THE GENTLEMEN'S CLUB
Simon

Written by Lady Poetess
egiggles at moose-mail.com
/~bbp

Please do not reproduce on any website without permission. This
story has no resemblance to anyone dead or alive.

PROLOGUE

A man, no matter how invulnerable he was in any other
circumstances, was at his most open and helpless during the throes
of orgasm. The men in question would believe that they were kings
and even gods during the little death, but he knew better. He was
trained to exploit men's helplessness during the death.

If he wanted to, he could have easily snapped Simon Baker's neck
each night they lustily fucked on every fuckable surface and
position they could.

He could have buried a knife into Simon's shuddering back. It
would be too easy to sink his teeth into a vulnerable vein on
Simon's neck. He could easily kill Simon three thousand times all
over. Yet he didn't.

This was because he experienced an unusual sensation while lying
under Simon. He had an orgasm. A genuine, hard-hitting orgasm,
more than one usually, every time he melted under Simon's urgent
thrusts. He had orgasms before, but they were usually perfunctory,
a numbed sensation that often made him feel strangely hollow
inside. Maybe it didn't matter - his inability to be affected by
carnal pleasures made him very good at what he did.

So why now, he wondered. What did Simon know that no other person
did?

Simon was different. Simon was too much like him, a man who seemed
so good at distancing himself from the world around him. Yet as
everything else about this relationship was a lie, Simon didn't
seem to be holding back. How flattering, how humbling, that it was
to be Simon's sole center of existence?

The man in question groaned and collapsed heavily on top of Colin
Farrell. Colin had seen the dazed expression on Simon's post-
coital face probably a hundred times now in the five months they
had this relationship going, and he was still fascinated by it.
Simon, always impassive and stoic in the courtroom, was amazingly
expressive here, in bed with Colin. His usually cold eyes were
alight with unfathomable fire, and he even smiled, a small yet
genuine smile that reached his eyes as he rubbed his lips softly
against Colin's. Their sweat-slicked bodies cooled each other in
the afterglow, and Colin felt every tensed muscle in his body
relax and luxuriate in the comforting embrace of Simon's arms.

Simon was studying him. For an instant Colin felt like squirming
in shame. It was bewildering. He had been in this situation for
too many times to count. Simon was just another target.

As if to make his point, his fingers circled around Simon's neck.
Just one snap, and Colin would be free of Simon. "Next Friday will
be our anniversary," Simon murmured. Sleep made his voice drowsy,
a pleasant timbre to Colin's ears. "Sixth month. Will buy you
something... nice..."

Colin just let his fingers play with Simon's naturally curly hair.
The feel of the smooth, soft curls on his skin only intensified
the throbbing ache in his heart.

"Why do you have to piss off the mob like that? Why do you even
have to be a criminal lawyer and take on that case?" Colin asked
Simon quietly as the latter snored softly. "Why do I have to
weaken now?"

But weakened he had, because there was no way he could kill a man
with melancholy like Simon. He couldn't kill the other half of his
soul.

Tomorrow, he would die for Simon.



ONE

"Happy anniversary, love," Simon said, resting the bouquet on the
headstone. "One year and counting. I hope you're happy. I'm
miserable every day since you died, and I hope it will ruin your
stay in heaven. Or hell, or wherever the fuck you are." He studied
the headstone impassively, his emotions well locked inside his
heart. Only once did he let himself feel, and he had been burned
by it. Loving Colin once was enough, and Simon didn't want to
experience it ever again. Because the idea of sleeping with
another, much less love, was so repulsive to him in its sense of
wrongness that he couldn't even contemplate it.

His friends said he should move on. It was okay to love again,
because Colin would understand. They didn't understand that Simon
knew it was okay. Simon just couldn't love again because he didn't
think he could. Colin took everything he had and then more, and
Simon couldn't love anyone else anymore. He couldn't even do
affairs anymore, and he had offers since Colin's death. He just
couldn't. It felt wrong for another man to touch him. He was
Colin's, and if he had to wait until the final end to see Colin
again, he would wait, damn what the shrinks and counselors said.

"You could've taken pity on me and be a ghost," he told the
headstone. "I would rather have you haunt me every second I'm
alive instead of you leaving me alone in this - this - it's so
cold here, Colin. And every second seems too long without you
here. Haunt me, damn you, torment me until I am mad, because at
least then you're still with me. Come back, Colin. Please."

Of course Colin wouldn't. Simon sighed silently and lit a
cigarette. He had taken up the habit again after the bereavement.
Might as well enjoy and if he got lung cancer in the process,
well, he'd see Colin in the end, so what did it matter?

He walked back to his car. Every footfall of his seemed to weigh a
million pounds and the air seemed colder with every step away from
the cemetery.

Oh well, life went on, even if he didn't want it to. He flicked
the cigarette onto the ground and stepped on it. He had to be in
court in two hour's time, and he had to be prepared.



"Mr Baker, I found it!" Orlando Bloom said excitedly as he walked
into Simon's office late that evening. "Information you wanted on
Colin."

Simon looked up and for the first time in months felt a glimmer of
life in his very being. "He's dead. No need to be so excited," he
said coldly. He was always cold.

Orlando, a private investigator Simon hired only half-heartedly
because Orlando was cheap, didn't seem fazed by Simon's icy
reception to the news. They both knew, even if neither talked
about it, that Simon had hired several other more experienced PI
firms and he never expected Orlando to deliver anything. Proving
Simon wrong was reward enough. That, and Orlando's deliberate
charging Simon extra when it was time for billing, just because
Simon was an arrogant prick.

"Colin wasn't who you said he was," Orlando started to say.

Simon flung the glass paperweight across the room. It hit the far
wall with a crash. "The fuck he isn't," he said in a calm,
pleasant voice, however. It was disconcerting how the man could
look so calm after that act of sudden violence. "Go on."

"This is tough, I mean, I have to crack the FBI files with the
help of some friends, and - "

"Yes, and I'm sure you'll compensate yourself when you send me the
bill."

Bastard. Orlando nonetheless continued, keeping his thoughts
private. "His real name is - "

"His real name is Colin!"

Simon's furious yell caused Orlando to jump almost out of his
skin. "I tell you what. I'll leave my report and stuff here," he
said quickly. "Take a look at them when you are in a more
accepting frame of mind."

Simon only stared stonily at the file Orlando placed on the table.
Orlando, not wanting to push his luck, quietly left for sunnier
places. When it came to being a reptile, Simon could give classes
at the university, he decided.

Back in his office, Simon read the files in stony silence. The
words burned themselves in his mind, even as he violently tried to
deny them. Orlando fucked up. The cocky brat would regret this
when Simon get his hands on that prick, and Simon would break
every bone in that prick's skinny frame for daring to besmirch
Colin like this. He would - Simon's hands trembled as he put down
the files.

He wasn't stupid. He knew what he was looking at. When Colin was
alive, he ignored the unease in his mind, so overcome with this
novelty of feeling alive for the first time in his life. In the
man's death, he ought to be more receptive to the truth - Colin
lied. No, worse than lied. If Colin hadn't died, Simon would be
the one to die. It was actually amusing. Simon had read of Russia
training spies armed in the skills of seduction to infiltrate
their enemies, but apparently the practice was more widespread
than he thought. And Colin was one of the best.

It made sense, he guessed. The last few months he was embroiled in
a case of defending several victims of the mob, and the mob would
want to put him out of commission. How convenient that Colin
appeared out of the blue to that pub one day when Simon was trying
to drink away late night blues, and how convenient that Colin
seemed to be everything Simon wanted in a lover. Everything from
Colin's looks to speech to habits was perfect, a fantasy that
catered to every one of Simon's desires and then more. No wonder
Simon was in love.

Perhaps he should be feeling betrayed, but instead after the
initial fury of denial had passed, he felt only... resignation. A
part of him knew that the whole deal with Colin was too good to be
real, much less lasting, and it was only wild unfettered hope that
held him holding on to the memories. Indeed, every night that he
couldn't sleep, he replayed those times with Colin - laughing,
arguing, and loving - and romanticizing, idealizing them just to
immerse him more in denial.

Maybe these harsh facts would set him free, but they didn't. So
Colin was an assassin preying on his victims' lust for him. Yet
Simon only wondered why Colin didn't kill him in the six months
they were together. And why should Colin be the one to die? Did
Colin die to set Simon free?

Careful, Simon, he told himself. He was setting himself up for
denial again.

But Colin died. For him?

Simon had to smile at that. It wasn't a smile of sardonic self-
effacing ruefulness, but a spontaneous smile that bloomed from the
involuntary burst of wistfulness in him. Who would've thought
Simon Baker, who put his own biological father behind bars, was
such a lovelorn romantic.

"It's a good thing you're dead, Colin," he told the photograph of
the man framed and placed at a reverent spot on his table. He
cleaned the frame and picture with a wet piece of cloth every
morning, keeping it free from dust and wear. "Because I'll
probably kill you if we meet again."



Simon was walking towards his car later that night when he thought
he saw Colin standing across the street. He blinked, and the
hallucination was gone. But it was time enough for him to see his
car explode into flames ten seconds later.




TWO

"I'm taking you off this case," Dylan McDermott told Simon two
days later. "Greg and I have agreed - we don't need this kind of
mess in our lives."

"Then who will defend them from the bastards?" 'Them' referred to
the group of long suffering tenants who had enough to street
fights and crimes in their backyards and started taking on the
corrupt mayor and the cops.

Dylan shrugged. "Not us. We're just lawyers, not Matlock. We're
supposed to be ruthless snakes, not defenders of the downtrodden -
we leave that to TV lawyers. You're off this case."

"And you'll lose me." Simon stood up. "I'll resign if you take me
off the case."

"For a junior associate who has been blackballed by law firms all
over America, you have the nerve to threaten me with your future
employment," Dylan observed wryly. "Come on Simon," he said more
persuasively. "We're just small-time lawyers dealing with cases
passed on by bigger firms. We're in this for money, nobility and
idealism a pathetic second."

"When you took me on, you said I have the privilege of
specialization and choosing my own clients," Simon told him.

"When I took you on, you have no job and would have bent over the
table and pulled down your pants for a job," Dylan replied
bluntly. "You're a good criminal lawyer, but don't forget - Brad
here is also a criminal lawyer. You're not indispensable."

"You'll get my resignation letter later this morning," Simon said
simply.

"Damn it to hell, Simon, they are trying to kill you!" Dylan
snapped. "Hello? They bombed your car this time, they tried to
drive-by and shoot you the last time, and you got roughed up every
other day. I can't rely on the cops, so what the hell am I
supposed to do? Let you die?"

Simon just put on an impassive face.

"It's Colin, isn't it?" Dylan said. He was unaware of Simon's
clenching of his fists when he said that name. "Look, we're all
sorry for what happened, but you should not take that as an excuse
to act reckless and suicidal. I don't want to preach, but Simon,
get over it. Get the fuck over it, because you are not only
jeopardizing yourself, you are taking all of us down with you.
Greg's boyfriend discovered that they were being followed last
night. So for the love of God, drop your clients now or I will be
forced to do it for you."

"Is that all?" Simon asked quietly.

Dylan shook his head. "Fine, I expect your resignation letter by
noon today."

Simon nodded and left the office.



"Harsh," Greg Germann commented to his law firm partner after
Simon had left. He had been listening quietly from the corner.
Greg rarely took part in confrontations, because he stammered at
the most inopportune moments. Which was why he had to start his
own law firm just to practice law, actually. Lucky for him, Dylan
liked being Greg's partner in all but sex and love. Greg was a
disaster in court, shining only in off-the-court settlements,
because of his lack of elocution. It was Dylan who was the
eloquent one, and it was Dylan who provided the flare and pomp.
And it was Greg who was Dylan's backbone in research, wisdom,
decision-making, and caution. Both were lousy lawyers in their own
right, but together they made a splendid team.

"We agreed that it is for the best," Dylan said. His confident
tone masked the lack of confidence he always felt when talking to
Greg. He was probably the only man alive who knew of the razor
sharp mind behind Greg's meek exterior. Dylan was a brilliant man
in his own right, but he thought the world of Greg's opinions. "I
don't want to see him get hurt. Did you see him? Even some guilt
trip doesn't work on him. He just doesn't care anymore after Colin
died."

Greg took a seat across Dylan. "We can't blame him, Dill. I have
seen Simon in court - even faced him once - and he is a shark. He
can put you to shame."

"I've heard about that Barthory case where he managed to get a
schizophrenic man off the hook for murder and successfully sued
the pharmaceutical company supplying him drugs in the process.
Smart fucker, which is why I persuaded you to take him onboard."
Dylan bit his lower lip as he thought about their dilemma. "You'd
expect him to be a little grateful at least to us. We hired him
when no one would after they busted him for DUI."

"I think he is. Which is why I believe he will be dropping the
case," Greg said confidently. "Simon isn't that stony and
emotionless. We've seen him with Colin at the end of the year
bash. He is probably the most emotional of us all. He'll do what's
right for the firm."

"I hope you're right," Dylan said, unconvinced.

"I always am."



Simon knew he had to drop the case. He hated it, but he knew he
had to, for the sake of everyone else if not himself. Was he
selfish when he didn't want Greg, Brad, Dylan, and everyone here
to be hurt by his crusade? Dylan was right: after Colin's death,
Simon had thrown everything into his work. He had becoming more
reckless and careless, and he was lucky he wasn't thrown into jail
for contempt every time he appeared in court.

If there was no other lawyer willing to take the case, well, like
Dylan said, tough. Simon wasn't Matlock. There would be no
guardian angel to look over everybody, and if Simon had to turn
his back against a lifetime of principals, well, tough.

If he had always fought to protect the rights of others even as he
abused his own body with drinks, alcohol, and drugs, he would have
to give that a miss now. Shucks, he had given up partying after he
was tossed into rehab, and he never started again because Colin
came into his life soon after...

Fucking hell, would he ever stop thinking of that bastard?

He sat at his usual table at the pub, staring at the open law
textbook before him and not reading a single word, even if he had
a case at ten tomorrow and he had to get ready for it. He didn't
even know what he was supposed to be feeling. He was just feeling
a great dark empty void where his viscera was supposed to be.

"You make yourself an open target, Simon." A man sat down opposite
him at the table. "Don't do that again."

Simon stared. "Colin," he said in a calm he didn't feel. "I
should've known that you'll fake even your own death. Tell me, did
you fake your orgasms when we were together?"

"Don't be an idiot. It's impossible to fake that and you know it."

Colin's knuckles were white as he held the edge of the table
tight. So he wasn't so calm after all. Good, Simon thought. Well,
should he shout? Break the glass and thrust a sharp shard into
Colin's treacherous heart? Wave a fist, and start a fight?

But Rupert, the owner of this establishment, wouldn't like Simon
brawling in the place.

"Why didn't you kill me?" he asked Colin. He had to know.

"Because I couldn't," Colin answered just as simply.

Three beautiful words, Simon thought. "Why's that? They didn't pay
you enough?"

"I have to fake my death to protect you. And I've blown my cover
to protect you."

"Gee, thanks."

"Who do you think have been keeping watch over you these last few
months?" Colin said in a low, urgent voice. "You would've have
been long dead by now, seeing as how you walk along like a stoned
idiot when you know people are out to get you."

Simon shrugged. "Is nothing real?" he asked.

"Do you care?" Colin asked back.

"I don't know. I should be worried about my life, but I'm not.
Maybe death will be a welcome change."

Colin's eyes had a bloodshot tinge to them, and he looked like
hell, unshaven and exhausted. How dare he still looked so
gorgeous? "If I swear that everything I feel about you is real,
will you live again?" he asked Simon.

"I don't know. I don't know you. You're not the Colin I know."
Simon studied Colin curiously, his heart beating like thunder in
his chest. "You look like him, but the Colin I knew was honest,
funny, and open. You are a slut who sleeps with your victims
before killing them. Oh I know, you probably have an excuse -
lousy childhood, maybe a history of sexual abuse, what fucking
ever. The similarities are astounding, but I don't know you."

"It doesn't matter. I'm going to be protecting you from now on,"
Colin said. "I'm moving into your place."

"No!" The outburst was torn from Simon's iron control.

"You have no say in the matter."

"Fuck you." Simon looked down at his book, not wanting Colin to
see his eyes. "Fuck you to hell. I hate you."

"You should. I deserve that," Colin said quietly. "But I won't let
you die because of me."

"Who says it's because of you?" Furious now, Simon snarled at
Colin. "I stopped caring about you or anything anymore, so don't
assume you are so special in my life, Colin. You died as far as
I'm concerned, as you will stay there."

"And you want to join the imaginary Colin in death."

Simon didn't deign a response to that.

"I'm not dead, Simon. I'm real. I wish I'm dead if that is what
makes you happy, but I will live through this if that is what I
have to do to keep you safe. After this is over, then say the word
and I will blow my brains out before your very eyes if that's what
you want. Please, Simon, just live for me. You're too good to die
for the likes of me."




THREE

"Is that an apology?"

"Can I ever apologize enough for my sins, Simon?"

"No."

"I thought so, which is why I wouldn't trivialize the sins I
inflicted on you with a mere apology. Say the word, and I will do
anything to sate your need for vengeance, but you must live first,
Simon. After I've pulled us through this, you can do what you want
with me. Just live."

Simon sighed. Maybe this feeling in him now was exasperation. Why
was Colin babbling so much? "Maybe I'll die just to spite you."

"I won't let you die, and you know it."

"So you will keep hurting me nonetheless. First you lie, and now
you deny me peace."

Colin only made a motion under the table, and Simon jumped when he
felt a very real gun pressed into his hand. "Fine," Colin said.
"Shoot yourself here. Enjoy your peace."

Simon pushed the gun back to Colin. "I'm all messed up and it's
your fault," he finally said.

"I know."

"I don't even care now to want an apology or vengeance," Simon
confessed. "I don't know what I want anymore."

"I know."

"Will you stop saying that?"

"Okay."

Simon laughed without humor. "They hired you to kill me, right?"

Colin didn't pretend to misunderstand. "Yeah."

"And then you faked your death and played my guardian angel
instead of fulfilling whatever contract you had with them."

"Yeah," answered Colin simply.

"Because what you feel for me is real."

"Too real, I'm afraid," confessed Colin. "And if I stick around,
they will distract me and kill you one day when I'm too busy
making you happy. I have to keep you safe, and it means I have to
kill what we have, well, I will."

Simon didn't want to think about it, but a part of him, the
stupid, dumb, and blind part called the heart, ached at that. He
wanted to ask, where did his own feelings factor in this? How
could Colin be so selfish? Didn't he know that Simon would rather
die in bliss than to live with this void of heartbreak? No, he
realized, he didn't want to die. If he wanted to, he'd done the
job himself a long time ago. He wanted to live; he just wanted to
live the life he had when he and Colin were together. He wanted
Colin to be alive. But Colin was alive.

"Letting you think I'm dead is nothing compared to the pain I feel
whenever I remember how I lied to you," Colin said quietly. His
eyes were bright, begging Simon to believe him.

And Simon believed him, no matter how much he wanted to. He
believed Colin because he had to face the facts and they fit.
Colin wouldn't come back now if he wanted to... suspicion formed
briefly in Simon's mind. Maybe Colin wanted to finish the job this
time. Maybe this time he would die in Colin's arms.

And... somehow the prospect didn't seem unappealing. He was too
weary and tired, and he just wanted to delude himself to believing
that Colin, the old Colin, was back.

"I'm going home," he finally said.

"Don't call a cab. I have a car."

"Nice," Simon just said wearily.



Simon couldn't sleep. He sat up on his bed and drew his knees
under his chin as he watched Colin sat watch by the window. In
light from the night outside, Colin was lovely, ethereal, a man of
darkness and violence. Why hadn't Simon noticed that before?

Because he was besotted blindly around the first time, he
realized. Now, knowing Colin's flaws, he still found the man
heartbreakingly beautiful. And the man's dark, obsessive need on
keeping Simon safe from harm so that Simon could live - Simon was
moved by that. Colin didn't have to come back, and if he wanted to
kill Simon, he could have done that by now. He didn't need Simon's
trust. But here he was nonetheless, keeping watch through the
night after he had zealously checked and fortified the best he
could every weak spot in Simon's apartment. Tomorrow, Colin had
promised, he would get some sophisticated systems to rig this
apartment. Apparently the heavy arsenal in Colin's deceptively
tame briefcase wasn't enough.

That told Simon more than any pretty apology that Colin was real
and what they had might be very real after all. Maybe Colin
deserved a second chance, when they put this behind him.

"I'm ashamed of my past," Colin said quietly, gently cutting into
Simon's thoughts. "I'm trained to seduce and kill. It's all I know
all my life. Then I met you, and everything changed. I play into
your fantasies, true, but along the way, I learn that the
fantasies are the real me. I never thought I would meet another
man who understands this bleak loneliness I am feeling. And you
want to save the world, even when you laugh that off. How can I
not go crazy over you, Simon? It is a privilege that you show the
real you to me, and I am humbled and honored. You're the best
thing that ever happened to me. How can I live up to the lies I
set myself up to?"

"But you said we were real," Simon said cautiously.

"But you think I'm someone else. A handsome, virtuous man. This is
the real me, Simon. I'm fucked up. I'm soiled meat and my body has
been used so many times for sin. You fight for justice, and I kill
people. And I can't lie to you. So here I was, stuck in the middle
of two evils. Sometimes I want to die myself, just to end this
fucked-up existence, but you're in danger, and you must live."
Determination, insane determination, glittered like stars in
Colin's eyes. "Because you are a good man, Simon."

"Good, me?" Simon laughed bitterly. "Maybe I pursue cases I have
hardly any chance of winning because I want to forget. Oh, Colin,
you should've asked me of my past. Drugs, alcohol, sex - it was a
wild party in my youth. The fucked-up thing is, I did all that
because I wanted to. And I hated my father for leaving us and
causing my mother to drink to death, but I put him behind bars
anyway when I became a lawyer. He was a fucking loser and he raped
a thirteen-year old girl. He deserved to be killed by the other
inmates two weeks after his incarceration. He deserved my
withholding evidences that he might be innocent after all, because
I fucking hate him and I didn't give a damn."

Colin just sighed. "So? Is that supposed to excuse your not being
perfect? That's rich. Here I am, worrying that you may be thinking
that I'm perfect, when you're having the same worries." He smiled
without humor at Simon. "No, I never believe that you're perfect.
You're a good man in the end, because I respect what you are doing
to help the people out there. You think I will hate you for what
you did to your father? You want me to share my history with you?
You'll look like a Boy Scout by comparison."

"Maybe you should. I want to know the real you," Simon told him.

"You'll probably hate me."

"Probably not as much as I hate myself."

"You won't get any judgment from me," Colin told him bluntly. "My
own father walked out on my family, and if I ever found out who he
is, I'd rip him apart. No Oprah Winfrey show reunions for us,
unless Oprah wants a real life gun-down on her show."

Simon had to laugh to that. Oh, he was a sick bastard to find that
funny.

"Maybe we can talk," Colin said finally.

"We should." Simon looked at the window. "Can you leave your
post?"

"Why?"

"Maybe you should get some sleep." Simon patted the space next to
him on the bed.

There were so many memories on that bed. "I don't think I can
sleep if I climb on that bed next to you," Colin said. His voice
was husky as he remembered.

And Simon remembered too. "I have an early morning case," he
conceded unhappily.

Colin nodded and resumed watching vigilantly. Simon closed his
eyes and tried to sleep. When he did, he dreamed of happier
moments, promises, and aptly enough, Colin. For the first time for
as long as he could remember, he slept peacefully.



Morning. Simon blinked as he woke up, as was his habit to wake up
before the crack of dawn. He was an early person because he had to
be. Preparations for court, case studies, perusal of his notes and
prepared speeches, last moment reexamination of his case for any
new angles to exploit - he had always too much to do even before
breakfast.

He had slept for only two hours, but he had never felt this
refreshed before in his life. He threw the sheets off him and
dashed towards the bathroom before he remembered Colin.

"Colin?"

"In the kitchen. I'm making the toast the way you like it," came
the answer.

Simon found himself grinning as he stepped into the shower.

Two hours later, he was adjusting his tie as he prepared to walk
into the courtroom. Colin remained close, to keep a close watch,
but he surprised Simon with a quick brush against the lips. "For
luck, although you don't need it," Colin whispered before he just
as quickly moved away.

It was how they usually said goodbye before Simon went to work and
Colin, well, did whatever he did when Simon was away. Simon
touched his lips briefly, feeling the brief kiss lingering long
after it should have.

"Yeah, for luck," he whispered.

He was still floating on air later that afternoon that he didn't
see it coming. But Colin did, and he pushed down Simon too late.
It seemed like a slow-motion scene in a movie where Simon watched
in horror as two crimson splotches of blood tore through Colin's
shirt where the bullets hit him.

He saw the gunman too, and he didn't know what he was doing until
he had Colin's gun in his hand. And fired.

It happened in under a minute, but it seemed a lifetime as Simon
lay there under Colin. Colin gasped painfully with each breath he
took. "Simon? You okay?" he gasped.

Simon wanted to laugh. He wanted to cry. Colin, even now, asking
him whether he was okay. "I think I killed him," he said.

"Really?"

"I emptied the whole thing. That guy doesn't seem to be moving. At
least one must have got him."

Colin couldn't laugh, but he would if he could, Simon knew. "I
said I would die for you," Colin just said.

"Shut up!" Simon told him. "You'll be okay. We'll get you to a
doctor, and we'll live a happily ever after when you're up and
running again."

"It's okay if I die. As long as you know it's all real, me and
you." Colin coughed painfully, and Simon looked down in despair at
Colin's blood soaking down his shirt. "I don't deserve love
anyway. I'm an evil man."

"But you have mine," Simon said as he tried to look around. Where
was the ambulance? "Get a doctor!" he yelled at the crowd
gathering around them. "Get a fucking doctor!" he screamed when no
one seemed to be moving. To Colin, he tried to keep the man awake.
"Colin, you have it. You have all of me, just don't you dare die,
damn it."

"I'll try to live," Colin just said weakly, but it was obvious
that he was struggling just to keep his eyes open. "Simon, I - "
He gave a slow, wracked exhalation, and tried to speak.

Simon wanted to rail at the unfairness of it all. Colin couldn't
die. Not this man who made Simon find the courage to live again.
If anyone should die, it was he, the coward. Take him, damn it,
but spare Colin. But he couldn't say this to Colin, who needed
silence.

Helpless, Simon could only watch as Colin closed his eyes and his
breathing slowly eased into a shallow rhythm. A coward to the end,
Simon tightly shut his own eyes, not wanting to see Colin breathe
his last. This time, he would not give Colin up, he vowed. If
Colin would burn in the deepest hells for his sin, well, Simon
would follow him there.

In the end, it didn't matter.

"Rest, Colin," he whispered, not caring if the man could still
hear him. "We'll be together again soon."

And he waited for the end.




FOUR

A year later

Simon stared at the reporters gathering around him. With a snort
of disgust, he roughly pushed his way through them. Fuck them and
their questions. These were the same people who didn't dare print
real stuff about corruption, and now they were lauding him as a
people's hero only after he had put the bastards in question
behind bars? Only now, when it was safe for them to raise hell,
did they dare to ask him for his opinions?

He was the one who had to bear the loss.

They said that vengeance was bitter. Damn if he didn't feel as if
honey was flowing in his veins at this moment. Squared,
outflanked, and checked - the bastards were outmaneuvered this
time. He'd won.

"You've won," Dylan said when Simon stepped into his car.
"Congratulations."

"And your firm is famous," Simon answered coolly.

"Don't quit," Dylan just said. "We could use someone like you."

"Maybe." But Simon didn't plan to see tomorrow. His life here was
done.

He thought he heard Colin's voice in his head. "Come on, you can't
just leave like that," Colin would say, "The people need you,
man."

"I'm not Matlock. And I think I deserve to be selfish," Simon
would tell him.

"You're selfish all your life. Get out and do some good that is
not motivated by selfishness for once."

"Fine for you to judge," Simon snorted. "The real Colin wouldn't
preach like this. I hope if you recover from today's surgery that
you would revert to your old self."

"Sorry," Dylan said. "Did you say something?"

"Nothing." Simon realized that he had spoken aloud. "Just talking
to myself."

The phone rang, and Simon answered it. "Yeah?" he asked flatly.

"Hey, it's me, Greg." Greg was at the hospital just in case
anything happened. "How's things?"

Simon answered him in monotone, not really listening to Greg's
babbles in return. Fine, he told the Colin in his mind, I'd be
selfless. I'd turn this whole firm in a DA office for charity and
see how Dylan would take that. Captain America, watch out. Happy
now, Colin? Simon would do anything for him.

"Out of critical condition - "

Simon jumped into full alert. "What?" he asked, not daring to
hope.

"Colin's okay. He pulled through in the end, though it's amazing,
considering how he was riddled with so many bullets when he - "
someone, probably Brad, said something about tactlessness in the
background, and Greg cleared his throat apologetically. "He'll be
okay. Still unconscious, but he's stable. Did I get the medical
terminology correct?"

Simon tuned out that silly fool's babble. He just looked outside
the window. "Maybe I'll stay," he told Dylan.

And Colin, he thought, hang on in there, buddy. He'd be there as
soon as he could. Simon looked at a distance away, only the
brightness in his eyes hinting at any emotion on his face, before
sitting back and closing his eyes.

Dylan turned to take a look at the silent and still man in the
backseat, and shook his head briefly before concentrating on the
road.