Another fever. Bad this time, too. Tanim slides the back of his hand from Daren’s hot brow and down his cheek, brushing his thumb over the man’s cracked lips. He wonders again, as he has wondered so often since they met, what monster left such lasting damage on his companion. Bruises fade; bones heal; but the nightmares, the physical and emotional trauma, the brokenness verging on madness, those will cripple Daren the rest of his life. Of course, Daren will never admit the abuse he’s suffered or the identity of his abuser. And normally Tanim would respect this decision, honor Daren’s need to keep the darkest aspects of his past to himself, but tonight…

Tonight Tanim can’t bear to watch Daren twist and shiver in the fever’s hold, eyes glassy and breath uneven, too weak to block out the terrors which claw at the edges of his consciousness. Tanim’s heart aches with the knowledge that nothing he can do will fix Daren, rage rising in his throat with the burn of sour bile. He can’t fix Daren, no, but he can bring his lover a modicum of vengeance. Taking Daren’s limp hand in his, Tanim leans over and asks softly, “Who was it, Daren?”

“Nnn…” Daren shakes his head dizzily, eyelids fluttering, not yet delirious enough to answer.  “Stop, Tan…”

“Shh…” Tanim strokes Daren’s cool skin. “It’s okay,” he soothes. “Tell me, darling. Please.”

“I-I…” Black eyes try to focus, fail, and Daren turns his face into the sweat damp pillow with another shiver. The sickness is pulling him back down into uneasy sleep and Tanim knows now is his best chance to draw the secret from Daren’s disoriented mind. “Tell me, Daren,” he urges gently, gliding his fingers through the man’s silky hair as he bends so close their lips nearly touch. “Tell me who hurt you all those years ago, my love. It’s easy; just say one name. Let me bring you justice. Please, Daren.”

Shuddering, Daren speaks a name and sinks into fevered sleep. Tanim smiles.

“Thank you, darling.”

Daren hurts. Every part of him hurts. He knows he should get up but he can’t bear to move a single muscle and so he remains crumpled on the floor, head cradled in Tanim’s lap like a sick child. He knows, too, that he shouldn’t speak, yet he finds his cracked lips parting and the unexpected, unwanted question rasping softly, “Why me, Tanim? I’m not worth it.” A tremor shudders up his body and he breaks off for a moment as his muscles spasm. After, sucking in a pained breath, he forces himself to continue, though now the words barely escape his lips. “I’ll hurt you. You’ll be the one left behind. Right now you’re lonely, but at least you’re not grieving.”

Tanim sighs over him in the darkness. He arrived too late during this latest attack, nightmare or seizure or whatever strikes Daren so violently, to keep the man from tumbling out of bed and earning yet another set of bruises. Daren knows Tanim blames himself for that – for a lot of things. Tanim’s fingers glide absently over Daren’s sweat damp hair as he replies with painful honesty, “Of course I’m grieving. I’m grieving for you; for what I don’t have but can’t let go of. I’d rather grieve for what I’ve lost than what I’ve never known.” He swallows to steady his voice before adding, “Have faith in me, Daren. Please.”

Daren means to laugh at such naïveté yet the sound that emerges from his aching throat is closer to a whimper than a mocking snort. “You’re a fool, Tanim,” he chastises, but instead of pulling away he turns his face into the solid warmth of Tanim’s thigh. He hurts so deeply that when Tanim replies gently, “You’re no less of one,” Daren doesn’t even bother arguing. Instead he allows the soothing caress of Tanim’s fingers through his hair to lull him into an exhausted and mercifully dream-free sleep.

[ This piece gave me soooo much trouble. Jeeze. ]