to go on with a minimum of fuss... Oh! Of -course-! He grinned faintly and opened the closet, then frowned as he recalled that he hadn't hung his blue robe/shirt thing up after the last time he'd worn it. What had happened to it? Oh, yes, it was in the basket...

Meanwhile, Detective Ellison Falvain was examining the dresser. Pink Panther cartoons, several comedies, a drama, their taste in movies was astonishing. A couple of sci-fi flicks and a documentary on The Divine Word's messengers rounded out the stack.

Beej held up the dark blue garment, eyeing it critically. He wasn't worried about the fit- it'd be too big for sure -just its cleanliness.

"You two watch a lot of...stuff."

The detective's voice startles the trader a little. "Yep. Neets missed out on a lot of 'normal' childhood activities."

Falvain shrugs. "Oh yeah? Why was that, now?"

Deciding the shirt was clean enough (it didn't have any visible spots, and it smelled okay, sooo...), Blackwater sets about folding the clothes with a care they probably didn't need. "Well, from what he can remember, he had grew up in a whorehouse in Bira'kish, got a memory wipe and training in the fine art of prostitution..." He gives the other man a cold look. "He sold himself in order to get to his next hit, in order to keep his mind together long enough to -try- to find someone to find his parents for him."

Falvain takes the story in, impassively, a nod now and then to indicate his attentiveness. "And? How did he hook up with you?"

Beej shrugs, smoothing a wrinkle from the shirt. "I'm not quite sure about that. I think he overheard someone talking about me, and just started asking around for me. He called me up and left me a message, stating a time and place that we were to meet. I, not having anything on the books for the day and time, went. We didn't exactly hit it off the first time we spoke, as... Well, he was blackmailing me, actually."

"Blackmailing you? With what?"

"I'd rather not say, actually. It's rather, ah, personal."

"I see. So, he was blackmailing you into finding his parents. Then....?"

"So I ask him the usual questions, only he can't answer them. He didn't know how old he was, he didn't know where he'd been born or lived, he pretty much only knew his name, rank and serial number. He gave me a five year span, and a couple of days later, he tells me he thought he was from whatever Bira'kish was before it changed its name."

"Bira'kish, lovely city..." Detective Falvain's voice is heavy with sarcasm.

"I go there and flip through four years worth of birth certificates until I find his, though the only name listed thereon is 'R. Scalthwaite'."

"Scalthwaite... Ti'engi Scalthwaite is a rather prominent Bertie activist with a good price on his head..."

This earns him a glare. "I _know_ that, now, and so does Neets. It's quite a shock to discover that a lot of people want your father dead."

"Father?"

"Yep. His mother, Ruth TeaselWeed, is the same way. He learned his 'profession' at the hands of Jor TeaselWeed." The words are spat with such venom that Detective Falvain cannot help but suspect the sincerity of the tall S'Harran's earlier words.

"Ruth and Jor? Jor is dead. It really _is_ too bad that you cannot turn them over to me..." The man's fingers and stylus are relaying more information to HQ.

"Ruth was known to be residing on Squidulas, last I knew. She might still be there. We never went to see her, because I hadn't quite gotten that far when she showed up at the place we were staying."

"You were staying together?"

"Yeah. He and I had had quite a few glasses of Skelthain's Finest and a...somewhat emotional discussion about past love and present tensions, one night. We were both wiped, so I found a room for him and a room for me. It was easier to stay there than commute and fight time lag every time I wanted to fill him in on my progress."

"Makes sense to me. Please continue." The detective makes a note to question Beej again regarding alcohol consumption.

"Ruth showed up..." He pauses a moment, shrugs, then continues, deciding that a point of reference in the time line was a point of reference, and necessary. "A couple of days after we started sleeping together." The fact that they only actually -physically- slept together on one of the two occasions that they'd made love was a moot point. Besides, it's only authors that go into excruciating details...

"Interesting." He didn't think they should have done anything, no matter how old Neets was, or at least that's what the faint disgust on his face told Beej.

Blackwater ignored the expression with effort, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly to keep from sighing. "I guess. She looked me over like I was a Sandcrawler at stud, asked if her son and I were, and I quote, 'tight', made some impolite comments regarding Neets'...Half-sister, and complained about his father. She also wanted to know where Neets had been, as if he was supposed to have kept an appointment or something."

"Uh-huh... What did you tell her?"

"I told her that it wasn't any of her business, and that it wasn't pertinent to the subject- which had been introductions. She yelled at Neets..." He scowls, recalling the encounter. "Neets didn't say much, mostly because he's really withdrawn around strangers. He's better, now, but then... I think he had some odd form of Multiple Personality Disorder."

"Enough with the dime-store psychoanalysis, get back to your story." Falvain snaps, looking a little more repulsed.

"Well, anyhow, she basically irritated the hell out of us and left with an odd warning about her return. We threw the towel in, then and went back up to our room, and Neets slept on the floor. I think... It was really late, so it's kind of fuzzy."

"Neetlemyre slept on the floor? I thought you two were..." He was unconsciously making a face.

"Like I said, Neets had some sort of MPD, which usually meant that he couldn't stand to have anyone touch him... Unless it was 'business', and then he was... The impression I got was that he just closed himself off and just let whatever was happening happen. People would pay him to let them beat him up, or just to have their way with him... He showed up one night, drunk, face bruised in a couple of places, a black eye. He wouldn't say anything about it except that it was business." Blackwater, glowering, shakes his head. His anger provokes a faint -Huh?- from his lover. Falvain peers at the suddenly quiet man... -Nothing|not you|it's okay- is sent back and Beej looks back to the detective.

"Anyhow, Neets used to not be able to touch me unless he was drunk. That was the night that I got the rooms, the one I just told you about. As time wore on, it seemed that he just needed to get used to being around someone who wasn't always plotting a way to take advantage of him. He asked if he could sleep in my room, volunteering to take the floor, and I told him that he could..." The clothing neatly, meticulously folded and stacked on the bed, Blackwater looks down to it. "That was a tough couple of weeks."

Falvain reviews his facts. "So you didn't have an idyllic start to this...affair?"

"Hardly. It wasn't until... Sometime after we met his half-sister that things got quite a bit more serious."

"His half-sister, huh? You've mentioned her a couple of times... What's her name?"

"Yeah... I don't know what her name has to do with this investigation..." The S'Harran looks faintly suspicious. He'd already told the detective far more than he felt he should have... Hmm.

Detective Falvain shrugs. "Just interested. You never know what sort of pertinent info relatives can come up with. So, what is her name?"

"Ah... I see." Beej's face is blank when he next speaks, watching the investigator closely. "Carrot TeaselWeed."

Falvain splutters, briefly. "Carrot? Are you _sure_?"

"I don't know of any other six-foot tall Wingeds with green hair as natural as Neets'... Besides which, she was listed in an obituary in The Bertwillian Free Press as being related to one each Jor TeaselWeed." The matter-of-fact tone is almost airy.

"But...but Carrot is _dead_. There are a couple of very -quiet- investigations into _his_ death in progress as we speak..."

"_He_ is? Well... Huh. I guess I'll have to break the bad news to Neets, then... Too bad. She was no fan of Ruth, either."

"Anyhow, could you please supply me with a description of the man that attacked Neetlemyre?" He puts aside his distaste, reminding himself that he wasn't to judge personality quirks, merely uphold the laws by exercising the powers vested in him by nature and Her Majesty.

Blackwater shakes his head. "I'm not sure... I didn't see him very clearly. Neets might be more helpful." Frowning, he suddenly waves a hand at the other man. "I don't mean to distract, but could I see you badge? And what department are you with?"