Working It Out
Book 3
© 2002-2004 by Don Hanratty   
dhanr1@msn.com

        
Part 1

        Matt and Mike lay quietly in one another's arms after making love repeatedly,.  They were now happily at rest in the master bedroom of their condo at Snowmass, and if human contentment produces an aura, they and their bed were aglow.
        Love, exhilaration, joy, gratitude, peace, along with total physical fulfillment-- these were the sensations that flooded Matt's being as he awakened during the early morning hours in Colorado on that second day after their wedding.  He stretched languorously, and his eyes lingered on Mike's face, covered with a stubble Matt always found very sexy.   He loved the man lying asleep beside him so completely that he knew he would never, by choice, want to leave his side again.  Smiling to himself, he admired the wedding band not long ago placed on his left hand by his partner, and rotated it around and around on his ring finger.
        Declaring themselves before God and man in front of St. Stephen's altar had been so right for them.  It had been an unforgettable milestone that fused their public words and private feelings for each other into a firm intention to live in joyful commitment together for the remainder of their time on the earth.  Making those vows while surrounded by their children and their extended family--the core of their world--and then being fêted by their friends at a huge reception back at the condo was a very special bonus.
        They had been astonished and gratified at the presence and support of their friends and classmates in far larger numbers than they had ever expected.  As controversial as gay marriage might be in some quarters, it was clear from the sheer numbers of those gathered for the ceremony and the party afterward that these two men were loved and admired by many.  A magnificent buffet had been laid out in the dining room, and in the mammoth living room a dance floor had been installed over the carpeting.  A live and versatile band played everything from the latest hits to golden oldies to entice people to dance. While the evening was yet young, everyone gathered in the living room to be served a glass of champaign and listen to Jeff deliver a hilarious toast to the newlyweds that cleverly mocked their swimming-wrestling prowess and athletic rivalry.  Only Jeff the big jock could have pulled it off so well.  Stan laughed until he almost peed his pants.
        In the wee hours of the morning after the reception was finally over, they gently undressed one another and climbed into bed.
        "I know who I am because of you," Mike had whispered softly to Matt.  And it was true.  For both of them at that moment, completion of self in their love for the other trivialized everything else in their lives.
        Matt had come to realize over time that although his and Mike's relationship was deeply passionate and robustly physical, it also encompassed a kind and gentle dimension.  It was remarkably free of any hidden anger.  For whatever reason, Matt had concluded, they had no unresolved issues from their childhood or their youth that fanned resentments to sabotage the total intimacy they both reveled in.  They certainly fought and disagreed on occasion, and would again, but their fights were never stoked by "old news" in their respective psychological makeup.  And at this point in their lives, they trusted one another completely.  They were true soul mates.
        Once they had arrived on Sunday in Aspen by way of a connecting flight from Denver, they had shopped the town for skis, ski poles, boots, gloves and ski clothes because all their ski paraphernalia was stored away neatly back in Pennsylvania.  Buying all new stuff had been pricey, but worth it from several standpoints, including the improved safety of the newest ski bindings on the market.
        By that afternoon they had made their way the few miles up the road from Aspen proper to Snowmass, put their luggage in the condo, and were out on the slopes.  They were both excited to be there together.  The chairlift rides up the mountain had been a good opportunity to make out, which they did without being too obvious about it by pretending to huddle together against the wind.  Matt's lips tasted like Chapstick, Mike noted, but that didn't stop him from thoroughly enjoying the action.  He would take Matt's lips any way he could get them.
        At the top, Mike had carefully studied the degree of difficulty of the various runs from a map before they started down the mountain.  He chose only the easier runs so as to minimize the likelihood that Matt would get into difficult terrain and fall and hurt his chest.  Both expert skiers, they were eager to see if they still had their skills.  Matt had wanted nothing more than to just let himself go and throw himself into the black diamond expert runs, but he knew that Mike would have had a conniption if he had taken the chance.  And Mike was right, of course--Matt had to admit he still tired easily.  So they had rested from time to time between some challenging skiing on the more moderate hills.  It had been a fine day to be on the slopes, sun and clouds fighting each other for dominance, in the upper twenties at the bottom of the mountain, in the single digits at the top, with fresh powder floating down at intervals as they carved through newly fallen snow and the ethereal silence down the mountainside.
        After they had made several top to bottom runs, Matt finally admitted he was getting tired and had had enough.  He urged Mike to get on the lift and make an additional run alone so he could ski all out without having to worry about him.  But Mike wouldn't go without him, so they took their skis off and made their way back to the condo.  Once inside, they dropped their jackets on a handy bench by the door, removed their ski boots, and stood in the hall enjoying a deep kiss that made both of them half hard.  When they eventually unclenched and went into the living room, Mike went over to the fireplace.
        "Your ass looks hot in those ski pants," Matt observed as Mike walked away and bent over to add logs to the hot coals.
        "Let me clarify that for you," Mike retorted.  "My butt looks hot, period.  It has nothing to do with the ski pants.  And it just keeps getting hotter looking.  Being around you makes it hotter, I think.  Heh."
        "You think?"
        "Yeah.  My butt knows it has to keep improving.  It knows that at the first sign of any flab, this relationship will be in big trouble."
        "It is your most important part.  Well, maybe not the most important part..."
        Mike came back and put his arms around his partner.  "You're such a perv!"
        "I know.  Doncha love it?  It's one of my finer qualities.  Maybe my best."
        "Hang on to your good qualities.  They're hard to come by for lawyers.  Which reminds me of a story..."
        "I've created a monster," Matt protested.  "Since your joke gene got activated, it's gotten way outta control."
        "Shutup," Mike instructed, smiling and tightening his embrace so Matt couldn't get away.
        "Two alligators are sitting on the edge of a swamp. The small one turns to the big one and says, 'I don't understand how you can be so much bigger than I am. We're the same age, we were the same size as kids... I just don't get it.'
        "'Well,' says the big alligator, 'what have you been eating?'
        "'Lawyers, same as you,' replies the small alligator.
        "'Hmm. Well, where do you catch 'em?'
        "'Down at that law firm on the edge of the swamp.'
        "'Same here. Hmm. How do you catch 'em?'
        "'Well, I crawl under a BMW and wait for someone to unlock the door. Then I jump out, bite 'em, shake the shit out of  'em, and eat 'em!'
        "'Ah!' says the big alligator, 'I think I see your problem. See, by the time you get done shakin' the shit out of a lawyer, there's nothin' left but lips and a briefcase...'"
        Matt laughed his big, deep laugh, and pulled Mike to him more tightly.
        "Have mercy, I have created a monster," he said.  "So, monster-boy, how 'bout a shower?  These almost-lawyer lips wanna kiss your hot little ass.  I can check for flab while I'm down there.  You know, the bite test."
        Mike laughed and kissed his partner, giving Matt some tongue.  "I have a better idea," he said when they came up for air.  "The building people serviced and filled the hot tub.  Let's soak awhile.  Then we gotta call home and talk to the kids, or they'll be mad.  And I miss 'em like crazy."
        "Me, too.  Once again you're out and out brilliant, bro!  That's the bottom line!" Matt said.  They went off toward the hot tub, which was out on a balcony designed so that it was protected from the view of neighbors.  Matt started feeling up Mike's ass as they walked.  "Just a preliminary check-up on the flab question," he said as Mike swivelled his hips and tried to swat Matt's hand away, to no avail.
        "Help me, I married Satan," Mike said laughingly as he squirmed around trying to get away.
        They started losing articles of clothing along the way to their destination, and by the time they reached the hot tub, they were both beautifully, gloriously naked and erect.  Removing the vinyl cover and activating the tub's circulation, they sank gratefully up to their necks into the steaming water as their hands began roaming and touching all the right places on one another's body.  There were no wrong places.
        *  *  *
        Stan Rosinski sat on the big leather couch in the deep silence of Matt's and Mike's den back in Chicago on the Monday night after Thanksgiving.  He hummed to himself as he worked through the latest exercise in preparation for his accounting class the next day.  Linda was back in her little apartment watching television, Mary was in her bedroom, and the little boys were tucked into their beds.
        "Piece 'o cake.  You're brilliant!" Stan told himself aloud with satisfaction as he finished up his assignment, the accounts in balance.  He closed his books, threw down his pencil, and pushed back into the couch to relax, swinging his feet up onto the coffee table as everybody who sat on the couch usually did.
        The newlyweds had called the previous night from Colorado to talk to the boys and him and Linda and Mary Bradford.  Everything was fine in Chicago, although the little guys clearly missed their two dads already and were a little cranky about their absence.  They had seemed somewhat mollified after they heard Matt's and Mike's voices on the phone, though.
        The previous Saturday's wedding had affected Stan more than he had expected.  He didn't consider himself a romantic, but he had been moved by the ceremony, and particularly by the vows Matt and Mike had made to one another.  He had found himself praying hard during the nuptial mass for the two men who had become closer friends to him than he had ever thought he would have in his life.  More like his brothers, really.  The love and care and respect that the two Bromans had shown him and Linda since they had all lived together was fully reciprocated, and the impact of the service had been such that he and Linda had been motivated to set the date for their own marriage--the third Saturday of the coming January--provided that the pastor in Linda's home parish could accommodate them.
        Stan caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and looked toward the hall door.  Kyle, dressed in his little Spider Man PJ's, poked his head into the doorway to see who was in the den.  He was clutching his "blankie," a tattered remnant of his first baby blanket and constant bedtime companion that by now was much the worse for wear.
        "Kyle," Stan said softly, "commere, little dude."
        The little boy came into the den, went to the couch, and climbed into Stan's lap without hesitation.  Stan kissed the top of Kyle's head as he snuggled up to the man.
        "I thought you were in bed," Stan said, craning his neck to look into the boy's face.
        "I was.  But I woke up," Kyle said, rubbing sleepy eyes.
        "Uh huh," Stan said.  "Are Matthew and Michael sleeping?"
        "Yes."
        "Do you want me to read you another story?"
        Kyle turned his head and looked up at Stan trustingly.  "Yes, please."
        "Gimme a smooch, then," Stan demanded.
        The little guy puckered up and kissed Stan primly on the lips.
        "You're such a good boy, Kyle," Stan said.  "Good looking, too!"
        Kyle pushed his face into Stan's chest, giggling sleepily.
        "All right, what would you like to hear?"  Stan leaned forward and began rummaging through the kids books and comic books which were in disarray on the coffee table.
        "Spider Man!" Kyle said with finality.
        Stan picked up a Spider Man comic book.  "He's your favorite now, huh?"
        "Yeah."
        "OK."  And Stan began reading the comic book, pointing out the pictures as he went along.  Ten minutes later, Kyle was fast asleep, breathing softly.
        Stan dropped the comic book back on the coffee table, and sat there unmoving, cradling Kyle in his arms.  Contemplating the beautiful child sleeping in his lap, he wondered how different his own life would have been if he had ever received the love and care as a child which was lavished on the three little Broman boys day in and day out.
        Matt and Mike, along with Linda and Mary, had really taught Stan how to give and receive love, he knew that without question.  Love and human kindness had never been in his repertory until it had been modeled for him by these very special people who had come his way.  Better late than never, he thought to himself.  The anger and pain that had once been the center of his being were rarely a presence in him now, and seldom remembered.
        He put his nose in Kyle's blond hair, savoring the clean smell, and just sat there holding him against his chest, thinking about having his own children some day with Linda.  Thanks to their experience in helping parent Matthew, Michael and Kyle, he and Linda wouldn't take on raising their own family without knowing the challenges.  Or the rewards.  He was grateful for that.
        He was still sitting there a half hour later when Linda came into the room, smiling when she saw Stan holding Kyle in his arms.
        "Somebody couldn't sleep, I see," she said quietly, easing down beside her fiancé on the couch.
        "Yeah.  You know, Lin, I'd kill anybody who ever hurt one of these little guys.  Without a second thought."
        "You'd have to stand in line.  But I don't think we're gonna have to worry about that," Linda said.
        "I hope not.  I do sometimes, though."
        "Are you ready to put him back to bed?"
        "Yeah," Stan said a little reluctantly, moving forward on the couch until he could get his legs under himself and stand up with the boy in his arms.  "Bring his 'blankie,' hon."
        "I have it."
        The young couple walked down the hall to the boys' room together, and gently put Kyle into his bed with 'blankie' and covered him.  Stan kissed the little guy and then the other two boys, and he and Linda stepped back into the hall.  He put his arms around her and held her tightly.
        "I love you, Lin," Stan said.  "I couldn't make it without you.  I can't wait 'til we're married."
        "Me, too, sweetheart.  I don't know how I got lucky enough to find you."
        They kissed deeply, still entwined, stopping only when Breakers came up and nudged Stan's leg, reminding him that he still needed his evening walk.  Stan laughed, and the young couple and the dog walked together to the foyer, where Linda continued on to her apartment after a last kiss for the night from her beau.  Stan leashed an enthusiastic Breakers and summoned the elevator.  He walked the dog on the front lawn for a few minutes, and then they went back upstairs.  He hung up the leash and turned out the lights in the condo one by one as he headed back toward Matt's and Mike's bedroom, where he was sleeping to be near the little boys until the newlyweds returned from Colorado.
        Life is really, really good, he thought to himself as he brushed his teeth, stripped off his clothes, and hit the bed.  Breakers jumped up on the bed and settled in at his feet.  All was quiet.
        *  *  *
        Mary Bradford sat in her bedroom that same evening quietly contemplating her life since Matt's trial and exoneration in Hartford.  The return of her breast cancer just before the trial and the experimental treatment she had subsequently received for it in Chicago had depleted her strength, although her body's reaction to the chemo was nowhere near as severe as the first round of treatments five years before had been.  Tired as she sometimes was, she was constantly energized just by living in Matt's and Mike's unconventional household, where almost everything was vibrant and positive even in the face of difficult challenges.  She truly loved everybody she lived with.  Matt and Mike both treated her like their mother, and Stan and Linda doted on her.  The fact that her three grandchildren were thriving gave her much joy, and she was thrilled to have been alive to witness their early growing-up years.  Unfortunately, what with people moving around so much anymore, not many grandparents had that privilege these days in the United States.
        Mary felt that she had tied up the loose ends in her life since she had moved to Chicago, made amends where she could and should, and that she was ready to let go and move to her next state of being when and if she was required to do so.  She was not afraid to die.
        Her divorce from Bill Bradford had become final, and she was quite comfortable, financially speaking, for whatever time she had left.  She had decided that although she would leave her son Jamie a substantial amount of money, the bulk of her estate would go into a trust for her grandchildren to be administered by Matt and Mike.  There would also be a generous bequest to Stan Rosinski and Linda Kosco that they never would have expected.
        The next day, Dr. Ann Roncalli's office called for Mary to come in for a review of her condition at the conclusion of her treatments.  Matt and Mike were still on their honeymoon, but Linda had some time and volunteered to drive her to her appointment.  The test results from Mary's chemo were obviously in, and Linda didn't want her to hear the news alone.  Linda parked in the garage at the medical center and took Mary's hand and held it before they got out of the car.
        "You know there's no way this won't be good news, don't you?" Linda asked.
        "Linda, I hope so.  But I'm ready to hear the verdict, whatever it is."
        "Well, get ready for a pleasant surprise," Linda said, smiling.  "I have a good feeling about this."
        "Thank you, dear.  Thank you for everything you've done for me.  You and Stan have been wonderful to me, and to the kids, and I appreciate it."
        Linda gave Mary's hand a squeeze, kissed her cheek, and they went upstairs to Dr. Roncalli's office.
        They checked in, and before long the receptionist told them to go back to the doctor's office.  The matronly physician rose from her desk and came to greet them warmly when they came in.  Linda tried to read the doctor's face to see what the news might be, but couldn't.
        "How are you feeling, Mary?" Ann Roncalli asked.
        "Very well, thank you," Mary said.  "I think I've mentioned to you before that this chemo was nowhere near as hard on me as the first round was five years ago.  I'm really pleased, and I'm feeling fine.  My energy is coming back."
        "Good.  I asked you to come in today to share the results of our drug trial with you.  This was a blind trial, and I've now learned that you were in the experimental group of participants, not the control group.  I'm happy to be able to tell you that there isn't a trace of cancer in your body now, at least not that we can detect.  The combination of drugs we gave you performed far better than we had ever thought possible.  There will be the usual five year follow-up period before we can say conclusively, but you appear to be in excellent health and cancer-free.  We're going to be bragging on you for years, Mary.  Every evidence suggests that you're one of our success stories, and I wanted to share that with you as soon as possible."
        "Oh, my," Mary said softly, turning to Linda.  "You were right."  A single tear ran slowly down her cheek.
        Linda leaned over and kissed her, weeping herself.
        "Thank you, Doctor," Mary said.  "Your work saved my life, and I suspect it will save the lives of many people.  I've very grateful that you accepted me into your program."
        "Well, Mike Broman is a very persuasive young man!" Dr. Roncalli said with a smile.  "He beat the drums pretty hard on your behalf."
        "That's just one more thing I owe him and his partner," Mary said.  "Doctor, I'll never forget what you've done for me.  Bless you."
        "This is the way things are supposed to turn out," Dr. Roncalli said, standing and coming around her desk.  "Thank you for your patience and cooperation throughout the trial.  You've been a wonderful patient.  I'll see you in six months for your first post-trial checkup."
        The two older women hugged one another, and Linda and Mary left the office with big smiles on their faces.
        "What would you like to do to celebrate?" Linda asked on the way back to the car.
        "First, an ice cream sundae for both of us, hot fudge, my treat.  Second, I want to call Matt and Mike and their mom and dad, and share the news.  Then I want to fix a nice dinner for you and Stan and the boys tonight.  It's about time I started pulling my own weight, don't you think?"
        "You amaze me.  You've always pulled your own weight.  I'm not sure you know how much we all care about you, Mary.  Anything we've done for you has been out of love.  There aren't any debts here."
        "You're a wonderful person, Linda.  Stan is one lucky man.  I'll tell you something.  I think the prayers and love in our family did as much as any chemicals could do to give me another chance to live.  I mean it.  And you and Stan are a big part of the equation, don't ever doubt that!" Mary said.
        They did stop on the way home and had those diet-busting ice cream sundaes.
        When Mary called Matt and Mike that night with the good news about her condition, they were ecstatic.  And when they hung up the phone, that cool-minded, objective scientist, Mike, sat down and cried.  Matt held him and kissed his tears away, himself feeling that the huge weight of concern for Mary's health he had been carrying around for so long had been lifted from his shoulders.  He silently offered a prayer of thanksgiving.  When Mary called the elder Bromans, they were relieved, excited and happy about the news.
        Matt and Mike flew back into Chicago on Thursday morning in time to drop off their luggage quickly at home and then visit their respective campuses to pick up their mail and assignments so they could start playing catch-up on their school work.  When the little boys arrived home from St. Stephen's school that early afternoon and found out from Linda that their dads were back in town, they dragged folding chairs out of the den into the foyer to wait for them to get back from school.  Matt and Mike drove into the condo garage at practically the same time and met at the elevator.  When they stepped through the elevator doors on the penthouse floor, there the three little boys were, sitting on their chairs.  There was pandemonium as the boys and Breakers gave the newlyweds a boisterous welcome home.
        The first thing Matt and Mike did after being greeted by the kids was to walk down the hall to Mary's room, accompanied by the boys, who were sticking to them like glue.  She was sitting at her writing desk, and stood up with a smile when the contingent came in.  Without a word, Matt and Mike simultaneously gave her a long hug.
        "I can't even put into words how grateful I am you're all right," Matt finally said quietly.
        "I'm so happy," Mike added, "and you're amazing.  We hafta do something to celebrate, Mary.  What would you like to do?"
        "I'd like to do something nice for the whole family, so I'm starting small by fixing dinner tonight."  She paused and looked at them.  "You're healers, every one of you, I hope you know that.  I'm living proof of it."  Taking each of their faces in her hands, she kissed all five of them, big and little, as they stood around her.
        The kids physically wouldn't let go of Matt and Mike for the first hour they were home, afraid somehow that if they let them out of their sight, their dads would disappear again.
        By suppertime, though, things were back to normal.  Mary had fixed a huge bowl of spaghetti and meatballs with plates of hot French bread and bowls each of melted butter and olive oil for dipping, along with a big bowl of salad.  Mike and Matt put the boys on their booster seats with their "messy food" bibs on, and everyone held hands around the table.  Mike offered the thanksgiving.

            "Father, behold this your family, gathered in Your Name to offer thanks for what we are about to receive, and most especially what we have already received.  You have visited us with the gift of healing for Your servant Mary, and our gratitude for Your love and power truly knows no bounds.  We thank You for preserving her life to this family; of which she is the heart.  Lord, You heal us, You love us, You preserve us, You bless us.  We thank you for Your compassion and for the food You have provided in this meal, through our Savior Jesus Christ."
            "Amen."

        The adults enjoyed several glasses of red table wine with the spaghetti, and it was a gala meal, indeed.  The three boys looked as if they had bathed in the spaghetti sauce by the time they were finished, but the bibs had done their job.
        That night after Matt and Mike had given the kids their bath, read to them, heard their prayers and tucked them in bed, they went back to the den and sat with Linda and Stan, who demanded all the details about the skiing in Aspen.  They filled them in.
        "Next time, you two are coming with us," Mike promised the young couple.
        "I'm an inner-city boy, dude.  I've never skied in my life," Stan said.
        "Me, either," Linda admitted.
        "That's what they have ski instructors for," Matt said.  "You'll love it!"
        They listened to music and talked some more until bedtime.
        "Uh, I need to tell you guys something," Stan said as they all stood to go to bed.  He hesitated.
        "Yeah?" Matt said.  "Lay it on us."
        "Well, I just wanted to tell you both what a beautiful wedding you had.  I felt really good about it..."  He hesitated again, and cleared his throat.  "Linda and I just love you both so much, and you deserve all the good things that come your way.  That's all."
        "Well, Stan the man, you guys are our brother and sister, and the feeling's mutual!" Matt said.  "I know you don't like this, but..."
        Matt and Mike grabbed him, and each planted a kiss on his cheek, followed by kisses for Linda.
        Stan reddened, but he said, "No, you're wrong about that.  I can take being kissed by my brothers any old time, no sweat."  He smiled.
        "By the way, guys," Linda said, "we set the date for our own wedding.  We're gonna try for the first Saturday in February."
        "Outstanding," Mike said.  "More partying!  I can't wait."
        "Congratulations!" Matt high-fived Stan and kissed Linda again.  "Where will it be?"
        "St. Casimir's, the parish I grew up in," Linda said.  "More to keep my parents happy than anything else.  I'd love to be married at St. Stephen's, to tell you the truth, but I don't want to start World War III with the 'rents.  I hope St. Casimir's won't be all booked up.  I'm going to check tomorrow."
        "You know that if there's anything we can do to help, consider it done," Mike said.
        "Well," Stan said, "for starters, if you'll stand up for us, we'd appreciate it."
        "We'd like nothing better," Matt said, looking at Mike and getting confirmation.  "Thanks for asking us.  This is so great!  I only have one question," he added.  "Which one of us is gonna be your best man?  I'm obviously the better choice, but I don't want to put words in your mouth.  Heh."
        Mike looked at his partner with amusement, saying nothing.
        "Flip a coin," Stan suggested.
        Mike pulled out a quarter.  "Call it," he told Matt.
        "Wait a minute," Matt responded.  "That's not one of your trick coins, is it?  Lemme look at that!"
        "No," Mike told him.
        "Yes."  Matt looked at Linda and Stan.  "He can't be trusted, y'know.  He's kinda the Slim Shady of the gay world."
        The young couple laughed, and before Matt could object further, Mike flipped the coin, caught it, and slapped it, still covered, on the back of his other hand.
        "Call it, dufus!" he said.
        "This better come out right!" Matt said.  "Heads."
        "Heads it is," Mike said, uncovering the coin and checking it out.  "You da man!"
        Matt grinned at Mike.  "You know I've just been yankin' your chain, doncha?  You're gonna be the best man because you are the best man!" Matt said, putting his arm around his partner and giving him a gentle shake and a kiss on the cheek.
        "No, you won the toss, fair and square," Mike said.
        "You'll both be my best man.  How 'bout that?" Stan intervened.  "It's my wedding, and I can do what I want!"
        Matt and Mike grinned at each other and gave Stan a thumbs-up.
        "Cool," Stan said.  "Now, there's one other thing I wanted to ask you.  And if it isn't appropriate, don't hesitate to say so.  Do you think we could have our reception here at the condo like you guys did?"
        "My gosh, yes!" Mike said.  "We'd love it!  As a matter of fact, we'd like to give you your reception here as a wedding gift."  Matt nodded in enthusiastic agreement.
        "That's too much!" Linda protested.  "You've already done so much for us that we can never repay you."
        "Bullshit, Lin!" Matt said.  "This is family, and there's no 'repay,' don't you get that?"
        Linda and Stan looked at each other uncertainly.
        "Well, we can talk about it some more later," Stan finally said.  "Thanks for the offer.  We appreciate it."
        " 'K, guys," Mike said.  "We'll see ya tomorrow.  And thanks for taking up the slack while Matt and I were gone.  We felt good knowing you were here with Mary and the boys."
        Breakers sat there patiently looking at them, waiting for his evening outing.
        "I see it's 'Breakers Time!!'" Mike said exuberantly, throwing his arms in the air and heading toward the foyer.  The dog got to his feet, wagging his tail and dancing around.
        "I'm going with you," Matt said.  On the way down in the elevator, Matt kissed Mike's neck, put his tongue in his ear, and played with his butt to get him horned up.
        "Son, I thought I about wore you out the last couple days," Mike said with a grin.  "But no-o-o.  You're insatiable."
        "I know it.  And now you're stuck with me through all eternity.  Heh."
        "Oh, man.  Well, there are worse fates than death by ejaculation.  I think.  Maybe.  No, I'm sure of it!"
        Their stiffies well hidden under their jackets, they were models of decorum, of course, by the time they exited the elevator, greeted the doorman and followed Breakers out the front door for his walk.
        *  *  *
        Mike was still up late studying in the den the following night when the phone rang about midnight.
        "Mike?"
        "Yeah?"
        "Tony Angelo."
        "Tony!  Good to hear your voice.  How ya doin'?'
        "Fine, Mike, but I have some bad news."
        Mike groaned.  "What?"
        "Somebody tried to take out Chris Russo a couple of hours ago as he was in uniform patrolling on the Eisenhower Expressway.  The detectives are trying to put all the information together yet.  He may have pulled over someone who was wanted and would have been identified when he radioed it in, so the guy popped him.  The alternate theory is it may have been skinheads getting revenge for his undercover work in busting Cliff Pietrowski and his gang at the construction site on Halsted.  Anyway, I called as soon as I heard because...I want you and Matt to be vigilant until we know for sure."
        "How bad is he?" Mike asked glumly.
        "Bad.  One shot to the head, one in the abdomen, one in the arm, one in the leg.  The bones in the arm and leg are broken, but they'll heal.  They don't know how serious the head wound is yet.  He's still unconscious."
        "Where did they take him?"
        "University of Chicago Hospital."
        "Have they rated his condition yet?"
        "I don't know."
        "I don't suppose they had a video camera in the cop car recording the stop."
        "I doubt it.  If had my way, every patrol car would have one, though.  Those cameras are worth their weight in gold."
        "Does he have family here, Tony?"
        "Just an aunt, I understand.  And I think I heard she's an invalid.  All crippled up with arthritis."
        "Fuck!  Will this shit never end, Tony?"
        "I wish I had an answer to that question, buddy.  Anyway, I wanted you to know.  Fill Matt in, will ya?  And you guys start watching yourselves.  If this was a planned attack on Chris, I don't want another repeat of what happened to Matt."
        "I hear ya loud and clear," Mike said.  "Thanks for thinking about us, Tony."
        "That's OK.  And on a positive note, while I've got ya on the phone, let me tell you again how much Marie and I enjoyed your wedding.  It was beautiful.  And the party back at your place was outstanding.  Thank you for inviting us.  You know we wish you every happiness."
        "Thanks, Tony.  Give Marie our best.  And thanks again for the call about Chris.  I have a friend who's a med student at the U of C, and he may be willing to track Chris' condition for us.  I'll call you with anything more I find out, and I hope you'll do the same for us."
        "Will do, Mike.  'Night."
        "'Night, Tony."
        Mike hung up the phone and sat there on the couch, his face in his hands, and let out a groan.  He didn't want to pass this news on to Matt, but knew he had to.  Before he went back to the bedroom, he went over to the small crucifix in the corner of the den, slipped a candle into the red vigil light beneath it, and lit it.  He stood there for several minutes praying for their friend.
        He finally forced himself to go down the hall to the bedroom.  He kept the overhead light off and turned on his halogen desk lamp, pointing it away from the bed where Matt was sleeping peacefully.  Moving to the bed, he lay down beside Matt and gently touched his face.  Matt's eyes fluttered open and he glanced at the clock.
        "Hey," Matt said sleepily.  "You're comin' to bed late.   Aren't cha gonna get undressed?"
        "Not right now.  Listen, I have some bad news."
        Matt woke up fast.  "What's goin' on?"
        "Tony Angelo just called.  Chris Russo has been shot, and it sounds like he's in pretty bad shape at U of C Hospital."
        Matt's head fell back on his pillow in shock and disbelief.  "I know you wouldn't joke about this.  What happened?"
        "They don't know yet.  It could either have been someone he was giving a ticket to on the Eisenhower, or payback from the skinsheads for helping get Cliff Pietrowski and his band of merry men busted.  Anyway, Tony wanted us to know about Chris, and to give us a warning to watch ourselves until they find out what's going on."
        "Do you know if Chris has family here?" Matt asked.
        "Not for sure.  Tony thinks he has an invalid aunt, that's about it."
        "Well, you know that the cops are gonna be all over this.  They don't take kindly to having one of their own shot.  But I think we better see what's going on at the hospital first hand, don't you?"
        "Absolutely."
        Matt rolled out of bed, found his clothes, and started to get dressed as Mike dialed Stan's bedroom at the far end of the condo.
        "This better be good," Stan warned when he answered.
        "It's not, I'm afraid," Mike said.  "Tony Angelo just called to say that Chris Russo's been shot, and Matt and I are going to the hospital.  Can you sleep down here again close to the kids?"
        Stan was immediately wide awake.  "Be right there," he said, and hung up.  He came into the bedroom before Matt was finished dressing.
        "Thanks, man," Mike said.
        "Let me know, 'K?" Stan said as he shucked his robe, climbed into the bed in his boxers, and pulled the covers over his head.  "This bed is my second home," he muttered.
        "Don't get too attached," Mike said with a smile, and he and Matt took off, stopping only to look in on the boys quickly before they left.
        They took Mike's Blazer, and drove south toward the hospital in silence.
        When they arrived at the hospital and went to the ICU, they weren't surprised to find Tony along with a Chicago PD detective and a cluster of state cops, some in uniform, some in civvies, in the waiting room.  Tony was surprised to see Matt and Mike, though.  He introduced them to the detective and to Chris' fellow state police officers.
        "Any change?" Matt inquired of Tony as the three of them sat down together.
        "Yeah.  He woke up once--a good sign.  But he didn't say anything.  That's not so good."  Tony spread his hands helplessly.
        Mike and Tony continued to talk as Matt leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and began thinking about Chris, how handsome he was and what a good guy he had turned out to be.
        Mike and Matt sat talking intermittently with Tony until 1:30 a.m., when Tony finally said he had to get back to his precinct.  Matt asked him if he thought the nurses would let the three of them go into Chris' cubicle and offer a prayer for him.
        "I doubt it," Tony said, "but let me find out."  He walked to the nurses station, and a minute later he came back, shaking his head in the negative.  "They're working on him," he said.
        "Well, let's say our prayer out here, and then we hafta go, too," Matt said.
        The three of them huddled up, but were interrupted right then by one of the young state troopers, who asked if they were going to say a prayer for Chris.
        "Yes," Mike said.  "You're welcome to join us."
        "Thanks," the young guy said, and he turned and beckoned to the other eight or so troopers who were still on the unit.
        Mike, Matt and Tony had no sooner bowed their heads and were getting focused than they were surrounded by cops, who stood around in a close circle and bowed their heads as well, their arms around one another.

            "Lord Jesus," Matt prayed after a moment's silence, "You are no stranger to sorrow and pain, but in Your earthly ministry, You healed many.  We come to You now to ask You to sustain and heal our brother Chris, who has been injured in the line of duty.  Let Your eyes of mercy behold him, Lord, and lift him up.  Guide the hands and minds of all who minister to him, that they may be inspired to offer their best gifts in helping him live and regain his strength.  We ask for a sign of Your love for this Your brother, that he may be restored to us to offer his own best gifts to us his friends, and to this world.  Be with him now in his hour of need, Lord, and with each of us.  We ask these things in Your Blessed Name."
            "Amen."

        As the group split apart and began to scatter, all of the young troopers made a point of shaking hands with Matt and personally thanking him for his prayer.  Tony left after saying goodbye to Matt and Mike, promising to call if he heard any news about Chris' condition.  One young trooper, a tall, handsome blond with a buzz cut, good physique, strong features and an even stronger handshake, lingered to talk after the others had moved away.
        "Uh, I don't mean to pry, but are you the two guys who got married Thanksgiving weekend?" he asked.  "Chris told me about it, and I was just wondering."
        "Yes," Mike said, not knowing what to expect.
        "I'm Josh Harkness," he said.  "Chris and I are good buddies.  We went through training together.  Uh, a couple days ago Chris suggested I talk to you guys privately sometime if you could give me a few minutes."
        "No problem," Mike said.  "Do you want to do it by phone or in person?"
        "Maybe in person, if you don't mind," Harkness said.
        Mike reached down and tore off a blank piece of an abandoned newspaper, scribbled the condo's telephone number on it and handed it to the young trooper.
        "Give us a call and we'll have you stop by."
        "Thanks," the young trooper said.  "I'll call you early next week and we can set a date."
        "Good," Mike said.
        Matt and Mike waved goodbye to the few state troopers who were left in the waiting room, and walked out of the ICU.
        "What do you think that's about?" Matt asked his partner on the way down in the elevator concerning the encounter with the young trooper.
        "I could speculate, but I don't know," Mike said.  "Let's see if he calls."
        They located the Blazer and climbed in wearily.  Matt fell asleep, head against the side window, by the time Mike started the motor.
        *  *  *
        Mike was like a dog guarding a bone in following up tenaciously on Chris Russo's condition every day.  He had made a casual friend of a med student at the University of Chicago medical school the previous year when Mike and his classmates had been sent there to a special seminar, and he telephoned the man and explained his interest in keeping updated on Chris' condition.  He said he would be glad to check Chris' chart daily and let Mike know how he was doing, provided Mike kept what they were doing quiet.  Mike agreed.
        Mike hounded Tony Angelo until he got the name and telephone number of Chris' aunt on the northwest side of Chicago.  He called her, identified himself, and explained how he knew Chris.  The woman told him that she was Chris' only close relative, and broke down over the telephone about Chris' being hurt.  She also said that Chris always did all her shopping for her because she was housebound with advanced arthritis.  That was all Mike needed to hear, and he immediately cajoled the woman into giving him a list of her grocery and other needs.  He did the shopping and dropped off what he had purchased at her home, refusing any payment by saying they could "settle up later."  She was a very nice lady by the name of Carole Maggliozzi, and Mike made a commitment then and there to do her weekly shopping for her until Chris was back on his feet.  He didn't let on, of course, that Chris might very well die or be permanently disabled as a result of his wounds.
        "What is it that Dad always says?" Matt asked that night when they were in bed and Mike was explaining to him his plans for taking care of Chris' aunt.  "Oh, yeah.  'Stars in your crown.'  That's it.  I'm proud of you, Mike.  And so lucky to have you in my life.  Y'know, I can help out with the lady, too, bro.  We can take turns doing the shopping for her.  And in a pinch, we could certainly have a shopping service deliver her things."
        "Maybe in a pinch," Mike said.  "But she needs the visits as much as the groceries and stuff, I think."
        Matt wasn't too surprised about his partner putting himself out that way for a stranger, given what Mike had told him down on the beach before their wedding about wanting to be "a better person."  This new act of kindness just made Matt love him more and appreciate him more, if that was possible.
        Chris was moved out of the ICU three days later after successful surgery to remove the bullet from his head and repair his other wounds.  Mike's source at U of C Hospital told him that the trajectory of the bullet had been perfect for doing as little damage to the Chris' brain as possible, and that the surgeons were guardedly optimistic about his making a complete recovery from his head wound.  The wounds in the arm, leg and abdomen were not as serious, but conversely would probably take longer to heal.  Although Chris had awakened several times since surgery, he had yet to speak a word since he had been attacked.
        Mike had gone right from class to visit Chris shortly after he had been moved to the post-surgical wing at the U of C hospital, and was sitting beside his bed.  The young cop appeared to be sleeping, breathing evenly, his handsome and usually dark complexioned face white as a sheet.  Mike decided to talk to him as if he were awake and everything was normal.
        "Chris, this is Mike Broman.  I want you to know that Matt and I have been taking care of your Aunt Carole, getting her groceries and stuff, so don't worry about her.  She's doing great.  And when you're better, if it's all right with you, I'm gonna have a specialist at Northwestern re-evaluate her.  I looked at some of her medications, and I'm not sure they're giving her the best stuff for her condition.  With the latest medication, I think she could get some of her mobility back and have a lot less pain."
        Chris' eyes drifted open and he slowly turned his head to look at Mike, giving the latter a start.
        "You got her groceries for her, Mike?" he asked in a weak voice.
        "Chris!  You're awake!  And talking!  That's outstanding, man!!!"  Mike was excited.  He pressed Chris' call button so he could let the nurses know about the breakthrough.  A nurse hurried in and fussed over her patient for a bit, talking with him to make sure he could understand what was being said and could express himself, and then left to chart the fact that he was alert, conscious and verbalizing.
        "Damn!" Mike said when she left.  "What a relief to hear you talk, Chris!  The surgeons weren't sure how much damage that bullet to the head had done.  They were optimistic that there wouldn't be permanent impairment, but you never know.  If it's all right with you, I'm gonna call Tony Angelo at home--he won't be at his precinct until later.  He'll want to hear the good news right away, and the Chicago PD are gonna want to get a detective up here to talk with you about who shot you."
        "Yeah, do it.  I have pretty good recall about what happened."
        Mike used Chris' phone and called Tony, who was very happy to hear the news about the improvement in Chris' condition.  He said he'd notify the detective division right away, and they'd get a guy up there.  Mike sat down again, and gave Chris a smile.
        "Chris, I know you haven't had time to give any thought to where you're gonna stay when you get out of here," Mike said, "but Matt and I want to give you the option of staying with us 'til you're better.  You won't be able to stay alone, and we have plenty of room.  You're not gonna be very mobile for awhile, and between Matt and me and Stan and Linda and Mary, I think we can give you good care.  Linda's almost an RN.  Anyway, just think about it, OK?"
        "You'd do that for me?"  Chris looked surprised.
        "Well, yeah.  You're our friend.  We owe ya bigtime for getting the goods on that asshole Pietrowski and his bunch, whether you think so or not.  We'd take good care of you, I promise you that."
        Chris cracked a little smile.  "Y'know, Mike, if someone had told me a few months ago that I'd be friends with a gay couple and even remotely think about accepting an invitation to live with them for any reason whatsoever, I'd have said he was fucking nuts."
        "Well..."
        "I didn't mean that to be offensive, Mike.  I appreciate the offer.  And I'll give it some serious thought."
        " 'K,"  Mike said.  "Listen, dude, I'm gonna get out of here and let you get some rest.  Matt'll probably stop up to see ya later.  He's been pretty worried about you."
        "All right, Mike.  And listen, thanks for taking care of my Aunt Carole.  That's really above and beyond!"
        "That's OK.  Call her, by the way.  She's been really upset.  Do you have her number?"
        "I remember it.  Can you put the phone beside me on the bed?  I can't reach it."
        "Yep.  Here ya go."  Mike put the phone near Chris' good arm, and giving him a big smile, took off.
        Matt was home when Mike arrived, and was excited to hear that Chris was awake and talking.
        "I didn't have time to run this by you before, but I gave Chris the option of staying with us while he's recovering," Mike told his partner.  "I think between all of us here, we can give him what he needs.  It's probably a choice for him between coming here or going to a convalescent home, because he doesn't have any relatives other than his aunt, and she sure can't handle it.  It hope that's OK with you."
        "Of course it's OK.  I would have been disappointed if you hadn't made the offer."
        Mike took Matt's face in his hands and kissed him.  "Lord, I love you, babe!  So much it hurts sometimes."
        "Me, too, sweetboy!  But listen, we need to talk to Stan and Lin and Mary about this," Matt suggested.  "We've kinda volunteered them for some extra duty."
        "You're right.  I'll see if Mary is in her room," Mike said.  "Are Stan and Lin here?"
        "Yeah.  They're with the kids up in the pool.  I'll go up."
        They gave each other a dap, and Matt headed upstairs to the pool deck.  As he got to the top of the stairs, he heard the kids' happy voices and the sound of a beach ball flying around the pool.
        "DAD!!!" Michael yelled when Matt approached the pool.  "You need to get in the water!  Common in!"  The three boys gravitated over to the side of the pool and looked up at Matt.
        "Maybe a little later, boys," Matt said.  "I need to talk to Stan and Linda right now.  Guys, do you have a minute?"
        Stan heaved himself up on the deck and then pulled Linda up beside him.  Matt couldn't help noticing how good they both looked in their swim suits.  Stan was not only running, but had started a lifting program as well under Matt's tutelage.  And Linda had started running a couple times a week herself.
        " 'Sup, dude?" Stan asked.
        "Chris Russo woke up while Mike was visiting him this afternoon, and started talking.  It's looking good for his recovery, thank God.  Mike and I are thinking about bringing him here to convalesce if we can get you guys to help us with him.  He's gonna be pretty helpless for awhile, and he lives alone.  Does that sound all right to you?"
        "Absolutely," Linda said without hesitation.  "If we all pitch in, it won't be a problem.  It's a good idea, Matt."
        "I agree," Stan said, grinning.  "Bring the boy on!  We'll heal him up in no time!"
        "I appreciate this," Matt said.  "Chris said he'd think it over, so if you guys call him at the hospital, tell him we'd all enjoy having him here, 'K?"
        Stan and Matt high fived, and Matt turned to leave.
        "DAD!!!" Matthew shouted.
        "Cool your jets!" Matt instructed the boys. "I'll go put my suit on."
        "Yaaah!!!" the three boys yelled.  "Hurry up, Dad!"
        Matt went downstairs just as Mike came into the foyer from Mary's room.
        "It's a go!" Mike told him.  "She's all for it.  How about Stan and Linda?"
        "That's a big 'Yep!'  And I think they're gonna call Chris and just reinforce the fact we'd all like to have him here."
        "Cool!" Mike said.  "This should work out well, then."
        "Without a doubt!  Listen, the boys want us to come up and swim with 'em.  I know we're behind in our studying, but can you spare a few minutes to go up with me?"
        "Yeah.  'Cause I get to see ya naked when you put your suit on."  Mike squinted his eyes lasciviously and licked his lips.
        "Horndog!"
        "Uh huh!"
        Mike fingered and stroked Matt's butt all the way back to their bedroom as he simultaneously leaned over and kissed his neck repeatedly.  It was an act of will, once they were naked and both hard, not to jump into bed instead of putting their swimming trunks on and going up to the pool.  The spirit was willing and the flesh weak, but they managed it somehow anyway for the sake of the kids.
        *  *  *
        Two weeks later in the early afternoon, an ambulance delivered a still pasty-looking Chris Russo to Matt's and Mike's condo.  The three boys watched wide-eyed as the ambulance team transferred Chris from their gurney to a hospital bed which had been installed in the bedroom between the den and the kids' room.  There was a standard hospital bedside table next to the bed.  The young cop's injured leg and arm were each in a cast, and his midsection was still bandaged.
        Chris had wrestled long and hard with the decision about whether to take the Bromans up on their offer to recuperate at the condo.  But calls from Stan and Linda and Mary Bradford and even Tony Angelo had finally pushed him to see it their way.  He knew he would have dreaded staying in a convalescent facility, and the truth was he really wanted to stay with this strange and wonderful family.  Having been raised as an only child in a one-parent family after his dad had been killed in Vietnam, it was bound to be a brand new experience for him.  His mother had died before he finished college, and he had had only his Aunt Carole to call family since then.  Besides, he had come to care a lot for these people.  His feelings for them had snuck up on him, he realized.
        Mary went in to see him right away after the ambulance crew had finished their work and gone.
        "Chris, welcome," she said with a big smile, and went over and caressed his forehead gently and made sure he was well situated in bed.  "We're so glad to have you here."
        "Thank you, Mrs. Bradford.  It's kind of you to take me in like this."
        "I'm 'Mary,' Chris.  Call me 'Mary.'"
        "Yes, ma'm, I mean, Mary.  Thank you."
        "You remember the boys, don't you?  Say hello to Chris, boys."
        The three little guys approached the bed of their new guest a little warily, and after each of them had greeted him, stared at him with big eyes.
        "This is Matthew, this is Kyle, and this is Michael," Mary said,  pointing to each of them in turn  "I know you met them before.  You probably can't tell them apart right now, but you'll be able to in a few days."
        "Hi, guys," Chris said with a wan smile.  "How ya doin'?"  The boys were bigger than the last time he had seen them, but they were as cute as ever.
        "Good," Matthew said.  "What happened to you?"
        "Well," Chris said, "I'm a police officer, and I got hurt on the job."  He didn't know how much Matt and Mike wanted the boys to know about the shooting.
        "Are you going to live with us now?" Michael asked.
        "Yes," Chris said.  "Until I heal up.  Is that OK with you guys?"
        The three boys nodded solemnly.
        "Chris," Mary said, "I was a practical nurse in my younger days, and Linda is just about to be registered, so I don't want you to be shy about your needs, all right?  It's going to be awhile before you can get out of bed to go to the bathroom or wash yourself.  Now, may I do anything to make you more comfortable?"
        "I don't think so right now, Mary, thanks."
        "All right.  I'm putting your meds in the top drawer of your table.  Your pain pills are closest to you.  I'm going to get a pitcher of water and a glass and put them on the table near your good arm," she said.  "They're unbreakable, so don't worry about dropping them.  There's room on the table for the phone, too.  Just dial '9' to get an outside line.  Here's a list of all the extensions in the condo--just hit 'intercom' and the number you want.  If you can't rouse anyone, push 'intercom' and dial  ' * ' and talk.  All the phones in the place will be on speaker.  I guarantee you'll get somebody then.  And here's the remote for the TV and the stereo."
        "Wow!  All the comforts of home, and then some.  Thank you very much."
        "That's all right.  Well, we'll let you get some rest now, Chris."
        "Are Matt and Mike here?"
        "No.  They're still at school.  They're playing catch-up on their school work because they took time off for their honeymoon.  Linda should be home in about an hour, and Stan shortly after that.  So, call me if you need me."
        "Thanks again, Mary."
        Mary shooed the kids out of the room, and Chris put his head down on his pillow.  The trip from the hospital to the condo had taken more out of him than he thought.  Soon he drifted off.  He didn't even hear Mary re-enter the room later with a pitcher of ice water and a glass, and leave them on his bedside table.
        He woke up about two hours later just as Stan strolled into the room.
        "Hey, Chris.  Good to see ya, man!  How ya feelin'?"
        "Hi, Stan.  I've been better.  How are you?"
        "Good.  Glad you're here.  Do you need anything?"
        "Yeah, actually.  I need to tap a kidney.  Is there something around here I can pee in?"
        Stan reached down at the side of the bed, and handed Chris the proper utensil.
        "God, being helpless like this is fucking humiliating!" Chris said as he stuffed the urinal under the sheet and his gown and tried to make sure his penis was in it before he let go.
        "I know.  But it could be any one of us lying there in your spot, so don't sweat it, dude.  We're gonna take good care of ya."
        Chris' face reddened as the sound of his urine filling the metal implement became audible.  When he finished, he hesitated to just hand the thing to Stan.
        "Give it to me," Stan said.  "I'll dump it and wash it out."
        "I'm sorry..."
        "Get over it!" Stan instructed as he took the urinal and went into the bathroom.  Linda arrived just as he emerged from Chris' bathroom, basin in hand.
        "Hey, guys," she said.  "Welcome, Chris.  How are you feeling?"
        "Well...a little embarrassed about having everybody do such personal things for me.  Maybe coming here wasn't the best idea."
        "Why not?  Somebody, somewhere, would be doing exactly what we're gonna do for ya.  What's the difference?" she asked.
        "It just feels different to ask friends for help with...stuff."  Chris blushed.
        "Who better, sweetie?  You're not gonna have a modest bone left in your body by the time we get through with you," Linda laughed.
        "I know it's stupid," Chris admitted, "but I've never been sick before and had to have anyone take care of my, uh, needs.  Be patient with me."
        "'Patience' is my middle name, Chris," Linda said.  She opened the second drawer in his bedside table and took out a digital thermometer and a pad of paper and a pen.  Writing down the date and time, she replaced a sterile plastic piece on the nub of the thermometer, stuck it in Chris' ear and pulled the trigger.  She removed it and wrote down his temperature on the pad.
        "How is it?" Chris asked.
        "A little above normal.  That's not surprising.  Nothing to worry about.  You're doing remarkably well for what you've been through, tough guy," Linda said with a smile.
        Just then Matt knocked on the door and looked in with a grin.  "Any limit on visitors?" he asked.
        "Hey, Matt," Chris said.  "Come on in."
        "How ya doin', buddy?"
        "I'm...'adjusting,' I guess you'd say.  But I'm really wondering whether this isn't gonna be a bigger burden on you guys than you thought."
        Matt's face grew solemn.  "Listen, Chris, let's get something straight right now.  Our family here has been blessed in this life more than you know.  The least we can do is pass on some of those blessings to others.  You have a need right now, and every one of us is glad you're here.  Relax and roll with it. We aren't gonna have you lyin' in your own crap in some nursing home where they don't give a flying fuck about you!"
        Chris stared at Matt, and for the first time since his mother had died, his emotions took control, and he wept.
        
Part 2

        Whatever damage the bullet to Chris Russo's brain had done, it hadn't affected his memory.  That had been pretty clear when a young Chicago cop from the detective division and a police sketch artist had shown up at Chris' hospital room not long after he had regained consciousness, before Chris had gone to the condo to stay.  He had given the two men a complete description of the man who had shot him on the Eisenhower Expressway:  Latino, 5'10" tall, about 160 pounds, brown eyes and hair, dark complexioned with a small star tattooed on his left temple.  When the detectives ran their drawing through the National Crime Information System (NCIS), they immediately found a match.  The man was already wanted for murder and armed robbery in California, and his new crime in Illinois was added to the information that went out on the wire to all police agencies country-wide.  Tony Angelo had been relieved that the perpetrator had no connection to the skinheads, because it seemed less likely that anyone was gunning for the Broman family members as a result of the arrests on Halsted Street.
        Meanwhile, Mike had been as good as his word.  Two days after he had told Chris at the hospital that he'd like to have his Aunt Carole's condition and her meds re-evaluated, a para-transit vehicle picked her up from her little bungalow, wheelchair and all, and delivered her to the osteoarthritis center at Northwestern Hospital.  Mike met her at the ambulance entrance, and wheeled her to the appropriate lab for tests.  Despite her chronic pain, Carole had been excited because it was the first time she had been out of her house in months.  Staff at Northwestern had given her a complete physical, drawn blood and administered tests for mobility in her joints.
        The results were available within a week after she had been tested.  Mike had been right.  There were better and more up-to-date meds available for Carole's condition than she had been taking.  He had picked up new scripts from the head of the clinic, procured the new meds for her and dropped them off at her house the next time he shopped for her groceries.
        By the time he had come back a few days later, he hardly knew it was the same woman.  The lines in her face from chronic pain had eased, and she was out of her wheelchair and moving around the house very well, if not at top speed.
        She had given Mike a big hug, Italian style, and kissed him on both cheeks when she opened the front door and saw who it was.
        "Michael!  You're a miracle worker, you know!!" she had told him immediately.
        Mike had grinned.  "I wish I could take the credit, Carole, but I can't.  You look good, though.  I take it the pain is better."
        "Oh, my yes.  I know it's still there, but it's nothing I can't handle.  I feel like a new person, and that's your doing, you sweet boy!  What a good friend you've been, Michael, you and Matthew!"
        Another sign she had been better was that she had accompanied everything she said with hand gestures, in true Italian style.
        "Well, thank you," Mike had said, a little embarrassed at the praise.  "I hope you know we feel the same about you."
        "Come in, come in.  Don't even think about running off.  Sit down.  Would you like some coffee or tea?" she'd said, pulling him in the door.
        "Sure, I have time for a cup of coffee," Mike said, slipping off his jacket and sitting down on the couch.
        "You sit.  I'll warm it up right now.  You drink this coffee, and you'll be awake half the night!!"  Carole had laughed raucously and made a beeline for the kitchen.
        A few minutes later she came back carrying a tray with coffee, sugar, cream, and a pastry on it.  She put the tray in front of Mike and went over and sat in an overstuffed chair opposite him.
        "Eat, eat!" she had instructed.  "Now, to important things.  How is Christopher today?"
        "He's a little better every day," Mike had said.  "It's just going to take time and patience."
        "I know.  He's such a good boy.  I've been so worried about him."
        "Don't worry.  He's improving right on schedule.  Listen, I wanted you to know that Matt and I have invited him to come and stay with us for awhile after he's released from the hospital, and I think he's going to do that.  He won't be able to stay alone for awhile."
        Carole had looked surprised.  "Oh, my.  That's so nice of you boys, Michael!  He can come here, you know.  After all, he's family."
        "We've talked about that," Mike had said.  "But we think it might be better if he stayed with us, at least for right now.  First of all, we have two ladies who are nurses who live with us, and that kind of expertise is good to have around.  And second, he'll have a bedroom and bathroom all on the same floor.  He can't climb any stairs for awhile, yet.  And third, I know you're feeling better, but you need to increase your activities gradually, not jump into things with both feet.  Taking care of Chris is going to take a lot of energy.  You know without a doubt he'd want to come here if it were the best option, Carole."
        "Hah!  After what you've done for me, I should tell you you're wrong?  I don't think so.  You're almost a doctor!  If Christopher should stay with you, then that's where he'll be.  Can I come and see him?"
        "Of course.  Just let us know, and someone will come and pick you up."
        Carole had been satisfied with that.  The two of them had chatted some more until Mike had to leave, with Carole telling him about the old ethnic Italian neighborhood surrounding the house they were sitting in where she had lived in most of her life.  He got the clear impression that as her mobility increased, Carole would once more become the eyes and ears of her neighborhood when it came to knowing everything that was going on.  Everything.
        Mike liked this woman a lot.  He had never met anyone quite like her.  He sensed she had a good heart.  A big heart.
        *  *  *
        Matt's mood began improving by leaps and bounds.  After conferring with Dr. Landry, the surgeon who had operated on Matt after he had been stabbed, Mike let his partner start exercising on the beach again on a restricted basis.  Matt was to jog, not run, one mile at a time, and then walk a mile, starting out with a two mile maximum for the first few days.  Mike knew he was probably being overly cautious, but he just didn't want to take a chance that Matt's lung wasn't as healed up as it was supposed to be.  Mike stuck right with him on the beach during the whole first week of the new regimen, making sure Matt got back to the condo in good shape every day before he turned himself around and headed out for his own run, full out, Breakers at his side.
        The mid-December weather was cold and unpleasant, with Chicago living up to its sobriquet "the Windy City."  There was some snow on the ground.  The joy of getting back into his exercise routine was so great, though, that Matt paid no attention to the weather at all.  The rest of the condo runners, which now included everybody but Mary and Chris, kept at it faithfully, but they noticed that they didn't have a lot of company on the beach most of the time due to the wind and cold.
        Everybody picked up on the improvement in Matt's mood right away, and it was good to have the "old" Matt back in their midst.  No one was impervious to one of Matt's good moods no matter what their current problems were.  He put the whole condo family in a positive frame of mind without even trying, even Chris, whose spirits had generally not rebounded the way they should have as he had started the healing process.
        Matt was sitting at his desk studying in his and Mike's bedroom in nothing but his jockies one night when Mike came back from a run on the beach with Stan.  Going to his room, Mike got his partner's undivided attention when he stood behind him and ran his very cold hands down Matt's bare chest and into his shorts.
        "AAAARRRRGGGG!!  You miserable piece of shit!!!" Matt yelled, jumping out of his chair to get the offending digits out of his crotch.  "What did you do that for, Fuckstick?"
        "I was just following medical instructions," Mike responded calmly in his best professional tone.  "Dr. Landry told me to make absolutely sure I checked your reflexes.  They're good.  Very good, in fact.  You pass."
        Matt grabbed his partner, still wearing his running clothes, and wrestled him down on their bed.
        "You think you're pretty cute, doncha?" Matt demanded, nose to nose with Mike.  "Well, you are, but payback will be a bitch, I can promise you that!  Count on it!"
        "I thought the Bible says, 'Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord.' "
        "It does.  But sometimes when something totally unwarranted has happened, He delegates.  This is one of those times."
        "Well, as long as God is watching, we may as well be entertaining," Mike said with an evil grin.  "So it's story-time!"
        "I want a divorce!  Right now!!  This marriage isn't going the way I thought it would at all," Matt said, rubbing noses with Mike.  "You're a bad person, and you have a mean streak.  No judge in the world will make me stay with you.  And the Church will give me an annulment in 10 seconds."
        "Heh.  Shut up," Mike said.
        "There was an old couple who were planning to go on a second honeymoon for their 50th wedding anniversary.  The old woman said, 'We'll go to all the same places that we did on our first honeymoon.'
        "'Uh huh,' said the old man.
        "'We'll do all the things that we did on our first honeymoon,' said the old woman.
        "'Uh huh,' said the old man.
        "'And we'll make love like we did on our first honeymoon,' said the old woman.
        "'That's right,' said the old man, 'except this time I get to sit on the side of the bed and cry, "It's too big, it's too big!"'"  
        Matt couldn't help himself, and burst out laughing.
        "You dweeb!" he said.  "I'll show you big!  Get your ass naked right now.  It's the least you can do."
        "I need to take a shower."
        "No way!  You're getting a good tongue bath!  That's as clean as you're gonna get."
        "Well, when you put it that way..."  Mike extricated himself from his brother's grasp, stood up and stripped.  When his clothes lay in a heap at his feet, he went to their bedroom door, shut it and locked it, came back and threw himself , already half hard, back on the bed.  They kissed affectionately for a few minutes, and then Matt began working Mike's nipples, alternately pinching them and nibbling on them while Mike pushed Matt's jockies down his legs and off on to the floor.  Soon both their dicks were rock hard and plastered against up their abs, throbbing with each heart beat.
        "You look so good to me, sometimes I can't believe it," Matt said, licking Mike's beautiful chest yet again.  Sliding down in the bed, he grasped Mike's tool and deep throated it all in one motion.  Mike tensed and his breath whooshed out of his lungs, and then he began panting to try to keep from orgasming.
        "Easy," Mike groaned.  "I'm almost there."
        Matt stopped all movement, and just held his partner perfectly still until the latter came back from the brink.  Pulling off a bit so he could get a breath, Matt started fellating Mike slowly as his partner's sweet tasting precum began flowing into Matt's mouth.
        "Yes!!" Mike said as the ecstasy of what he was feeling took control.  He began bucking his hips gently as Matt sucked his cock while gently massaging his balls with one hand and sensuously stroking his stomach with the other.
        Without dislodging Matt from his penis, Mike swung around into a 69.  After licking Matt's dick thoroughly, he went down on him all the way, swallowing the big head of his lover's beautiful cock until it was lodged down his throat.  Then he began bobbing his head slowly, giving himself a chance to breathe occasionally as he did so.  Matt was making little muffled, guttural sounds of approval as he continued his own ministrations to Mike.  The pace of their lovemaking slowed, then accelerated, then slowed again as the two young men extended their mutual pleasure as long as possible.  After 20 minutes on the sex roller coaster, their passion could no longer be denied, and they each ejaculated thick ropes of cum until it began escaping the confines of their mouths and running down on to the bed.  Then, their nervous systems short-circuited for the moment, they lay quiescent, each still holding his partner's cock in his mouth even after orgasm.
        Eventually, Mike released Matt, marshaled his strength and turned back around so the lovers faced each other.  They deep-kissed one another, tongues thrusting slowly and deliberately, tasting their commingled semen.  Totally relaxed, smiling, they drifted off to sleep, clasped together.
        Matt awakened first a few minutes later.  He lay there in his partner's arms looking at Mike's face as he dozed.  By that time of the evening, Mike's dark blond stubble was visible on the handsome planes of his face.  That handsome face.  For perhaps the thousandth time Matt thanked God for restoring Mike to him after their separation.
        Mike's eyes opened shortly thereafter, and he smiled into his partner's eyes.
        "What?" Matt asked, grinning back, as Mike studied him intently.
        "I love you, man.  Body and soul.  Totally.  That's all," Mike said.
        Matt held his lover's face in his hands and caressed it tenderly, stroking gently under his eyes with his thumbs.  "We just keep getting better together, y'know?  I don't just mean the sex."
        "I know."
        After a few more minutes, his powers of thought gradually returning, Matt shifted gears.  "Listen, I need to get back to studying, but we need to talk about Christmas sometime soon," Matt said.  "As usual, it's snuck up on us."
        "What about it?" Mike asked.
        "Well, you know we told Mom and Dad at Thanksgiving that we'd spend Christmas at home with them in Pennsylvania," Matt said.  "And we need to do that for Dad's sake.  He needs the time at home.  But now we have Chris, and we can't all just traipse off and leave him alone here."
        "You're right.  We'll hafta talk to Mom and Dad about it, of course, but I say we take everybody home, including Chris.  And I think we should invite Carole to go with us, too.  We can't leave her here to spend Christmas alone if Chris goes with us."
        "That sounds good to me," Matt said.  "Let's call Mom in a little while.  There are plenty of bedrooms if they open up the old wing of the house.  Mom and Dad love having a crowd there, you know that, and so do Branford and Mrs. Brighton."
        "Andie!" Mike exclaimed.  "We forgot Andie.  She needs to come with us, too."
        "Absolutely!  Jeff'll be grumpy if she's not there!  Now that I think about it, 'grumpy' probably doesn't cover what he'd be!  Thoroughly pissed off is more like it!"
        "OK," Mike said.  "I'll tell ya what!  With this many people, and with Chris still with a cast on his arm and leg, I think we should charter a plane.  We have enough people to justify the expense.  I'll call tomorrow and see what we can get.  How does that grab ya?" Mike asked, palming his partner's now-flaccid cock.
        "It grabs me perfectly, just like you always do.  I think this will be a most excellent adventure!"  Matt kissed him, reclaimed his dick, and they rolled out of bed in a very good mood and re-dressed in gym shorts to hit the books until they called their mother.
        Later in the evening, on a hunch, they called their dad's apartment in Washington instead of home, and sure enough, their mother answered.
        "Broman residence," she said.
        "Mommy!  It's Matt."
        "And also Mike, your more mature son," Mike said from his extension.
        Jane Broman laughed.  "Dad, it's Matt and Mike.  Get on an extension."
        There was a click.
        "All right, you guys," Justice Broman said.  "What's going on?"
        "Mon pere," Matt said.  "Wie gehts?"
        "I think you'd better settle on one language or the other, Matt," Justice Broman suggested with a laugh.  "You'll confuse the guys manning the government wiretap."
        "They wouldn't dare tap your phone!" Mike said indignantly.
        "I think I'm kidding," Mr. Broman said.  "But there are all kinds of strange things going on these days."
        "Nothing is as strange as your firstborn's antics, I can assure you of that," Mike said.
        "So you're saying things are normal," Jane Broman said.
        "Yeah," Mike said, laughing.  "Perfectly normal."
        "Humph!" Matt said.  "Listen, I wanted to touch base with you about Christmas.  There are a few complications on our end."
        "You're not coming home?" Mrs. Broman wailed.
        "No," Matt said.  "We're coming.  We promised we would when you were here at Thanksgiving.  But we're bringing everybody, if that's all right."
        "Who's everybody?" Mrs. Broman asked.
        "Let's see," Mike said.  "There's Matt and me, Mary, Stan and Linda, Matthew, Michael and Kyle, Chris Russo, and his Aunt Carole.  Carole Maggliozzi.  And Andie Parker.  That's 11 of us.  And Breakers makes 12."
        "Chris Russo.  That's the young police officer who caught the man who stabbed you, isn't it?" Justice Broman asked.  "We met him at your wedding."
        "Yes," Matt said.  "He was shot a few weeks ago when he was on patrol, and he's recuperating here at the condo.  He has a cast on one arm and one leg.  We can't leave him here, and anyway, it will give him a real lift to be with us for Christmas.  He and his aunt are the only family either of them has, so that's why we want to bring Carole.  She's nice, you'll like her."
        "Good, sweetheart," Mrs. Broman said.  "The more the merrier, you know that.  We can open up the bedrooms in the old wing of the house.  We have plenty of room.  Jack and Judy will be here, and Grandma, if she's able to travel, which is 'iffy.'  The staff at home will be happy to have something to do.  Anyway, we're looking forward to seeing you all.  It will be wonderful to have you home."
        "Let's keep Jeff in the dark about Andie," Matt suggested.  "He'll fall on his butt when he sees her.  We'll warn her at this end not to say anything when he calls her."
        "All right," Mrs. Broman said.  "But keep my name out of your little joke, please."
        "All right!  This is gonna be fun!  Now I'm seriously pumped!" Matt said.
        "Me, too!" Mike said.  "I miss you both."
        "We miss you, too, son.  How are you getting over here?" Mr. Broman asked.
        "I'm going to charter a plane," Mike said.
        "Good idea," Justice Broman responded. "You have enough people to make it worthwhile.  Well, we'll see you soon, boys!  Safe trip!"
        They hung up, and Mike ran back to his and Matt's bedroom, where he grabbed his partner and covered his face with big, sloppy wet kisses, just for the sheer joy  of it.
        *  *  *
        Chris had fallen for Matthew, Michael and Kyle in a big way.  The young cop had hardly arrived for his stay at the condo when the three boys started making a beeline for his room immediately after they came home from pre-school every day.  After several days, Chris found himself counting the hours and minutes until those little faces peeked in the door and the boys asked if they could come in.  The kids had awakened in him feelings that he had never expected.
        The hospital bed was tall, so the boys had dragged the highchairs they had pretty much outgrown at that point, without the trays affixed, into Chris' room. Crammed into their respective seats, the three of them sat high enough to see Chris eye to eye and carry on a conversation.  So, simultaneously with the start of his recuperation at the condo, Chris began to get detailed descriptions from the kids about what went on at school every day.
        "All right," Chris said to the boys one afternoon, having himself watched cartoons on TV all morning, "I want to know which one of you guys is really 'Spongebob Squarepants.'  Be honest, now, and tell me the truth.  I know one of you is, for sure  You're just in disguise."
        The boys looked at each other with big blue eyes, and started laughing.
        "No-o-o-o!" Matthew said.  "But you prolly work at the Krusty Krab!"
        "Oh, no I don't!" Chris said.  "Well, which one of you has the squarest pants?  He's probably 'Spongebob.'  Who is it?  Will the real Spongebob please stand up?!"
        "It might be Michael," Kyle suggested.  "It's not me, I know that."
        Michael denied it, of course.  But the great Spongebob Squarepants controversy gave the four of them several hours of pleasure wrangling about who it was, and which of them might be Spongebob's best friends, 'Patrick' and 'Squidward.'  The kids loved it.
        When the boys told Matt about it, he decided he was going to have a little fun.  On the way home from school one day, he stopped at a store and bought a yellow T-shirt and a pair of the ugliest brown boxer shorts on the face of the earth.  When he got home, he wetted the boxers, took some starch; and shaped the leg openings into squares.  The next afternoon he came home a little early, and while the boys were in Chris' room talking as usual, he put on the yellow T and starched boxers with the square leg holes and walked in on them.
        "Hi!" he said, looking pleased with himself.  "I'm Spongebob Squarepants, and I heard you've been looking for me."
        The three boys began to laugh, and Chris laughed so hard he almost fell out of bed.  The boys came over to their dad and felt the "squarepants."
        "These are stiff, Dad," Michael said.  "You better put these in the laundry."  And then it was Matt's turn to laugh.
        The joke played, Matt gave the squarepants to Mike, telling him that he wanted him to wear them exclusively on any day he thought he might want to have sex, because they were now his "lucky boxers."  Mike's reply was vigorous and unprintable.
        Of her own volition, Linda had assumed primary responsibility for care of Chris, backed up by Mary when Linda had to be in class.  Chris and Linda had developed a good relationship, and Chris had quickly lost his initial shyness with her when he was naked, being bathed, and having her help him with his basic bodily functions.  She handled her duties like the true professional she was.
        Chris also began to develop an appreciation for how this unusual little family in the condo functioned so well.  It looked effortless at first glance, but it clearly depended on everyone carrying out a daily set of basic tasks while working with complicated personal schedules.  What needed to be done was done well, though.
        Following Chris' doctor's orders and Mike's instructions, before many days had passed Linda had Chris sitting up on the side of his bed, and up on crutches for increasing periods of time every day walking around the condo.  She was troubled when she saw that there seemed to be some residual weakness in Chris' left hand--he had been shot in the right side of his head, the side of brain which controls the motor functions on the left side of the body.  When she told Mike what she was observing, he was concerned as well, and gave Chris a rubber ball to squeeze over and over in that left hand as opportunity presented itself.  Mike discussed the problem with Chris' neurosurgeon, and a date was set to take him back to the U of C Hospital for a follow-up exam.
        The exam confirmed that there was likely to be at least some permanent weakness in Chris' left hand, although he was far from suffering paralysis in that hand.  Other functions on the left side of his body were normal.  The realization that this probably spelled the end of Chris' career as a police officer was not lost on him, and he soon fell into a downward emotional spiral.  Within days, only Matthew, Michael and Kyle could bring half a smile to his face.  Even when Zia Carole came up to visit, she had a hard time getting him to talk, which upset her terribly.  Linda began to have trouble getting him to eat his meals and to do his exercises.  He began to spend more and more time alone in his room alone rather than joining the others in the den for TV or conversation.  The whole family worried about him, and Mike seriously considered urging Chris to allow a therapist to come in and talk with him.
        One evening Matt took a break from studying in his bedroom and walked down the hall.  Peering into Chris' dimly lighted room, he saw him lying in his bed passively--no music, no TV, eyes half shut, his face an expressionless mask.  Taking a deep breath, Matt went in and shut the door behind him.  Chris looked over at him blankly and then looked away.
        "Hey, Chris, we need to talk," Matt said, approaching the bed and sitting down in a chair.
        "Can we make it some other time?" Chris asked.  "I don't feel like it right now."
        "No, not really.  This is as good a time as we're gonna get."
        Chris sighed.  "All right."
        "I know we've never had the chance to know each other really well, not yet, anyway.  But I think highly of you and what you've already accomplished in your life.  I'm wondering--do you have any trust in me at all?" Matt asked.
        "Whaddaya mean?"
        "I mean, do you have any respect or trust or confidence in me at all as a person?"
        "Well, as you said, we don't know each other all that well," Chris said.  "I think you're a good person, though, if that's what you're asking.  You and Mike have been very good to me and Aunt Carole."
        "Well, thank you.  That's nice of you to say, but believe me, I didn't come in here to collect your thanks.  I came in here because, to be blunt, I think you need an attitude adjustment, buddy.  And I'm just the guy to do that, because I've been lucky enough to get so many of these attitude adjustments when I needed 'em, from people who cared enough about me to go to the trouble."
        Chris said nothing and stared at the wall.
        "Let me ask you something," Matt said.  "What do you see when you look at Mike and me?"
        "I don't wanna play twenty questions with you, Matt."
        "Let's make this painless, Chris.  What do you see?"
        "I don't know.  Young guy, smart, good looking.  What do you want me to say?"
        Matt smiled.  "Smart, good looking, rich, no problems.  Never had any problems.  Am I right?"
        Chris shrugged.
        "I suppose you can't be blamed for thinking that, but I wanna share some things with you that..." --Matt hesitated--  "...just might give you a little more accurate picture.  Contrary to what you think, life hasn't been a bed of roses for Mike and me, especially Mike.
        Chris looked at him, expressionless.
        "Before I say anything more, I want you to know that I'm not smart enough to have figured most of this out on my own.  A lot of it I know only because of things my dad has said to me and Mike over the years, and from watching how my mom and dad have handled the bad news in their lives.  I hope that'll give what I'm going to tell you a little more credence,"  Matt said.
        "There's never a good time for problems like you're facing to arise," Matt continued.  "But they come along anyway.  I know you're hurting right now, physically and every other way.  You're feeling down, and understandably so.  I'm not trying to shame you into being cheerful.  You're grieving the possible loss of your career in law enforcement because of your injury.  I get that.  This is the work you wanted to do, and you sacrificed plenty to equip yourself to do the job.  And I understand very well that there's no timetable on grief and no guaranteed cure for it, so I'm not claiming to be omniscient about how long it should take for your mental attitude to improve.  Not by a long shot.
        "Mike and I have had some pretty rough times ourselves, and our money and social standing didn't do a thing to protect us.  Maybe you know this, but when we were in college, Mike's whole family was killed in a plane crash.  He had to fight hard to keep going, and it wasn't easy.  Later on, we were outed on campus for being gay, and Mike got beaten to a pulp, almost, by masked guys with baseball bats.  The physical pain for him was bad enough, but I think the pain of feeling that people hated us, or at least were looking down on us, because we were gay, was worse by far.
        "We both started grieving what we perceived as our loss of status.  But we were both jocks, and what the outing and the beating eventually did for us was to move us pretty fast from grief to being pissed off.  It made us set up team meetings and tell our teammates, fuck yes, we're gay and we're partners, but that we loved our school and our sport and that nothing was going to stop us from giving our two teams all the dedication and energy we had.  Being angry enough to confront the issue like that had a good outcome.  Not one of our teammates turned his back on us.  In fact, they all started looking out for us around campus.  People on campus who didn't like us because we were gay watched their mouths when they were around our teammates, I can tell you that.  If you were homophobic, you couldn't be too public about it or there were consequences.  And the threat of physical harm to gays on campus dropped significantly as a result.  In the world we face every day, though, we're well aware that a significant part of the population hates us without ever knowing us.  That's just a fact we live with, and will all our lives.
        "That was brought home to me in a big way when I got stabbed on the beach.  Somebody hated me enough to try to kill me!  If it hadn't been for Mike and the family; I don't think I would have made it.  I know my attitude around home hasn't always been the greatest as I've been recuperating from that, but I'm trying to do better all the time, believe me.
        "I know you're sad about what happened to you--we all are.  And maybe you're angry about it, too--I know I am.  Of the two, sadness or anger, I'd rather have you be damned angry about what's happened to you.  I'm asking you not to grieve about it more than you have to.  And don't you even dare think that what happened to you is a sign that the good things, the good times, in your life are over.  Grief and depression about this injury can eat you up if you let them own you for too long.  I know that for a fact.  If you can't shake your grief, though, and sometimes people can't, I want you to let us know.  There's help for that.  But best case scenario, I want you to use your anger to move you forward into a new plan for your life if it really works out you can't be a cop anymore.  I know this is just a personal opinion, but when a door closes for any of us, a lot of times another door will open for us if we look for it.  I think you need to take a step back from what's happened to you and begin to look for what can come out of this whole thing.
        "Above all, I want you to know that you're not alone in facing whatever's around the corner for you, Chris.  We're here for you.  Mike and I and everybody who lives here see good things in you.  We see love and caring in you.  We see strength in you.  We see good character in you.  We're your friends, and don't you forget it.  And because you are a friend, if you even think about giving up and not working to your potential, I give you my personal word we'll kick your ass bigtime."  Matt paused and looked down at the floor, and then back up at Chris.  "I guess that's all I have to say.  I hope you'll give it some thought."
        Chris swallowed hard, and then slowly turned his head and looked Matt in the eye.  Nothing was said for a long moment as the two young men stared at one another.
        "Matt, I don't know what to tell you right now.  I'll certainly think about what you've said."  Chris paused.  "I know I probably needed to hear it.  So, thanks."
        Chris stuck out his hand.  Matt got up from his chair, and they shook on it.
        Matt started to walk out of the room, but turned back at the door.
        "By the way, buddy, you're flying home to Pennsylvania with all of us for Christmas.  We're asking Aunt Carole to come along, too."
        Matt didn't see it as he left, but Chris got a look of total surprise on his face, shaking his head in amazement about what had just transpired between the two of them.  He knew one thing--he hadn't really been looking forward to the holidays all that much, but now he was starting to.
        Staring at the wall of his bedroom, his thoughts drifted back to his growing-up years.  His mother had had to struggle, working full time as a secretary while raising a son alone, but she'd never given up.  He'd never lacked for the essentials, but there had never much money for any frills.  Mrs. Russo had kept him on a short leash during his school years and made him study.  His grades were good, which made him eligible for sports, which he really liked and for which he had some talent.  He'd played some football, and also done a little boxing.  His grades in high school had been good enough to earn him a scholarship for the college education that he otherwise could never have afforded.  His mom had had a hard life, though, and it had taken its toll.  She had died of a brain aneurysm his junior year in college.  That was when he went to live with his Aunt Carole, his mother's sister, when he wasn't away at college.
        All in all, his life hadn't been an easy one, but like his mom, he had never been a quitter.  He knew instinctively that Matt had been right in what he had said.
        So at that point he shed the last tears he was going to shed about being shot and what it meant for his life and his career.  When he was finished, he dried his face, sat up on the side of the bed, put on his robe and reached for his crutches.  Cursing softly under his breath about the inconvenience of his condition, he went to join the family in the den.  Everyone was very happy to see him.  After he got comfortable on the couch, the boys climbed up and sat beside him.  He started to feel better about things.
        Later that night, Linda went back to Matt's and Mike's room and knocked on the door, which was partially ajar.  Matt looked up from his desk, where he was sitting in his gym shorts, studying.
        "Hey, Linda."
        "Hi, Matt.  Did you or Mike have a talk with Chris tonight?" she asked.
        "Yeah.  I did.  Why?"
        "You're some kind of miracle worker, that's all."
        "Whaddaya mean?"
        "He's done a total 180 as far as his spirits are concerned.  He even apologized to me for being so down lately.  Whatever you said, patent it and sell it, Matt.  It works."
        Matt got a big smile on his face.  "Chris is a tough guy.  He's gonna be fine.  Thanks for telling me, Linda."
        *  *  *
        Clad in his usual U Penn baseball cap and athletic jacket, duffel bag slung over one shoulder, Jeff bounded up the stairs to the coach house after his usual two hour, early afternoon workout at the gym.  His wife beater was soaked with sweat under his jacket.  His eyes and skin were glowing.  He was the epitome of the healthy young jock, a real eye magnet.
        Sometimes he resented the time commitment he had made to maintaining and improving his physical fitness, but the reality was that his training program had some of the qualities of an addiction by now.  Although occasionally he had to force himself to go to the gym when he was feeling lazy, once he was there, he loved it.  He couldn't stop.  But it sure puts a big hole in the day, he often thought to himself.
        Opening the door of the coach house and entering the hall, he glanced into their little living room and saw Martha sitting on the couch, studying.
        He detoured from his intended route back to his bedroom, and throwing his duffel bag down along with his jacket, went in and sat down beside her.
        "Hey, sis.  'Sup?"
        "Chemistry, unfortunately.  It sucks bigtime.  Not my favorite subject, I can tell you that!  I'm really sick of it!"
        Jeff chuckled.  "Yeah, I know.  But think of all the little animals who will be happy you know all the chemicals to get 'em high.  They'll give you lots of kisses.  Heh."
        "Uh huh.  Well, I'll take 'em.  Why are you in such a good mood?"
        "I'm just thinking about Christmas.  Matt and Mike promised Mom and Dad at Thanksgiving that they'd come home this year.  Should be fun.  The only thing is, I won't get to see Andie.  So I was thinking about going over to Chicago to see her after Christmas, before school starts again."
        "That sounds like an excellent idea!" Martha said.  "You're flying, I hope."
        "I hadn't thought that far ahead yet.  But that's prolly the only way I can make it work.  I just don't wanna get any flack from Dad about my credit card bill, that's all."
        "Well, if you drove, you'd no sooner get to Chicago than you'd hafta turn around and come back."
        "Yeah, I know," Jeff said.
        "Fares are cheap right now.  You can fly cheaper than you can drive, probably.  Anyway, you can put the airline charges on my card if you want to.  Dad never says anything to me."
        "I know it."  Jeff grimaced.  "And that really pisses me off.  Just because you're 'the daughter,' you can do no wrong."
        "Hey, there hafta be some advantages to being the baby girl in the family, y'know."
        "I won't even touch that issue.  If I fly to Chicago from home after Christmas, will you drive my truck back to school?"
        "Yes," Martha agreed.
        "Cool!  All right, let me take a shower, and then let's call Matt and Mike and find out about their plans.  And Andie, of course."  Jeff got a big smile on his face.
        "You've got it bad for her, doncha?" Martha asked..
        "You noticed."
        "I'd have to be blind to miss it."  Martha shoved her brother good naturedly on the shoulder.  "Hurry up and shower, you stink."
        "Doncha love it?" Jeff asked as he stood up and headed for the bathroom.
        "Get over yourself!" Martha laughed.
        Twenty minutes later Jeff ambled back into the living room all cleaned up, portable phone in hand, and dropped down on the couch.  Martha picked up the living room phone on the table next to her, and speed dialed the condo in Chicago.  Jeff turned on his phone and put it to his ear.
        "One ringy dingy, two ringy dingies..." Jeff started counting.  Martha smiled.  The kid was irrepressible.
        A strange voice finally answered after the fourth ring.
        "Hello?"
        "Hi," Martha said.  "Who's this?"
        "This is Chris.  Chris Russo."
        "Hi, Chris," Martha answered, a little surprised.  "This is Martha Broman.  Jeff's on with me, too."
        "Hey, Chris.  How goes it, dude?" Jeff interjected.
        "Not bad," Chris lied.  "How are you guys?"
        "Bored with school and lonesome for the wonderful people of Chicago," Jeff said.  "Is Matt or Mike there?"
        "No, both of 'em are still at school," the young cop said.  "They're still playing catch-up from taking time off for their honeymoon.  Do you want me to have 'em call you when they get in?"
        "Yeah, we should probably talk to them," Martha said.  "Just tell 'em Jeff and I were wondering about their Christmas plans.  I know they're coming to Pennsylvania.  We just wondered what their time schedule is."
        "Cool.  I'll have 'em get back to you."
        "Thanks, Chris," Jeff said.  "Laters."
        "Hey, guys?" Chris said just before they broke the connection.
        "Yes?" Martha asked.
        "Maybe it's not my place to tell you this, but it's such good news...Mary got a clean bill of health from the doc.  She's cancer-free."
        "ALL RIGHT!!" Jeff yelled.
        "I'm so glad!!  That's awesome!" Martha said.  "Is she there?"
        "No, she went grocery shopping.  She should be back in a few, though," Chris said.
        "You give her our love, ' K, Chris?" Jeff said.  "Tell her we're looking forward to seeing her at home."
        "Will do," Chris said.  "See ya then."
        They broke the connection, still smiling about the good news, and Jeff high-fived his sister.
        Martha looked at Jeff.  "'See ya then?'  Is that what he said?  Is Chris living at the condo?  Is he coming to Mom's and Dad's for Christmas?"
        "I dunno.  You'll hafta call Miss Cloe if ya want all the answers, Mart.  What I do know is, this 'family' just keeps getting bigger, but not by the usual methods.  I mean, I'm sure there's a lot screwing going on for some, but I'm sure as hell not doing my share."
        "You're gross!" Martha said, laughing.  "And you have a one-track mind!"
        "Uh huh.  You gonna make the reservations to Chicago for me?" Jeff asked.
        "Yes, I'll do it."
        "Ya gonna get a limo to meet me?"
        "Never!" Martha said emphatically.
        "Come on.  Since it's on your credit card, Dad won't care."
        Martha capitula