Payment Needed.

A sour, sick feeling settled into Randall's gut. He'd been hiding bills from Anthony for weeks now, sc.r.a.ping together every penny he could to pay for the treatment. Cedric had gotten them in to see a doctor who was friendly toward the nonhuman elements, but it wasn't free, not by a long shot. And first there had been tests, so many tests that Randall had begun to think that they'd run out of names for them all and just started slapping together random letters of the alphabet. They'd only just begun the attempts at treatment, to see what Anthony would respond to.

So that meant the bills were piling up, for the tests and the maybe treatments, for medicine, for basics like gas and food. He wasn't keeping up. Their savings-Randall's savings, the carefully collected college money-were all but gone now. Working as hard as he ever had, and he was still failing.

Randall honestly didn't know what else to do.

The moon was lighting the surrounding trees, the half-full flush of it tingeing everything in silver. The woods were lonely and quiet, almost shockingly still. From the smells coming from the kitchen, Randall a.s.sumed Edwin had spent his day out hunting. Randall hoped Anthony had joined him-spending some time out in the woods always lifted his spirits. It was grounding. Anthony was doing as much as he could around the house, but the treatments hadn't taken much of an effect yet, and he got so tired, was in pain so much of the time.

Randall just wanted to do something right, to actually help his brothers. But so far, all he'd done was fail. He'd dragged them to the pack, only to find out that there was no real help there. He'd come home, only to not be able to support them. Anthony had done this as a kid, and here was Randall, unable to do the most basic job of caring for his pack.

He should go inside. There was no way Anthony and Edwin hadn't heard him pull up. But Randall couldn't make himself move. He just sat on the steps in his ugly green ap.r.o.n with the name tag declaring him Randal L, staring up at the sky, willing himself to think of something. To come up with a plan.

Nothing came to him.

Then something did. A scent on the wind-gunpowder, another wolf, and above all that, sinking deep into him, calling to him like an ache he couldn't identify, old parchment and tea and dry snake scales. Randall raised his head, staring into the dark, heartbeat picking up despite himself. And then, around the corner, came the lights of a car, a Jeep pulling up in front of the cabin. The window was down, Redford's head poking out with a smile, Knievel's paws resting on the edge of the door.

"Hi, Randall," Redford greeted as he stepped out of the car. In his hands was a huge ca.s.serole dish wrapped in cloth to insulate it. "I, um, hope it's okay that we're here. We probably should have called ahead."

Randall stood, eyes going not to Redford or to Jed, who was getting out of the van, Knievel in his arms. No, it was to Victor, who had emerged from the back, looking... well, looking as he ever did. Cool and calm, utterly gorgeous, and out of reach. He reduced Randall, always, to a fumbling mess, like he was a teenager tripping over his own feet. "It's fine," he said faintly, all at once aware of how he was dressed, the deep bags under his eyes, the fact he was clutching a pile of bills. Not how he would have preferred to greet anyone, much less Victor. "Is something wrong?"

Redford and Jed looked like they wanted to answer, but they looked to Victor first. Then Redford shook his head. "No! But we're going to go inside now and leave you with Victor," he said, none too subtly. "Alone."

Taking Jed's arm, Redford hauled him inside, Knievel lightly leaping out of Jed's arms and following close on their heels. As he pa.s.sed Randall, Jed rubbed his hand through Randall's hair with a grin. "Don't worry, kid. We'll keep your brothers occupied. Redford taught me how to make a pasta ca.s.serole, even. We're your very own Martha Stewart distraction." And then they went inside, the noise of the greetings m.u.f.fled as the door swung shut behind them, leaving Randall standing on the porch, feeling completely stunned. He sank back down to the steps, wondering if this was some kind of dream. Nightmare, perhaps. All he'd need was to be naked with people laughing at him and it would be very close to some bad dreams he'd had.

Victor approached and eased down to sit beside Randall. "It's a beautiful night," he said in greeting.

Gaze locked on the papers in his hand, Randall carefully smoothed them out over his knee, trying to compose himself. "I...." What did he even say? "Yes," he wound up agreeing, almost helplessly. "I guess it is."

"I'd ask if you're well, but I can see how exhausted you are," Victor said. Randall saw his head turn, looking down at the envelopes in Randall's hands. "Things aren't getting better?"

Immediately tucking the bills into the front pocket of his ap.r.o.n, Randall shook his head, forcing a smile. "They're fine. We're doing just fine." He lied, of course. What else was he supposed to do? Victor... he was like the fragment of a hope that simply didn't exist anymore. It hurt to think about him, to wonder what-if. What if Anthony hadn't been sick, what if they'd met earlier or later, what if Randall had the energy and the time to be able to actually make things work? Victor was on a course that Randall simply couldn't follow. Knowing that and still seeing him, talking with him, was more painful than Randall could have antic.i.p.ated.

"I want to do something to help." Victor sounded frustrated with himself. "If I offer you once again a place to stay and to pay the medical bills, it would still be taken as insult, yes?"

"Victor...." Randall sighed, finally turning to look at him. "Is that why you're here? You knew I'd be failing?" Maybe it'd been obvious from the start. G.o.d, Victor must think he was a horrible idiot, the petulant child who didn't know his own mind, who couldn't even take care of his pack.

"No," Victor protested. "That's not it. It's just the only thing I can offer, and I want to do something. I have stayed away this long to address certain personal issues, but the more time went on, I...."

Randall caught the edge of a little self-deprecating smile on Victor's lips, expressed in sharp relief from moonlight and shadow.

"I missed you," Victor said. "Staying away for even a month was difficult enough."

Randall wished he could just believe him. He wished he could take his hand and smile and let Victor make all their problems go away. "You don't owe me anything." As Randall looked down, he caught sight of the name badge. He ripped it off with a growl, barely restraining the urge to chuck it into the woods. "I don't want your money just so you can stop feeling guilty for f.u.c.king the virgin and it not working out."

Which was probably quite a bit harsher than Victor deserved. Shoulders slumping slightly, Randall found he couldn't bring himself to look at Victor, feeling as though he was careening out of control, a slow-motion train wreck, and everything he did only made it worse.

"I owe you more than you think," Victor said softly. "May I tell you what I've been up to, the last month? It might be distractingly entertaining, if nothing else."

After a moment, Randall nodded, jaw tight, head bowed.

"I found other medusa half bloods. I wanted to know how they lived," Victor said.

Now that surprised him. Randall looked over at Victor, eyebrow arching upward. A thousand questions crossed his mind, but all he ended up asking was "What did they say?"

"Some? Not much." Victor smiled wryly, and he didn't need to explain. It was easy for Randall to see he was talking about the ones that had already lost their minds. "Others provided me with perspectives on things that I hadn't considered before. Long-lasting effects from looking into minds that I hadn't even known about."

Randall was surprised to feel a light touch against his back. Victor had reached out, fingers curving over his shoulder blade. "Back when the bloodline was stronger, medusas used to take everything from the person they looked at," Victor continued. "Whatever past, present, and future they saw would become theirs, in a way. We're more diluted now, but the visions... what we see, it stays with us. Especially if we have an attachment of some kind to who we look at. It means we have a piece of that soul in our minds for the rest of our lives. I suppose it's not dissimilar to what wolves experience, just in a more literal way."

Randall's gaze dropped to Victor's neck, and he nodded to the two scars. "So the one who gave you those," he surmised. "You have a part of him." His instincts rose up at the thought, a low growl threatening to escape him. But Randall was too tired to fight for something he knew he couldn't have. There simply wasn't another pointless battle in him. So he gave Victor a weary half smile, looking down at his hands. Victor's touch on him was like a brand, like every part of him was caught up in that five-inch expanse of skin.

Victor hesitated, clearly weighing his answer before he said it. "Not anymore," he finally said.

"I'm sorry," Randall murmured, shaking his head, "I don't understand." Maybe he should have gotten what Victor was trying to say, but he felt as though his brain had been dipped in mush, as if he couldn't form any thoughts beyond an intense longing to sleep for a week.

"There were, er, certain parts of my behavior that came from a few different things." Victor sounded like he was struggling to talk so honestly. "The recklessness, I mean. Cairo, going to the wolf pack, looking into the Gray Lady's eyes, those decisions were partially made on something that I picked up from David, I think. I'm not sure how to fully explain it to a nonmedusa, but think of it as picking up a new instinct. It becomes natural to think that way."

Victor took his hand back from Randall's shoulder and clasped his fingers in his lap, tightly held together. "When I got home, I put my memories of David in the friend pile, so to speak. I then experimented and made risky situations available to myself, but... none of them held any appeal anymore."

"You can decide how to let the memories affect you?" Randall felt a faint flicker of curiosity, like something was trying to make its way through the vague numbness in his mind. "That's... fascinating."

"Probably not that interesting," Victor said wryly. "I did as anybody moving on from an old relationship does. I let go of David, and in doing so the memories I have, the little shards of him I have inside my head, lost their potency. It's just a little more literal for my kind."

"It's interesting," Randall disagreed. "You should think about a paper, Victor. Think of how little there is on the medusas. You could publish something for our kind. If it's anything like what you've done before, it will be the formative work on medusa theory." He paused, realizing that probably hadn't been Victor's point. It was just... wonderful to use his brain for something other than mindlessly alphabetizing or deciding what bag to put the bread in. "Sorry," he murmured, gaze dropping away again. "I'm glad you found a way to handle your ability with greater control. That's wonderful, it is. I'm just confused, I think, as to why you came to tell me."

Victor didn't answer right away. Though he didn't make any noise, didn't move, Randall knew he was trying to find the right thing to say. He had this way of letting out a sigh, of pursing his lips, that Randall had learned signaled his brain searching through possible responses.

"I just wanted you to know," Victor said. "And more importantly, I wanted to know how you are. I don't want you to deny everything and say you're fine, Randall. How are you, really?"

"I'm fine." The response was automatic, Randall still looking away, still refusing to yield. Victor didn't pry, though. The two of them sat quietly, Victor so close that Randall could feel the warmth of him along his side, the nearness practically begging him to soften. And it was Victor.

After a beat, Randall tipped his head back, a helpless laugh caught in his throat, an exhausted, almost hysterical smile just barely touching his lips. "I'm not fine at all," he admitted, throat tight. "G.o.d, Victor. I'm just.... I'm so tired."

Just saying it out loud, admitting it, felt like a release. Randall laughed again, the sound breaking in his chest, and rubbed his hands through his hair. "And I hate it. G.o.d, I hate working every second and wearing"-he shook the name badge-"this and this stupid ap.r.o.n. And no matter what, I can't get ahead. Anthony's treatment is eating up everything we can make and then some. And I can't tell him. I mean, what kind of terrible person am I that I actually am resentful of this?"

"It doesn't make you a terrible person at all," Victor said firmly. "It makes you human. Or a wolf, however accurate you want that statement to be."

Randall just stared up at the sky, watching a plane winking overhead like a shooting star. "He never complains." Randall didn't know why he was talking to Victor about this.

No, that wasn't right. He did. Because Victor was the person he wanted to talk to about everything. But he also knew that he'd walked away, he'd decided that right then, all his energy needed to be on his family and not a medusa with a hard-on for self-destruction. So Randall frankly wasn't sure if he should be taking comfort in this.

Then again, maybe he got to have a momentary burst of weakness.

"Who, Anthony?" Victor asked.

"Not once." Randall laced his fingers together, shoulders hunched. "He was eight when our parents were killed. Edwin was two. He never missed a beat. Our whole lives he's only done what he needed to do to take care of us. He even let his mate go, because he couldn't leave us behind. And now that he needs me...." Christ, he actually felt heat p.r.i.c.kle at his eyes, the sharp ache in his throat making it almost impossible to keep talking. "I'm standing at work today, hating how sick he is. Because I should be in school. I should be going to cla.s.ses and thinking about tests. And I'm bagging groceries. Not only that, but I'm failing. All the work, all the sacrifice, and I haven't done one thing right."

Again, Victor didn't reply right away. He let the silence stretch between them, but before Randall could start to dread that Victor was sitting there judging him, he felt Victor's arm settle over his shoulders. Lightly at first, then more decisively, a tight, centering grip pulling Randall against Victor's side.

"If I learned anything about Anthony, it's that he doesn't complain for the same reasons you don't," Victor said. "He doesn't want to burden anybody with his stress."

The strength of Victor's embrace, the way their bodies fit together so perfectly, was the most restful thing Randall had felt in months. He let his head fall onto Victor's shoulder. He accepted, for the moment, the shared steadiness. "I am never going to be as good of a person as my brother," he murmured, the realization sinking guilt into his gut. "I just want to take care of him. Of Edwin. But we have nothing left. Anthony has an appointment this week, and I don't know how I'm going to pay for it." His eyes darted up to Victor's face, self-condemnation riding on him so heavily Randall could feel it in the turn of his lips, the lines of his forehead. "I've been hiding bills from him. He doesn't know how bad it is."

"You are already as good a man as your brother," Victor said. He lowered his head, pressing his cheek against Randall's hair. "It's not weak to admit that you're having trouble."

"It's always just been us." Randall, very hesitantly, let his fingers barely rest against Victor's knee. "We've never had anyone to rely on. If we couldn't do it ourselves, then it wouldn't happen. I.... I honestly don't know how to ask for help like this." The Gray Lady had been different. She'd been a desperate plea, throwing themselves on the age-old traditions of the pack. And in the end, it hadn't ended up being help at all.

"I know," Victor replied softly. He took a deep breath, holding Randall tighter. "I want you to know this. When I offer my house and my money for your use, it's not charity to make me feel useful. If you and your brothers were to move in with me, I would want you to move into my room so that it could be ours. I would renovate the house to cater to Edwin's need for open s.p.a.ce and Anthony's health needs. I would-it would be something that I would do for us."

Something tight and sharp and wonderful clenched in Randall's chest. Hope. More than hope, an actual flutter of want, of confidence that desperately wanted to be set free. He could see it so easily, the simple comfort of settling into a life alongside Victor. And if he reached out, it would be there. It was right in front of him.

"I thought that idea frightened you." Randall glanced over at Victor again. "You've seen all of this, Victor. You weren't thrilled at the prospect, if I recall."

Victor laughed a little. "I know. But do you know what frightened me more? The aftermath of looking into the Gray Lady's eyes. That normal excitement just didn't happen. And when I got home after all of you left, I began to.... I wandered around my overly large house and started imagining you in it. And it didn't scare me."

Feeling wrung out, like he had an elephant sitting on his shoulders and he was struggling simply to keep himself upright, Randall couldn't bring himself to give in. He wanted to. Just the idea of laying all this at Victor's feet was incredibly tempting. But that wouldn't be right. Not for Victor, not for himself, and definitely not for his brothers. He couldn't just force his weary brain into action and take the easiest way out, as much as he wanted to right then.

"I don't know what to say," he admitted quietly. "I feel like I'm underwater, and I can't make myself think."

"It's all right." Victor rubbed his shoulder. Randall felt the curve of a smile against the top of his head. "You don't have to make any major life decisions right now. I just wanted you to know the offer was there. How about we go inside? That ca.s.serole is probably getting quickly devoured."

Nodding, Randall nonetheless didn't immediately move. For a while, he and Victor just sat on the steps, staring up at the sky, the quiet noise of conversation and the clatter of dishes inside marking the time. "Thank you," Randall whispered into the silence. "For listening to me." Even if nothing else happened, he was grateful for that.

Victor pressed a light kiss to his forehead. He stood and offered Randall a hand up. "It was my genuine pleasure."

Hand in hand, not too tight of a grip, but steady, as if neither one particularly wanted to let go, they headed inside. Redford and Jed were at the table with Edwin and Anthony, pa.s.sing around food and drinks, Knievel happily curled up on Edwin's lap. There were logs burning in the fireplace, laughter and smiles, and Anthony looked, for the moment, happy. Everyone was fed and content and safe, and Randall felt a sharp sense of satisfaction at that. Of relief.

"I'm going to go change," he said, smiling a little at everyone. "Save me a plate."

Victor squeezed his hand before he let it go to sit at the table, finding a s.p.a.ce beside Anthony. As Randall left to go get into his own clothes, he could hear Anthony inquiring how Victor was, Jed's comment about how that was a wasted question because Victor did nothing but read books and b.i.t.c.h at people, and Redford's quiet laugh.

Randall was too tired to worry about what sort of clothes he wore. He just took his uniform off and put on whatever nearest clean clothes he had, going back to the dining table just in time to have Anthony hand him a plate piled high with ca.s.serole and the venison he and Edwin had been cooking earlier.

And the only chair left was pushed suspiciously close to Victor. He gave Edwin an exasperated look, only to be met with a totally innocent grin. Right. Some days, he swore he was going to start putting Edwin outside at meals. But he took his seat, knee b.u.mping up against Victor's, sharing a quick, slightly embarra.s.sed smile before he started to eat.

"So, not that it isn't awesome to see you guys," Edwin said, looking at Jed and Redford, "but what are you three doing here?"

"We're trying out something called 'socializing,'" Redford answered. Randall couldn't tell if he was serious or joking, he was that deadpan.

"And I couldn't remember where you lived, but I wanted to see you, so I tagged along," Victor added.

"You meaning us?" Edwin asked with a sly look over at Anthony. "Or you meaning Randall?"

"Shut up, Ed," Randall sighed, pushing the plate away, barely having touched the food. He was too tired to eat. "Just be grateful they drove all the way out here to put up with you."

"I did have something I wanted to ask Anthony, actually," Victor said.

Anthony glanced up from where he'd been concentrating on shoveling food into his mouth, surprised. "Yeah? Shoot."

"Er." Victor fidgeted with his fork. "Unfortunately, even after spending time with you and the pack, I'm still very ignorant about wolf customs."

All at once, Randall was pretty sure he wasn't going to like where this was going. Eyes wide, he looked up, glancing at Victor and then over at Anthony, praying that Victor wasn't about to attempt to do something wolfish, like challenging Anthony to a fight or offering to go sniff someone.

Victor continued, "If I wanted to state my intention to be with Randall romantically, would I have to, er, challenge you for him or something? Perhaps wrestle you to show my strength?"

Jed choked on his food, going red as he bent over, caught somewhere between a laugh and actually suffocating. Randall was still caught on the state my intention part of the conversation, and yes, while it was highly unlikely that any kind of physical altercation between Anthony and Victor would end with something other than Victor in a lot of pain, Randall found it rather.... Well, it was hot. Bottom line. It was hot, having Victor show some dominance.

Anthony, on the other hand, had his head down on the table, m.u.f.fling his laughter into his folded arms. His shoulders were shaking, and his attempts to speak every few seconds were cut off by more laughter. Edwin wasn't even trying to hide the fact that he was completely howling in amus.e.m.e.nt. Victor looked highly put out, and Anthony eventually managed to answer, "You'd seriously fight me?"

Victor drew himself up, squaring his shoulders with every attempt to look tough. "I absolutely would," he declared, which just sent Anthony off into fresh peals of laughter. Victor withered where he sat. "I seem to have said something incredibly stupid."

"You ask me." Randall's answer was quiet, but he found he was smiling at Victor, some of the tenseness he'd held around Victor ever since Randall had walked away softening slightly. "That's all. I mean"-a quick, wolfish grin, then-"as much as I'd like to see you wrestling around with Anthony, you're not challenging him for his place in the pack or anything. If you wanted me, you'd ask me."

"Oh." Victor had gone red in his embarra.s.sment. "Right, then. I'll do that after dinner, shall I?"

"I think we should talk about burial rites," Edwin said, attempting to be very serious. "I mean, if you're going to go around fighting wolves, we need to know your last requests."

"You should have a second," Jed agreed, a broad smirk on his face. "So that when your scrawny professor a.s.s gets handed to you, someone can drag you to safety."

"I don't think that's what a second is for," Redford piped up. "Seconds take over when the challenger gets killed."

"Oh, well, then Victor will need two of those." Jed nodded. "Maybe three."

Victor sniffed haughtily. "I'm a medusa. I've had a will and a family tombstone since I was three. Since that's taken care of, I'll leave you lot to figure out the duel rules."

"And while you do that"-Randall stood, his mostly uneaten plate gathered up-"I think it's my turn to do dishes. And if Edwin didn't eat it all today, there might be a pie lurking somewhere. I'll get it and some coffee."

"I'll help," Victor volunteered. He started to gather up dishes, leaning over the table to collect three of them from Edwin.

Together they carted everything into the kitchen, where Randall collected the leftovers to put into the fridge. They fell into an easy rhythm to the murmur of conversation in the other room, an almost practiced dance around each other. Randall washed, Victor dried, their heads bowed over the sink as they worked in silence.

"You're not a wolf." Randall's voice cut into the s.p.a.ce between them, a frown creasing his forehead as he scrubbed the plates.

"You're not a medusa," Victor replied, a smile in his voice.

With a noise that wasn't quite a laugh, Randall darted a look over at Victor. "I mean, you don't have to try to take on my instincts. My bonding to you, or not, that's my problem. Not yours."

"I know," Victor murmured. "The truth is, if medusas can be said to bond by looking into someone's eyes, I've already done that with you." He accepted a dish that Randall pa.s.sed him. "But I'm not speaking of bonds. I'm speaking of dating."

Randall considered it as he started in on the last of the silverware. The suds made everything slippery, the bubbles catching in the fine hairs on his arms. "I'm worried I don't actually know you," Randall admitted. "Before, I thought you were someone other than the man who took risks simply because he wanted to. Now, though, I'm afraid you are, and I don't know who he is. You've become this... dream." Randall dared to look over at Victor. "What if we don't fit the way I think we do?"

Victor's expression didn't give much away about his thoughts right then. "I'd say that dating is the way to find that out. But if you've discovered that you don't like who I am, then you're free to say no."

Randall studied Victor intently as he dried off his hands. Before he could change his mind, Randall leaned in, burying his nose under Victor's ear, taking a deep, slow breath. "You smell the same," he whispered. He smelled like home. Like a promise of a home Randall had yet to find.

"I wasn't lying when I said that I believe I've changed," Victor replied quietly, lifting his chin a little to allow Randall greater access. "I know I can't expect you to instantly believe me, but I'd like it if you gave me a chance. Go on a date with me, Randall."

He didn't have many more excuses, and all the ones that were left seemed so worthless. Pulling back, Randall briefly closed his eyes so Victor wouldn't have the worry of meeting his gaze, instead leaning in to nudge their foreheads together. "I missed you too," he admitted, and it was like a release, like that tightly coiled grief he'd kept buried was allowed to breathe. "Yes. I'd like very much to go out with you, Victor Rathbone."