4:56am, 21 December 2007
Annapolis, Maryland

Luke watched Jesse shut the curtains tightly against the growing light of the sun. The tall, handsome man stumbled through the dark, sucking in his breath when he stubbed his toe against the table in the small hotel room.

"Damn!" he gasped. "They design those things for just that purpose."

Luke chuckled quietly. "Yup. It's a sinister plot." Jesse slipped into bed, and Luke pushed some blood to the surface of his skin to warm up some. Jesse had brought an electric blanket, which helped immensely. Luke snuggled up close to the taller man, relishing the heat his body gave off.

"So," Jesse began after settling himself in. "About those sinister plots...." Luke drifted back from the edge of sleep, warned by a note of concern in Jesse's voice.

"What's up, Jess?"

Jesse sighed. "You've told me a lot over the past month, hon. A lot of things I never thought I could believe in a million years. Until I saw you do them." Luke nodded silently against Jesse's back. "Can I ask you a few more questions?"

The warm, fuzzy mood developing in Luke's mind dissolved. Part of him wanted to strangle Jesse right there and incinerate the body. But only part of him. "Sure."

Jesse put his hands over Luke's enfolding arms. "So you need blood to survive. Where do you get it from?"

Luke watched himself begin to answer, as if from afar. "Animals. Sometimes a little from people, but rarely."

"And what happens to the animals?"

"They're tired and lethargic for a while. Every so often, one cannot handle the strain and dies," Luke answered, bracing for the next question.

"And the people?"

"The same thing, except they usually don't die."

"Luke, have you ever killed anyone?" Jesse asked innocently and flatly, with a directness that jolted Luke to the core.

Luke opened his mouth but stopped, a whirl of thoughts going through his mind. But the swirling ideas coalesced for once: the truth, or a lie. With a sick certainty, he knew that either one would drive Jesse away. Some part of Luke wanted to lie, to keep this warmth for longer, even if it would wither and pass because of it. But a stronger impulse reminded him of what had happened pver Thanksgiving, and what he realized soon after: Jesse was a powerfully unique man. So he closed his eyes and relaxed all of his muscles, like he had heard you should do before a car accident. "Yes."

Jesse shifted immediately, and Luke was certain it was to recoil. But instead he turned over to lie in the bed facing Luke. He didn't say anything, simply watching Luke. Jesse's face was not angry, or sad: the emotion was difficult to read. His eyes were moving back and forth across Luke's face, as if reading him.

And Luke started talking. He told Jesse about Georgetown, and Greg. About the bars, and making a living off of the men desperate for somebody who would listen, and then about Sir. Luke's eyes closed and before he knew it he was talking about the circle of shadowy figures in the back corner of Arlington Cemetery, and the grave, the dirt hole that haunted him day and night. Luke knew his eyes were streaming blood as he spoke, telling about the horror his daytimes became, and how he inflicted that horror on others once night fell. He told about his new 'family,' the lineage he was born to, and the others: Stefano Delletorre and James Meadows, Dolores and Aaron Marcos, Dean Tarrant and David Delspecchio. And Teofilo Cruz. He told Jesse about the others, the Enemy: Darien Fraser, Gerald Ramirez, and Merciful Angel. Chris Falk, the fallen one. Clayton, the lost one. And all the others.

With no idea of whether he was still awake or dreaming in Jesse's arms, Luke told the one story he had spent most of his life trying to forget the words to: his autobiography.

What to do with this love that I'm in?
I have given you all of my soul
Flying all my life like a rose in the wind
Tell me why I am always alone
On my way home

12:13am, 25 December 2007
Montgomery County, Maryland

An unseasonable cold snap brought tiny, sparse flakes drifting down through the city-bright sky.

The Beltway was nearly empty this time of night. Luke stayed in the fast lane, cruise control set. He needed to think, and this was a perfect place to do it.

Jesse was at Midnight Mass at the National Cathedral. He was disappointed that Luke would not go with him, but understood: the Church held bad memories for Luke.

Luke's mind was no longer a furious whirl, and he had even gotten used to the Watcher. He hadn't yet told Jesse that the Watcher spoke to him that night in November. "The blood does not dictate your actions. You do," she had said.

Something had changed, something very important, but it was a subtle change, like a slow erosion of the land's topography: if you were still standing on the ground, it would be invisible.

Some things were certain, though. First and foremost, Jesse was unique in one very particular way: Luke could not bring himself to harm Jesse. And he wanted to make Jesse happy. Not transiently pleased with sex, but deeply happy.

Second, someone had been watching him ever since Manchester. Someone big and scary.

Luke blinked as he passed the sign for the Cabin John Parkway, and moved to the right to exit.

And here was something else: Teo was treating him like shit. He certainly didn't approve of Jesse. Luke knew that both he and Jesse would be little more than ashes if Teo ever found out what Jesse knew. Luke had avoided returning to Austin since Thanksgiving by claiming he was doing more "research" in the Washington area. Teo was pacified by that, but was getting impatient for concrete results.

The Buddhists think that reality is an illusion, Luke mused. Maybe they have a point. He remembered some reading from Georgetown about dharmas. Everything is made up of these particles--"thanatomanic dimensionless chronons" Luke recalled with a giggle--which come into being and then simultaneously disappear, having no extent in time or space. So there is no necessary connection between past and future, except for a continuously-evaporating present.

Attachment, Luke thought to himself. All suffering arises from attachment. He merged from the Cabin John onto the Clara Barton Parkway, pondering what that meant to him. It wasn't things that held him, it was history. His-story. His parentage, his youth, his Embrace, his lineage, his crimes--all of them pushed and pulled him. With wide, thinking eyes, Luke turned to cross Chain Bridge into Fairfax County.

He had heard once that in Hebrew, the verb 'to be' only has past and future tenses in the indicative. In the present, it can only be stated in the progressive mood: 'is becoming'.

Luke sighed, suddenly feeling unanchored as the present slipped away from him. He turned left on Chain Bridge Drive and slipped through the lambent light provided by street lights shrouded by leaves. The snow was a bit heavier now, salting down and beginning to stick.

He pulled over to the side of the road and stopped, turning off the headlights. No cars moved in either direction. This was one of the rich parts of town, populated by the rich people who controlled the rich people who lived in Chevy Chase, Maryland. Huge, shadowy houses glittered with holiday parties upon the hills flanking the street. Cars lined the driveways and spilled out into the street. Some people were just now returning from Midnight Mass, while others were still partying away. A Cadillac passed Luke's car and turned up the next driveway. Luke hunkered down so the car looked empty.

Luke didn't belong here, of course, but he didn't feel that he belonged anywhere right now. Not Austin, not Albuquerque, not Dallas, not Washington. He felt he could no longer trust Teo, who had been his mentor for years. Sir had perished in Dallas. Greg was long gone. The Marine...he was gone too. Jesse was an unknown quantity: who knew how long he would be able to put up with the horrors Luke was telling him?

An elderly man got out of the Cadillac and walked around to open his wife's door. Luke watched them steadily. He wanted to be angry at them, to hate tham for all that they had--but the anger and hate wasn't there. They slowly walked up to their darkened house, oblivious of Luke's gaze.

An idea crept into Luke's mind and wouldn't go away. The Watcher had put it there, but it hadn't really sprouted until now. There is another way. There is something else. Immediate reactions from different parts of his mind reminded him of obligations and ties--to his lineage, to Teo, to Kindred, to Jesse, to his work, to protecting himself--but for once they did not overwhelm the simple calm resolve that there were more possibilities than he had imagined.

With no panic, with no fear, even without sadness or remorse, Luke realized that much of the structure of his life had just disappeared.

He turned away from his parents' house, then started the car and drove off.

Lost out in the desert
You are lost out in the desert

10:34pm, 25 December 2007
Washington, District of Columbia

Luke smiled and shook his head as he covered his eyes. "I don't believe you, Jesse. You're too much."

"Don't peek!" Jesse admonished as he padded across the room toward the little Christmas tree in the corner. Luke just heard a rustling, then Jesse's returning footsteps.. Something was put in his lap.

"Okay, open your eyes." Luke removed his hands and looked down at the small box in his lap. Just a simple bit of white cardboard, tied up with a red ribbon.

He grinned sheepishly and looked up at Jesse. "But I didn't get you anything." Jesse shrugged, and gestured at the box. "Open it."

Luke tugged loose the ribbon and opened the box. Nestled in a bed of cotton filling was a small painted plaque, about the size of a postage stamp, framed in silver. Luke lifted it from the box and looked at it by the light of the lamp over the couch. A delicately-painted man with one hand upraised. Luke turned the plaque over to look at the back: block caps across the cardboard backing the picture indicated that this was St. Jude, Patron of Desperate Cases. Luke looked up at Jesse.

"I, uh, don't like the phrasing, but.... Well, I know you're going through a rough time." Jesse was looking down and wringing his hands. "But, uh, I want someone to watch over you when I can't."

But to stand with you in a ring of fire
I'll forget the days gone by
I'll protect your body and guard your soul
From mirages in your sight

Lost out in the desert
You are lost out in the desert

6:49am, 26 December 2007
Washington, District of Columbia

Jesse locked the door behind himself and thumped down the stairs of the three-story brownstone. The traditional Sunrise Swim on the day after Christmas galled him, but he felt he had to go. He had already missed two practices this month. A little snow drifted through the freezing air.

This was wearing him out. Staying up at night with Luke, keeping up with his studies, and going to swim practice was too much. Luke kept protesting that he would be okay, but Jesse wanted to stay near him since that night in Annapolis. Some vague feeling that he was the only stable thing in Luke's life right now encouraged Jesse to stick by him.

Jesse was halfway to Reservoir Road when he realized he had forgotten his goggles. He opened his bag and dug through it: sure enough, not there. One of those mornings. He turned on his heel and trudged back to the apartment. The Nelsons on the first floor were burning their toast again. Jesse climbed the second story more slowly, the lack of caffeine sapping energy from him. By the third floor, the smell of burnt toast was still with him. And something else--the Nelsons must have tried to make quesadillas again.

He opened the apartment door, and the smell of smoke nearly choked him. Without thinking he dropped his workout bag and ran into the bedroom.

And there was Luke, standing naked in front of the window, the early morning sun bathing him in light. Acrid smoke filled the room, and the smoke alarm started beeping.

With a strangled cry, Jesse leapt across the room and pushed Luke backward onto the bed. He slammed the curtains shut and turned to face his scarred lover. "What the *fuck* do you think you were doing? Jesus!" He waved to disperse the smoke.

Through cracked and charred lips, Jesse could barely hear the whisper. "I...had no...choice. It was...the only thing...I could do."

Jesse sat down next to Luke and placed his hand on Luke's hot, dry face, then looked him square in the eyes.

"Wrong."

Luke sighed tiredly and closed his eyes. Jesse looked at him for a long while, then held his wrist in front of Luke's mouth. "Drink," Jesse said firmly. Luke lethargically pulled the wrist closer and bit, drinking.

Jesse felt the ecstasy of the Kiss spreading out from his wrist, but beneath was an odd sensation: a coldness against his arm near the wrist. One small part of his mind focused enough to realize it was the St. Jude plaque that had been clutched tightly in Luke's hand, now pressed against his arm.

Lost out in the desert
You are lost out in the desert

If your hopes scatter like dust across your track
I'll be the moon that shines on your path
The sun may blind our eyes, I'll pray the skies above
For snow to fall on the Sahara

9:32pm, 26 December 2007
Washington, District of Columbia

Was this still him?

Luke thought to himself as he woke up that he halfway hoped it wasn't. His body was in pain. He shifted on the bed checking to see that his limbs were still there.

The stirring woke Jesse, who was sacked out on the bed next to him. The tall man blinked once or twice, then held his arm out to Luke again. "Drink." Luke did, then sealed the puncture with a lick. "How are you feeling?" Jesse asked.

Luke groaned some. "I feel like crap," he said matter-of-factly. He grimaced weakly. "Did I really do what I think I did."

Jesse nodded. "You did. And just in case you try to again...." He patted a mallet and stake on the nightstand next to him.

Luke chuckled drily. Jesse did think of everything. "No, I'm not gonna. I just.... I dunno."

"Look, honey, I know something deep down is wrong. But dammit I'm going to see you through it. There's a process here, and I'm not going to let you take the easy way out."

Luke shook his head blearily. "Process? Huh?"

Jesse shook his head negatorily. "Don't worry about it. Now are you going to be okay if I go make myself some dinner?" Luke nodded. "You want to come in and sit with me?" Luke nodded. The burns were enough to slow him down badly, but not totally incapacitate him. He began to struggle out of bed, but Jesse jumped up and came around to his side. Jesse knelt down and dextrously slipped his arms beneath Luke, lifting him up and holding the smaller man close.

Luke just shut his eyes and let himself be carried into the living room that was attached to the kitchen. Jesse laid him out on the couch, then went to putter around the kitchen.

Luke watched Jesse bustle. He noticed something on his chest. A coldness. He looked down and noticed the St. Jude plaque suspended from his neck on a silk cord.

Desperate cases, huh. Well, Luke supposed he qualified. He shut his eyes for a moment, listening to Jesse put water into a pot. Pain was behind him. A lot of it. Pain he had suffered and that he had caused. Power was also behind him: he had held it and used it. Before him was...not much of anything. A blank slate. He knew deep down that he could not go back to his old ways without seriously re-evaluating them. But there weren't any new ways. As he lay on the couch, he could almost imagine feeling the dharmas in him flicking into existence, then dying just as fast, faster. There was no present tense, only a blasted past and a barren future.

Was he the same person who stalked Adam Stone and slaughtered Sheila Bogumanian? Was he the same person who subdued then killed the Marine? Were they the same person who fell in love with Greg Burroughs? Was the man who stood in the morning sun yesterday the same as the one who nailed Chris Falk to the chair in Dallas? Had he changed so much that he was no longer the same person with the same ties and alleigances? Could he start all over again? 'Maybe' was the only answer he could think of, the best he could do, 'Yes and no.'

Luke looked out the window at the snow that was falling. It had picked up some, and fell steadily, covering all of Washington. The white flecks spiralling in the intermittent breeze beguiled him, and he stared, halfway listening to the noise Jesse made in the kitchen.

Everything was different now, that he knew. He could see how the topography had changed. His past was disappearing, and so was his future. His memories and his plans were fading into a gentle white, covered over by snow.

And if we burn away, I'll pray the skies above
For snow to fall on the Sahara

[Lyrics: "Rose on the Wind" and "Snow on the Sahara" by Anggun.]