Messalina Munroe, Jimmy Duran, Russell Holland, and any others you don't recognize are mine.
Rated R : Strong but brief violence, language, m/m sexual contact. Some scenes are intense.
This story includes slash, which involves sexual situations between two men. If you're uncomfortable with the idea, don't read this.
Last chapter - many thanks to everyone for reviewing; it means a lot to me. Special thanks to Rach for feedback on several scenes and various encouragement. And of course to my wonderful betas, Cecilia and Jenny.
Messalina : Wife of the Roman emperor Claudius; she was supposedly the most promiscuous woman in Rome, and had the nasty habit of having her enemies executed on false charges. Eventually she was herself executed after bigamously marrying one of her lovers. (Why I used that name, I haven't a clue.)
Eric raised his chin, looking over the faces of the mourners. It didn't matter what they thought of him, or whether they suspected him. Wes was alive, that was all that mattered, in the end. Everyone would know the truth soon enough. Everyone... including the man who had caused all of this.
Couldn't let his eyes linger on Russell Holland's face, couldn't let anyone see the fury he felt at the thought of what Holland had done to Wes. To all of them. He smiled -- but only on the inside. Let Holland think he was safe, that Wes was dead and no one knew the truth, for a little while longer. Eric only hoped he was there when it happened, when Holland felt the cuffs on his wrists and heard himself being charged with kidnapping and attempted murder.
He pulled his thoughts back to here and now, to Wes's funeral and the eulogy he was giving. With a glance down at his notes, he went on. "People liked Wes. That's why most of you are here. He was liked by almost everyone who knew him, not just for being his father's son, but for himself." Not what he had said when they had argued, but this was the way he really felt. Too bad Wes wasn't here to hear it. He still hadn't apologized. Last night, by the time the plans were made and the detectives had left, it had been late, and Wes had been tired...
They had all gone, closing the bedroom door, leaving him alone with Wes for a few moments. He took the hand Wes held up to him. They just looked at each other until Eric sat on the side of the bed, the other hand reaching to brush back Wes's hair, to trace the lines of his face. "Nice to see you again," he said softly.
"Nice to be here," Wes murmured. "I missed you. Did you miss me?"
"You have no idea..." Eric leaned down, seeing Wes smile softly as their lips came closer... but then straightened quickly at the sound of the door opening.
"Oh. Sorry to interrupt." It was Alan Collins, his eyes quickly jumping to Wes's hand still in his, and then away.
"Dad..." Wes hesitated, his eyes finding Eric's and then returning to his father. "Dad, does Eric have to leave?"
"No, not if you want him to stay." Collins' face was neutral when Eric looked at him, startled.
"Would it be all right with you?"
"I understand that he doesn't want to be alone tonight. Of course it's all right."
So he had stayed, locking the door, taking off his outer clothes, and finally sliding into the bed. Wes had been almost out by that time, exhausted by his ordeal and feeling the effects of the sedative the doctor had given him to help him sleep. They had held each other, a pang going through Eric as he felt Wes's ribs a little more prominent than before, the bones of his spine sharp under his fingers.
Wes had murmured something indistinct, sighed, and relaxed against him. Eric had watched him sleep, reassured by the motion of his breathing as it deepened and slowed, and by the heartbeat he could feel when he pressed his hand to Wes's chest. At some point his own eyes had closed, and he had drifted into the first peaceful sleep he had had for the last week.
"Wes was a Collins, a Silver Guardian, a Ranger. But he was more than all of those things. Most of all, he was my friend." Eric took another look around the room, at the eyes staring back at him.
Lina had her cellphone to her ear. As he paused, watching, she whispered something to Jimmy, looked up at the podium, and nodded.
And then the door at the back of the room was opening. A man stood there, silhouetted against the afternoon sunlight, other forms crowding behind him. He stepped inside. A murmur rose from the people in the back, a ripple of scattered gasps and exclamations running over the mourners as they twisted to look; then a few sharp cries of astonishment and shock, a wave of people moving, staring, jumping to their feet...
It was Wes, walking up the aisle at a deliberate pace, a hard smile on his face, several uniformed police and a few Silver Guardians at his back. He caught Eric's eye for a moment before advancing to where Russell Holland was seated at the end of a row, turning, and facing him. Holland had gone white, his mouth opening and closing silently.
"Aren't you glad to see me, Russell?" Wes asked conversationally.
"I -- what -- you're supposed to be dead!"
"You sound almost disappointed. Why would that be?"
"No -- I'm, I'm happy you're all right..."
"No good, Russell. I recognized you as one of the men who buried me alive and left me to die. The police just executed a search warrant on your house. They found ID belonging to someone named Chris Watson. An old high school friend of yours from out of town, apparently. His car was found abandoned not far from your house. No license plates or registration, but you forgot the VIN tags, didn't you? I'm betting a DNA test will prove he's the body in the cabin."
Holland lurched to his feet and backed down the aisle as Wes continued. "They found a pair of shoes in your apartment, covered in dirt that looks like it came from the Warren graveyard. Detected bloodstains in your car. I think they'll match the dead man. They found my car, ditched in the woods not far from the graveyard. Might be more evidence in that. But they already have more than enough."
He stepped face to face with Holland, who fell back again. Eric had approached from behind him; he felt Holland jump as he laid a heavy hand on the taller man's shoulder, stopping him.
"They told me they found your plan, too, Russell," Wes said softly. "All written out, in every detail. You needed money. You kidnapped me to get it. What happened then? When I woke up and saw you, you panicked? You decided to leave me there, to die slowly of hunger and thirst, locked up in that damn box?"
"No!" Holland suddenly seemed to come to life, trying to pull free from Eric's grasp. "No, you can't prove it! You can't do this!"
"It's over, Russell. Maybe you'll find out just a little of how I felt while you're trying to stay off death row." Wes held up a hand as Jimmy stepped forward, handcuffs ready. "Just one more thing..." he murmured. He turned back to Holland, staring at him for a moment, then with a quick motion pulled back a fist and hit him, hard, across the face. Holland staggered back. Eric roughly pushed him upright again.
"He -- he assaulted me!" Holland gasped.
"Just consider yourself lucky," Eric growled softly. "If Wes didn't hit you, I would have."
"You're going to have a lot more to worry about than a sock in the jaw," Lina said with an unfriendly smile. She nodded at Jimmy.
"Russell Holland, you're under arrest for the murder of Christopher Watson and the kidnapping and attempted murder of Wesley Collins. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law..."
Lina stood outside the funeral home as Russell Holland was put inside a squad car. She had rarely felt so much satisfaction at the conclusion of a case. Of course, this wasn't over by a long shot, there was still more evidence to gather, the trial to go through...
"He will be convicted, won't he? He won't get away with it?"
Alan Collins' voice had echoed her own thoughts. She smiled at him. "I'm as confident as I've ever been about a case. It was considerate of him to write his plan down, and to be stupid enough not to destroy it. With that, we have enough evidence to put him away right now, and we're going to get more. And of course it helps to have the victim's testimony. I'm sure Wes will be very convincing to a jury."
"Good." He stood beside her, watching the police cars disappear into the distance, and then turned. She followed his gaze to see Wes and Eric standing together a few yards away. "You found out quite a bit about my family," he went on, his voice lowered. "I hope not all of it has to be made public."
"Whatever is just hearsay, or suspicion -- and whatever turned out to be irrelevant to the crime -- there's no need for it to even go into the file."
"Does Detective Duran feel the same way?"
"He does. We're not completely heartless, no matter what Eric would probably tell you. And you can tell him not to worry about his neighbors, either. The adults never noticed anything, or that's what they said."
"You're all right, Detective Munroe."
"Why, thank you, Mr. Collins."
"So -- so tell me, is there a Mr. Munroe?"
"Well..." She smiled, not looking up at him. "I was married for about five minutes twenty years ago. But not since then."
"Ah. Engaged? Involved?"
"No and no."
"Do you have a first name?"
This time she grinned. "Yes. It's Messalina."
"Messalina?" When she looked up, he was grinning too. "Unusual name. But a famous one."
"You mean infamous. Now that you know my disgraceful secret, you can call me Lina."
"Well, Lina -- I'm kind of out of practice at this, but... would you like to get a cup of coffee or something when you have time?"
"Yes, I'd like that, Mr. Collins, sir."
He smiled as they started for the cars. "Great. And I have a first name, too, you know."
"Being a professional detective, I suspected that."
Wes sighed contentedly, relaxing at last in Eric's bed. They had gone to the police station from the funeral home, and Wes had found himself in an impromptu press conference in front of the building when they left. Then an hour at Bio-Lab, where he had tried to check on Silver Guardian business and ended up spending his time with a parade of friends and co-workers welcoming him back. All of it had been moving, and a little overwhelming. But most of all he had wanted to get away, to be somewhere quiet. Even more important, where he and Eric could be alone. They had met here, at Eric's house, as soon as they could both get away.
They hadn't needed many words, so far, they had simply come inside, pulled each other's clothes off, and made love with an intensity that caught both of them off-guard. Eric had been as gentle and careful at first as he had been back at the beginning, when Wes had those broken ribs. It had been touching -- until Wes had demonstrated that he already had a good part of his strength back... He smiled at the memory of the last twenty minutes.
"What?" Eric was propped on an elbow, watching him, stroking his arm.
"Just -- happy to be here."
"Me too."
"Thanks for staying last night. I know you must have felt uncomfortable."
"I wanted to stay. It was worth it just to see you in those stupid-looking pajamas." Eric smiled for a moment, but then his face changed, some unpleasant emotion flickering over it.
This time it was Wes who asked, "What is it?"
"I'm sorry."
"It wasn't your fault-"
"That stupid fight -- that could have been the last time we talked to each other."
"Forget the damn fight. I have."
"We came so close to never seeing each other again."
"I know. I thought about you, a lot. Wondered what you'd do if you were there. That's part of what kept me going."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
Wes frowned, glancing away. "I don't know."
"You should. Almost a week, locked up in that little box. I can't even imagine what it must have been like."
"Must have been hard on you too, being a suspect."
"It was. Not to mention thinking you were dead." Eric's mouth smiled for an instant, but his eyes darkened. "But it was much worse for you."
"But it's over now. I'm out, I'm okay." Wes avoided Eric's watchful eyes, and sighed. "I don't even want to think about it," he muttered.
"But you will. It'll come out, sooner or later." Eric hesitated, but then went on. "I saw your face, when you cornered Holland. When you hit him. You looked like you wanted to kill him."
"Yeah, I wanted to kill him. And yeah, I hit him. Wouldn't you have felt the same way, and done the same thing?" Wes demanded. He sat up. "Five days in that stinking box. Thirsty, starving, pissing in a bucket, for Christ's sake. All because of that asshole! How am I supposed to feel?"
"Look, I'm not blaming you for anything." Eric paused, looking hesitant. "I guess I'm trying to say -- it wasn't like you. You've gone through something terrible, something that could end up changing you. And I don't want that to happen. Don't keep it in, get help if you need it. Please."
The flash of anger faded as Wes looked at Eric's face and realized he was right; the box couldn't just be forgotten. Some part of him would always stay trapped inside it, alone and afraid, if he let it. Painful as it was, what he felt needed to come out, even if he wasn't sure what it was and didn't know if he had the words to express it.
"All that time..." he said finally, hesitantly, looking away. "All I could think about was dying -- all alone, never seeing you or Dad again... I felt so helpless..." He trailed off. The physical discomfort, the hunger, the thirst. But most of all, the fear. The times he had given up, the image of himself huddled and crying; it filled him now with shame, humiliation, and anger... "There's been times I thought I was going to die before, lots of them. But this time... I gave up, Eric. First I sat around and waited for someone to come and save me. Then I just waited to die."
"This time was different. No enemy to fight."
"Just the box." Wes shook his head. "Maybe you were right about me. That I'm just a spoiled brat, always relying on Dad, or you, when things get really rough."
"Stop thinking like that. You did fight the box. You got yourself out, didn't you?"
"I was lucky. If it hadn't rained, if that grave had been deeper, if you guys hadn't been there looking for me..."
"You did it. All by yourself. The 'ifs' don't count."
"I gave up. Just lay down and gave up."
"Don't you think anyone would have felt the same way? Including me? I was ready to give up, too, to let them put me in jail. But you got up again, and fought. You're a lot stronger than you think. Always have been."
"I'm still afraid. I don't want to close my eyes and go to sleep, because I'm afraid I'll wake up back in that box..."
"It'll get better, you just need time..." Eric sighed. "I wish there was some way I could help."
"You're helping right now." Wes lay down again, looked into concerned dark eyes, and tried to smile.
Eric leaned in until their lips barely touched, lingering for a few seconds before murmuring, "I know I don't say it enough..."
"You don't have to, I know. I love you too."
And there was no more need for words.