Chapter Nine

Zane shifted as he came awake. He was warm, half-wrapped in the sheet, but something was missing. He frowned and reached out, his hand catching on the rucked-up quilt before coasting over the cool sheet beside him. Zane pushed himself up on one elbow as he started to rub at his eyes. After a moment, he made himself stop. It wasn't like it was going to help. He still couldn't see anything. His chest clenched painfully.

"Ty?"

"I'm here," Ty grunted from somewhere near the edge of the bed.

He sounded like his head was down, his voice hoarse.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, just... restless," Ty answered, his voice lacking its usual liveliness, even if he had just woken. "Couldn't sleep."

"You could go for a run," Zane suggested. Sometimes getting Ty up and moving helped.

"I was thinking about going to the office," Ty countered, sounding guilty.

Zane frowned. "Thought Mac told you to stay home. If he sees you, he'll get that pinched look on his face, like he bit into a lemon or someone twisted his shorts."

"That's how he always looks when he sees me," Ty muttered, almost under his breath. "I'm sorry. I just can't sit here anymore. I need to find someone to bully into telling me what's happening."

It had been all of one day. Zane shook his head and made a mental note to stock up on shiny things to divert Ty the next time they lucked into vaca—time off from hell together. "Yeah, okay," he said as he pushed at the sheet to untangle it from his legs.

"Do you want to come?" Ty offered uncertainly. "If I can find Alston, I can blackmail him into giving me something. It won't take long."

"I think I'll pass on actually going in," Zane muttered. He didn't want to be around anyone like this. Not yet. "Blackmail?"

"Long story. Involves a duck and a can of oregano."

"Don't tell it, please."

He felt Ty's hand on his arm, rubbing comfortingly. Ty had been unusually tactile since the hospital, making up for Zane's lack of vision by touching him whenever he was able, as if he somehow knew how much it helped. Zane closed his eyes, grateful for it. He covered Ty's hand and squeezed gently. It was easy to think black thoughts when you were stuck in the dark, and Ty's touch helped him resist it. "Breakfast first?"

"Sure, why not," Ty replied easily. Zane felt him lurch off the bed, and when he spoke again, he sounded like he was stretching. Zane had an immediate vision of Ty's lean, nude body in the dim light of the bedroom, and he flushed with warmth, not really registering the words when Ty said, "I'll go start it up."

He listened as Ty got dressed, probably throwing on his jeans and one of his numerous T-shirts. Zane didn't hear him pad out of the bedroom, but he could hear him banging around in the kitchen, cussing at the tiny, run-down space, talking to the pots and pans. Zane smiled. There were reasons they spent most of their time together at Ty's row house instead of here.

By the time he got up and moving, Zane could hear the bacon sizzling, and the smell of sausage wafting out of the small kitchen area made his mouth water. He could smell the toast, too, and knowing Ty, there would be scrambled eggs. Ty didn't cook a lot, but the man could fix a mean breakfast. Zane made a stop in the bathroom and then sat at the bar that separated the kitchen from the little living area.

"You know what I realized?" Ty asked, picking up the conversation he'd been having with the pots as if Zane had been there for the first half of it. "I don't have a car."

Zane opened his mouth to correct him but caught himself. They'd taken a cab home from the hospital, and the office had sent a car for Ty yesterday. "Where's my truck? You didn't bring it back yesterday?" They'd walked around the block to the restaurant for dinner last night; Zane had assumed Ty had put the truck in the Little Italy parking garage when he came back from the office.

"That rookie I made drive me to the hospital took the keys. Truck's still parked at the office. That's another reason for me to go in today."

"Maybe one of the guys can pick you up?"

"It's past nine. Everyone's already in. Hell, I'll just take a cab or ride the bus or something." Something about his voice was odd as he stood in Zane's kitchen fixing breakfast, and it took Zane a little thinking to pin it down. Ty didn't sound gruff or hurried. He didn't sound agitated or even all that concerned. He was at ease despite the need to get up and go. It made Zane a little nervous, but in a good way.

"What's wrong?" Ty asked him, apparently picking up on it. "It's not exactly like I'm going to be attacked on the bus."

Zane shook his head, still reconciling the warmth curling in his chest with the idea that Ty might be happy here, just doing something as simple as making breakfast. "I have no idea what the schedule is around here," he said.

"I'll figure something out. Come eat," Ty said, and Zane heard a plate set down on the bar in front of him. "Wonder how a gun on public transportation goes over? Or two guns, for that matter."

Zane slid onto the battered bar stool and had a stroke of inspiration. "You do have another option," he mentioned.

"Oh yeah? You know I can't really sprout wings out of my ass and fly, right?" Ty asked, a smile in his voice.

A smirk pulled at Zane's lips, and he let it show. He loved teasing Ty, and this one always got him riled. "The Valkyrie's out back."

Ty coughed and sputtered, like he was choking on a bite of food.

"Hell, no," he finally said with difficulty. "I'll walk."

Zane chuckled and felt around for the fork he'd heard Ty clank onto the plate. It was mean, but he loved poking Ty about the Valkyrie. He supposed he shouldn't, what with knowing about Deuce and the accident. Ty had taught his younger brother how to ride and left him his bike when he joined the Marines. Deuce had wrecked it not long after, ruining his leg and any chance of following in his brother's footsteps. But Deuce seemed to take it all in stride, so Zane didn't really see the harm in teasing Ty about his absolute hatred of all things with two wheels. "Okay," he said after several mouthfuls of scrambled egg. "Bureau won't reimburse cab fare," he reminded, just to get in one more dig.

"That's okay," Ty assured him in an overly sweet voice. "I've got your wallet."

Zane grinned. "I don't have any cash. When have I been able to go to the bank?" he said reasonably as he munched on a piece of bacon.

"Cabs take credit cards," Ty reminded.

Zane wrinkled his nose. "Fine," he said on a sigh. "Can I have jelly for my toast?" He heard a jar clink down on the bar, and Ty was grumbling. Not really understandably, but obviously irritated now.

"I haven't been on a bike in twenty years," he said, more to himself than to Zane.

"Maybe not a good idea, then," Zane allowed reluctantly. He could see Ty on the Valkyrie, and it was a gorgeous vision to think about. But this wasn't a do-or-die situation, like playing chicken with a New York City taxicab. Zane shivered as he momentarily felt his stomach drop just at the memory.

Ty sighed heavily. "I guess it is a better option than walking my happy ass out of the city," he mumbled.

Zane blinked and straightened. "What?"

"Can I borrow your goddamn motorcycle to go to the office?" Ty asked, resigned.

Zane's jaw dropped. "You're not seriously going to take the Valkyrie."

"I could hotwire one of the cars in that parking deck, but they don't take kindly to that sort of thing ‘round here," Ty drawled.

"All these months, all the times I've asked you to ride with me, and you're finally getting on the Valkyrie when I can't see it?"

"Hey, life's a bitch," Ty told him without a hint of sympathy. He reached out and petted Zane on the top of the head. "You want more?"

"More what?"

"Breakfast."

"No, thank you," Zane muttered, knowing he had another piece of toast and some bacon still to eat. "A drink, though, please."

Ty slid a glass toward him, already poured. "If you don't mind, I'm going to go now so I can catch them unawares and take down the weakest of the herd before they can regroup," he said with a certain sadistic relish. "I need the helmet, jacket, and keys."

Zane sighed. He felt more than a little cheated. "The helmet's on the bike. The jacket's wherever it fell last night." Ty didn't answer as he moved past. In short order Zane could hear the creak of the leather as he put on the jacket and zipped it up. Zane wished like hell that he could see Ty on the bike. Talk about fuel for jacking off.

He could smell the leather as Ty came closer, hear it moving as he checked the pockets. No doubt it would fit; the jacket had been Ty's originally. Ty stood right in front of him and leaned in to kiss him briefly. "If you're good I'll do this again when you can see," he promised, mischief lacing his words. "Keys?"

Zane blinked. "Really?" He smiled despite the current disappointment. "How good do I have to be?"

"Very," Ty whispered, just a breath away. "You can start by giving me the keys."

Zane let a few heartbeats pass as awareness tore through him, then swallowed as he set both palms on the leather covering Ty's chest. "In the dish on the bookshelf by the door."

"Thank you," Ty murmured with another teasing kiss. Then he moved away again, his footfalls barely there in his Converse sneakers and the leather jacket still creaking. The keys tinkled as he picked them up. "I'll call you when I'm done," Ty said to him as he passed on his way to the back door. "Keep your phone on you in case you need anything. Two hours, tops," he guessed as the door opened.

"I'll be here," Zane said wryly, and then added, "Hey, Ty?"

"Yeah?" Ty responded as the door groaned open. A vision flashed in Zane's mind, what Ty must look like, standing in the open doorway, wearing his beat-up jeans and Western-style shirt and Zane's leather jacket, looking back over his shoulder at Zane expectantly. He probably had one eyebrow raised.

"Be careful. I want that chance to see this again," Zane replied easily.

"Yeah, yeah, love you too," Ty groused flippantly, shocking Zane into silence as the door clicked behind him, and he was gone.

Zane blinked hard several times, realized his mouth was hanging open, and let out a long, slow breath, sitting there until he heard the Valkyrie start, idle for a minute or two, and then purr away. When he couldn't hear it anymore, he ate the toast and cold bacon automatically, absorbed in thinking about—feeling about—what Ty had said so casually, and how he himself hadn't found a way to say it at all.

He was so absorbed in his thoughts that when someone knocked on the front door, he jerked in surprise and sent the dishes sliding, the plate knocking into the glass and crashing to the floor, sending the orange juice splattering across the bar—and him.

"Aw hell," Zane swore, standing up and stepping back carefully. His hands and arms were wet and sticky with juice, and he could feel it soaking through his T-shirt and cutoff sweatpants. He turned his head toward the door at the next knock, and then he thought he heard his name. After sparing a thought for the cruel humor of fate, Zane stripped off his T-shirt, using it to mop off his hands and arms as he walked tentatively to the door and cracked it open, immediately shivering in the February wind.

"Zane? It's Ryan. From Chiapparelli's?"

Zane blinked in surprise and opened the door a little more, though he kept himself behind it. All of a sudden he was very aware of how undressed he was, and it wasn't just because of the cold morning breeze. "Ryan?"

"Hi, I know it's early, but I got to the restaurant to start prep work, and Leticia and I got to talking, and, well, because you don't cook—or don't cook a lot, anyway—we made you a care package. Since you're stuck at home and probably aren't up to dealing with hot pots and pans and knives."

It took Zane a few seconds to parse all that. "A care package?"

"Yeah. Italian cold cuts, some fresh bread already sliced, a crock of minestrone, easy stuff. Oh, and cheesecake, of course."

Zane huffed a laugh, truly surprised. "Wow, uh, well. That's great. Thanks."

He heard Ryan laugh quietly. "You're blushing."

"Must be the cold," Zane said quickly, dragging the sticky T-shirt over his chest and hiding bare-chested behind the door.

"You could let me in and shut the door," Ryan suggested, the repressed laughter all too clear in his voice. "That might help with the cold."

Zane squeezed his eyes shut and said a quick prayer. He really, truly, honestly had never given Ryan Morelli a single thought other than that he was a nice guy. Now Zane hoped he was right. "Ah, right, yeah, sorry." He cleared his throat and stepped back, opening the door. Ryan thumped up the steps and walked past him, and Zane shut the door firmly before turning around to face blindly into the apartment.

"I grabbed the mail off the steps too. I'll just put this stuff away... ah, I see. Well, that explains it."

"Explains what?" Zane asked.

"Why you're blushing. There's breakfast everywhere. Give me a sec and I'll get it cleaned up." Zane tried to object, but Ryan talked right over him. "It's no problem. Actually, here—"

Zane heard a rustle of fabric, then the sink switching on and off. He straightened as he heard Ryan approach. Then Ryan's fingers touched the top of his hand, and Zane flinched in surprise. The touch disappeared, and Zane was again conscious of being half-dressed, his T-shirt crumpled in his hand. When Ryan spoke, he wasn't even an arm's length away.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you. Here, you can clean off," he said, and he draped a damp dishtowel over Zane's wrist. "Thanks," Zane murmured.

"No problem, Zane, really." Footsteps moved back toward the kitchen, and Zane followed as he tried to wipe juice and pulp off his arms.

"So, where's your partner?"

Zane paused in surprise. "What?"

"Your partner? Ty, wasn't it?"

"Oh, yeah, Ty," Zane said with a nod. "He's at work."

"Leaving you all on your own?" Ryan's tone conveyed a slight disapproval.

Zane frowned. "No, he's just checking in. Won't be gone long."

"It was nice to meet him. You two must have different shifts since he's never in the restaurant with you. And now you're hurt and he still has to work. You must miss him."

Zane blinked several times as what the man was saying filtered in. "Ah, no, we work together, actually. He's my partner at the Bureau."

"Really?" Zane could hear the surprise in Ryan's voice. "Huh. I didn't get that at all. You said ‘partner', and I just assumed..."

Zane tipped his head to one side, turning his face to where he thought Ryan stood. "Assumed what?" he asked carefully.

"Sorry." Now Ryan sounded embarrassed. "You make a handsome couple."

Zane was at a loss. Ryan had seen him and Ty at one dinner and had come to that conclusion? Then he laughed in more than slight amazement, and the words came out easy as could be. "No, you're right. We are... together. Not just at work. ‘Partner' just makes me think work first."

"Well, good-looking man like that, I'd say you should think ‘together' first and ‘work' second."

Zane could hear the smile in Ryan's words. "That's good advice," he agreed.

"I know. Okay. All the cleanup's done, food's in the fridge. Is there anything else I can do to help?"

Zane shook his head, still a little thrown. He'd have to remember to tell Ty about this. Maybe he'd drop his crusade against Chiapparelli's. "Thank you for helping with the mess."

"No problem. When you need more food, just call, and somebody will bring another package over or Ty can pick it up." Ryan moved past him, toward the front door.

"Hopefully it won't last that long," Zane said as the door opened. "We'll keep our fingers crossed. Oh, I put the mail on the end of the island there. Take care, Zane."

The door shut before Zane got out another reply. Bemused, he slid onto a bar stool, then curiously reached out to pat the top of the bar. He occasionally got junk mail and circulars left on the steps out front or half-jammed under his door, and that was what the crumpled stack felt like. A couple of envelopes, one with no stamp, some single-sheet pieces of paper folded in halves or thirds, some large sheets of glossy paper with perforations. Zane set the stack back down to look at—to have Ty look at—later.

Right now he needed a shower or he'd smell like Florida's Natural the rest of the day.

"What have you got?" Ty asked as he walked into the conference room where Scott Alston sat working over stacks of paper.

"You're not on this one, Grady," Alston answered seriously. "Go home."

"I went home."

"Yes, but then you came back."

"Who won the pool?" Ty asked as he shrugged Zane's leather jacket off.

"Lassiter. Damn it," Alston muttered. "I had you for four hours."

Ty snorted as he sat down across from the man to reach for the file he was working on. Alston pulled it away and taunted him with it, waving it just out of Ty's reach.

"You're wearing each other's clothes now?" Alston asked wryly.

"Long story," Ty muttered. He gestured for the folder.

"No," Alston told him firmly. "Boss' orders, man."

"What?" Ty demanded.

"They saw you on that newscast, they blew up your car, they blew up your partner. You cannot be involved in the investigation."

"Give me information or I start making a scene."

"Like that's new," Alston muttered as he held the file protectively to his chest and reached for a phone in the center of the conference table. He picked it up and pressed a button, then said in a deep, mockingly serious voice, "I need backup, Conference Room 4."

It wasn't ten seconds later that Harry Lassiter and Fred Perrimore showed up at the door and looked in at Ty in amusement.

"You need to go see McCoy," Alston said neutrally.

Ty pointed his finger at Alston and waved it threateningly. "Next time you get blown up, don't come whining to me."

Alston smirked crookedly at him. "Game next week is at seven," he reminded as Ty stalked out of the office. "Don't forget you'll need a ride!"

"Kiss my ass, Alston," Ty shot back over his shoulder as he made his way to the Special Agent in Charge's office.

"You might as well come in, Grady. My trouble meter started dinging the minute you stepped in the building," Dan McCoy said before Ty had even darkened his threshold. He sat behind his desk expectantly, smoothing his tie.

Ty's jaw tightened as he bit back the response that immediately came to mind. He breathed out slowly through his nose, then calmly asked, "How long am I being kept out of the loop on this case?"

"As I said, we're considering you a possible target," McCoy said in his deep, gravelly voice, repeating what Alston had said. "You and Garrett were at both locations during the events. Now, I know it could just be coincidence," he added, holding up a hand in a "wait" motion. "But until we know for sure, you're grounded."

"I'm not asking to be part of the investigation," Ty pointed out as he stepped into the office. "I just want to know what we've found. Do we have suspects? Has forensics gone over the components? Was it even the same signature?"

"No, in process, and yes," McCoy rattled back. "Look, Grady. There's not much I can tell you. We're pulling in every single person we can from both scenes to submit reports so we can try to rebuild what happened. But there's precious little to work with right now. And two more banks were hit on the same days, so our agents are worn thin."

"Two more banks?" Ty asked, pulling up short. "That's not weird at all."

"Yes, thank you, Kojak, we've already connected the dots on that one."

"If the bombs are being set solely as distractions so banks can be robbed, then why am I being considered a target?" Ty posed.

"Because you're you—you're always a target."

"That seems unreasonable," Ty muttered disconsolately. "Look, you've got to be stretched to the limit on this."

"We are."

"All the more reason to let me do something."

"The last time you worked a bomb, you ended up blowing something kind of important up. And the last bank robbery you worked, you didn't have any gray hair," McCoy told him.

Ty frowned and looked up as if he could see his own hair. "I have gray hair?"

McCoy laughed at him.

Ty growled in frustration and looked away. Either this was a friend being blunt, or it was his superior being evasive. Either way, he wasn't going to get any information. He sighed. "Fine," he agreed grudgingly. He'd find another way to get some information. Instead he moved on to the other reason he'd come in. "I need to find a rookie that was at the second scene. He drove me to the hospital, then ran off with Garrett's keys."

McCoy frowned. "What rookie?"

"He looked about fifteen. I can't remember his name," Ty admitted as he closed his eyes and tried to visualize the name on the windbreaker the kid had been wearing. "Reece, maybe? Reeves?" he tried.

"Reeves?" Alston asked from behind him.

"Sounds right," Ty told him with a shrug as he turned to look back at him. Apparently he and the others had followed Ty to McCoy's office to watch any fireworks that ensued.

"Ty," Alston said with a frown. "Special Agent Lydia Reeves was inside the building when the bomb went off. She was carried out right before Garrett, hurt pretty bad. She's still in the ICU at UMMC."

Ty stared at him, not quite comprehending what he'd said at first. Then the implications came tumbling down on him so hard he almost physically staggered.

"They'd have a spotter," he said softly. "They'd set the bomb and find some way to watch the response."

"Bomber picked up her windbreaker to get closer?" Alston ventured with a frown. "Wait, did you say he kept Garrett's keys? Where is Garrett now?"

Ty was already pushing past him and sprinting for the stairwell.

"Behind you!" Alston shouted, and Ty knew the man was calling in backup to meet them at Zane's apartment. He took out his own phone and hit the speed dial as he raced down the stairs for the parking deck and the hated Valkyrie.

The phone rang and rang with no answer, and Zane's voice mail picked up, his recorded voice serious and to the point before the beep. Ty cursed as the beep sounded and snapped the phone shut. It wasn't like someone would have to attack Zane to hurt him. All they'd have to do was knock on the door, quietly place a bomb in the house, since Zane couldn't see it to know it was there, and the job was done. A neighbor with chicken soup. A deliveryman with flowers. Zane would never be the wiser.

Ty shoved through the stairwell door and darted across the parking deck. He knew he should wait for Alston and a car and backup, but he also knew deep down he could get there a hell of a lot faster on the stupid freaking motorcycle.

Zane leaned forward against the wall, weight on his forearms and head down as the hot water pounded down on his neck and shoulders, splattering down over his back. He tipped his head from side to side, sighing as he felt the muscles relaxing. He'd gotten rid of the scent of orange juice and the sticky pulp residue, but he was nowhere near brainstorming through all the possible fallout scenarios of telling Ty that Ryan had brought him that care package.

Stewing over it wasn't helping his headache; it was a bad one today. The doctor had said he'd have them. Zane just hadn't expected them to get worse. He groaned and turned around so the water streamed down his back.

Then there was a sound under the noise of the water running, something slamming in the outer room. Zane's head snapped up. It hadn't been two hours for it to be Ty. Maybe one, but certainly not two. He frowned and cocked his head to listen. Another sound followed the first, a door being kicked open and banging against a wall.

Zane's hand curled into a fist. Here he was, wet, naked, unarmed, blind... and he could be in real trouble. His knives and gun were on the dresser in the bedroom. He couldn't do anything but wait.

He didn't have to wait long. After another tense moment, the door to the bathroom burst open, banging against the sink as someone took two heavy steps into the room.

"Zane?" Ty called out over the rush of the water.

Zane let out a shaky breath, and his shoulders thumped back against the tile wall. "Yeah?"

Ty cursed softly as another voice from somewhere in the apartment called out, "Clear!" followed by a reply of the same. "What?" Zane asked, confused. "What the hell's going on?"

"Why the fuck aren't you answering your phone?" Ty demanded. The shower curtain was noisily yanked back, and cold air assaulted him.

"I'm in the fucking shower," Zane snapped. "What's going on?"

Ty reached past him and turned off the water. Once it stopped running, Zane could hear the sound of several more people milling about outside the bathroom. "Get dressed," Ty muttered, sounding angry and stressed and not the least bit apologetic.

Then he was gone, and the bathroom door clicked shut.

Zane growled as he carefully got out of the shower and set one hand on the counter. He didn't have any clothes in here. With an aggravated huff, he grabbed one of the extra-large bath sheets and wrapped it around his waist, tucking in the end. "He'd better have a good reason for this," Zane said under his breath as he slicked one hand through his wet hair, leaving it to drip onto his shoulders, and he opened the door.

He could hear voices in the kitchen and living room. A lot of voices. At least four, not including Ty's. "Jesus Christ, Grady, where'd you learn to ride a motorcycle like that?" a male voice was saying breathlessly as Zane made his way down the hallway.

"West Virginia," Ty muttered in response.

"I didn't think they had sidewalks in West Virginia." Zane recognized Alston's voice now, tinged with amusement. "You sure as hell were riding on one."

Zane stopped in the doorway to the living room, one hand holding onto the towel, and immediately shuddered. Two open doors made for a frigid February crosswind through his apartment. "And again I say, what the hell is going on?"

Ty cleared his throat somewhere to Zane's right, in the kitchen. "Remember the kid who has your keys?" he asked Zane.

Zane turned his head blindly toward Ty. "Yeah?" he ventured. "Turns out he ain't a Fed," Ty muttered. "Freddy, call a locksmith, will you?" he added as he turned away from Zane and spoke to someone else in the room. Zane recognized Perrimore's bass tones making the phone call as directed.

Frowning a little, Zane connected that piece of information with the men in the room, and he shook his head. "I never knew I had so many friends."

"You don't," someone called back wryly. Lassiter. Smart-ass.

Great. The whole team was here. Although he hadn't heard Clancy yet.

"Guys, close the doors. It's freezing."

There she was. Great. Zane suppressed a grimace, and then the back door shut, cutting off the wind.

"I want new locks on the doors in the next hour. Sweep the place for devices: bugs, bombs, everything." Ty's voice had carried over the chatter that broke out. "I want the file on the investigation, and I want every suspect name you've got," Ty said in a lower voice, obviously speaking to someone in particular.

"You know I can't do that, Ty," Alston answered seriously.

"You owe me, Scott," Ty whispered.

There was silence in response. Finally, Alston murmured something, and Ty thanked him sincerely. Then Zane heard footsteps stop in front of him.

"We're going to my place," Ty announced without preamble. "‘Til we know it's safe."

After bumping into something hard for about the fifth time, Zane sighed and tried to visualize the first level of Ty's house again. It wasn't that complex a layout, being a long, narrow shape, but Zane would have to "learn" his way around, counting steps like he had at his own apartment. And that was frustrating.

He heard something thump upstairs and relaxed. Ty was up there instead of watching Zane embarrass himself. At least there was that.

Zane reached out to touch what was in front of him. It was an end table that stood by the arm of the couch against the wall of the narrow living room. He took a moment to orient himself, and then he turned left and took three steps, which—in theory—should put him close to the overstuffed chair he sat in a lot of the time while over here. When he reached out, his fingers jabbed into the soft fabric, and he cursed under his breath. He was closer than he'd expected. He made an adjustment to the mental map, but before he could strike out in another direction, he thought he heard something odd too close to him, and he stayed in place, trying to identify the noise.

It was silent for a few heartbeats. Then a hand touched his elbow. Zane flinched and inhaled sharply even though a split second later he knew it could only be Ty. A soft whiff of Old Spice confirmed it.

"Sorry!" Ty said quickly as he snatched his hand away. "Didn't mean to scare you," he mumbled as the hand returned to Zane's elbow.

"Weren't you upstairs like... thirty seconds ago?" Zane asked in surprise.

"Yeah, I was putting on socks," Ty answered with an almost audible shrug. "Feet are cold. Why, did you need something?"

"No. I just didn't hear you come down." Zane shook his head and crossed his arms, and he caught himself blinking against the utter darkness. His eyes were dry and scratchy, and he reached up to rub at one. The nurse had said it was because the eye could not perceive light to force dilation, so his eyes wouldn't produce protective tears as they normally would.

Ty's hand caught his, pulling it away from his face. He felt Ty move closer, and the callused hand at his cheek moved to cup his face. "Don't do that," Ty chided gently. "You want some more eyedrops?"

Zane nodded, resisting the urge to apologize like he had the first twenty times. "Yeah. They're in that bag from the hospital," he said, resignation swamping him again.

Ty was silent as he moved away. Zane had to wonder whether it was because he didn't know what to say to him now that he was blind. It was possible that Ty had always been relatively quiet the majority of the time and Zane had never noticed it because of the spurts of rampant activity and rambling. He told himself that was just one more thing he was going to pay attention to if he ever got his sight back. There was so much he realized now that he'd taken for granted.

A few moments later, Zane heard the bag rustling, and then Ty pressed the eyedrops into his hand.

"Need anything else?"

Zane felt the childish desire for a kiss and hug, but that was a little much, even for him. He was already becoming a huge drain of Ty's time and patience. "No, thank you," he murmured. "I'm just going to bum around down here if you have something to do."

Ty made a frustrated noise. "You know what, sitting around here being miserable isn't going to do you any good," he said abruptly. He took Zane's hand and gave him a small tug, guiding him over to the couch and unceremoniously shoving him onto it. "Sit here. I'll be right back."

"What—" Zane cut himself off as he bounced on the cushions. There was no point in questioning Ty. It was a little refreshing, actually, to be called on his moping. Zane put some drops in his eyes, then leaned back into the corner of the couch and waited, brooding. He knew he was in a shitty mood, but he also was inclined to think he was justified.

From somewhere in front of him there was a click, followed by soft music wafting from what Zane recognized as Ty's Bose iPod dock. It had been a gift from Deuce, something Ty rarely used, and it sat on one of the shelves along the brick wall of the living room.

Ty's taste in music was eclectic, to say the least. He would blast classic rock and heavy metal in the Bronco when they drove on some days, and on others it would be laid-back country. When he worked out, it was thumping club music, something that would get the adrenaline pumping, but at home on the rare occasions when he listened to music, it was often folksy blues or indie rock, occasionally even something from the Rat Pack days. Zane never knew what to expect out of Ty's sound system.

Now the music was slow and relaxed, with a bittersweet undertone. Then, below the melody, was the unmistakable sound of the coffee table being shoved off the rug onto the hardwood, away from the center of the room.

Ty took his hand and pulled at him. "Come dance with me, Zane," he requested quietly.

Zane's stomach flipped as he got to his feet, his hand folding into Ty's after the gentle tug. He wondered if he looked as surprised as he felt and what expression was on Ty's face right now. He took a few cautious steps after Ty out onto the cleared rug, the surprise melting into a deeply felt curl of pleasure and sparkle of unexpected nerves.

Ty laughed as he pulled Zane to him and they fumbled over where to put their hands and how to hold each other. His breath was warm on Zane's cheek, and for the first time, Zane could feel the way Ty held himself as he prepared to dance, confident and strong. He'd seen it on the cruise ship when Ty had done a damn good tango. When they'd danced at the club, it had been more of a whirling mosh pit. This would be their first real dance.

"You lead, I'll follow," Ty offered.

"I'd rather follow you," Zane murmured, absolutely aware of how many meanings those words held right now.

Ty's hand tightened in his, repositioning them, and his other arm wrapped around Zane until they were close enough that Zane could feel Ty's movements deep down. He started with slow, easy steps, a real box step and turn to match the music, not just a graceless shuffle. This Zane could do without thinking about it, Ty's body and the music guiding him. He literally didn't need to see a thing. He draped his free hand over Ty's shoulder and relaxed into Ty's arms, their cheeks brushing with each step. Ty turned his face toward Zane's, touching his nose and lips to Zane's cheek, and he curled Zane's hand between them, holding it against his chest. They swayed gently with the music, but Ty would occasionally pick up the pace and turn Zane in a faster circle as the instrumental chorus picked up. Then he would slow them again, pulling Zane closer, pressing their cheeks together in a gesture that was borderline sensual as the music moved them.

Zane's pulse thrummed as he gave himself over totally into Ty's hands, following his capable direction and floating on the music. His bad mood didn't stand a chance, and Zane could even feel a smile pulling at his lips. He'd thought about this, a slow dance with his lover, not a flashy tango or a writhing clash under a disco ball. But he'd never dreamed he would get one. It was possibly one of the most erotic, most loving things Ty had ever done for him.

Neither of them had shaved in a few days; Ty's cheek scratched alongside Zane's. But his lips pressed to the corner of Zane's mouth and stayed there. It wasn't quite a kiss. His movements were relaxed and natural. The way his body moved to the music and was able to lead Zane's would have been gorgeous to see. It was better to feel, though.

The song began to wind down, threatening to end the moment. Zane's hand tightened on Ty's shoulder without conscious thought, and he finally turned his face carefully, skimming their lips together. Ty returned the kiss just as tentatively. They slowed to a stop as the song ended, and Ty kissed him again as they stood in the middle of the living room. The next song started up, similar in tempo, still soulful and brooding like the first. Ty didn't move with the music, though, choosing to hold Zane to him and kiss him instead, and Zane had no desire whatsoever to move from that spot. This was something new and fragile, something more intense and yet more comfortable.

Maybe Ty had chosen this because he knew how much Zane loved to dance and he'd been searching for anything he could think of to divert his cranky partner. Maybe he had wanted to do this as badly as Zane. Whichever it was, Zane didn't care. He gave in to the desire he'd quashed earlier and slowly tried to wind himself tighter around Ty.

Ty let him do as he pleased, indulging in the kiss even as he started their dance again, and Zane felt better than he had since before the accident. The tender kisses kindled a cozy golden glow inside him. With his lips on Ty's, his eyes closed and Ty's arms around him, the world didn't feel dark and foreboding.

They continued like that, swaying languidly to the music, and when their lips finally parted, Zane heard himself whisper, "I love you."

Ty snorted softly, as if the words amused him. He didn't stop the swaying motion of their dance. "You're being seduced," he said in a warm voice. He murmured his words against the corner of Zane's lips.

Zane sighed shakily, a tremor of shock echoing through him. He hadn't realized what he'd said before Ty's reply, and his pulse kicked up as it crashed in. Now he didn't know what to say at all, and he felt flushed all over, still shocked by what had slipped out. He wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed that Ty had brushed it off—all he could feel was the swelling ache in his chest. "Seduced?" he managed to get out.

Ty hummed and smiled against his cheek. "I was good at this sort of thing once."

The awareness rippling through him made Zane huff out a quiet laugh as he tried to get ahold of himself and let the panic fade. "You're still good at this sort of thing. You could tell me to do anything right now, and I'd try."

Ty slowed their motions to a stop. He grazed his lips over Zane's, still holding him as if they were dancing. His words were whispered when they parted. "Then I want you to close your eyes and dance with me. Tonight, forget that you can't see."

Zane obeyed, and his eyelids fluttered down as he focused on feeling Ty, absorbing the power and magnetism of his presence, so strong that a warm buzz rippled through Zane, urging him to release his surprise and worry, to simply be with Ty.

Ty readjusted his hold, pulling him closer and starting into the slow sway again. He began to hum along with the song, and soon he was singing quietly near Zane's ear. Zane had never heard him sing. He truly did have an incredible speaking voice, deep and soulful with that hint of a growl. His singing voice was no less impressive. It washed through Zane, their bodies melding with the dance, and Zane was hopelessly, helplessly lost in him.